Southward Ho!
page: 0Illustration (Illustration) [View Page 0Illustration (Illustration) ] page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] SOUTHWARD HO! SPELL OF SUNSHNE BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, EsQ. AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE'--iL THE PARTISAN"-"MELLICHAMPE- 4; KATHARINE WALTON -- THE SCOUT7-a WOODCRAFT,2 ETC. "Southward ho I As the waves flow, as the winds blow, Spread free the sunny sail, let us go, friends, go." REDFIELD "O AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 1854. page: 0[View Page 0] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, BY J. S. REDFIELD, in the Clerl's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Southern District Of New York. STEREOTYED BY C. C. SAVAGE, la Chambers Street, N. Y. SOUTHWARD HO! CHAPTER I. "When the wind is southerly," etc.--HAMLET. I WAS at New York in the opening of July. My trunks were packed, and I was drawing on my boots, making ready for departure. -Everybody was leaving town, flying from the ap- proaching dog-days in the city. I had every reason to depart also. I had certainly no motive to remain. . New York was growing inconceivably dull with all her follies. Art wore only its stalest aspects, and lacked all attractions to one who had sUr- vived his own verdancy. Why should I linger? But, in leaving the city, I was about to pursue no ordinary route of travel. While my friends were all flying to the interior, seeking cool and shady glades along the Hudson, deep caves' of the Catskills, wild ridges and glens of the Adirondack, or quiet haunts in Berkshire, I had resolved on returning south-going back to Carolina in midsummer. A friend who had heard of my intentions suddenly burst into my chamber with all the fer- vency of a northeaster. "What does all this mean?" was his question. "Back to the south? In the name of Capricorn and Cancer, why this most perverse of all determinations? What can you mean by it? Is it suicide you purpose? Is death in the swamps, of y malaria, musquito, and cou de soleil, preferable to knife or pis- tol? Can you really prefer black vomit, to an easy and agree- able death from charcoal? Prussic acid will be more easy and page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] 4 SOUTHWARD HO! more grateful, and you will make a far more agreeable corpse in the eyes of the spectator. Yellow fever spoils the complex- ion; and the very delay which you make in dying, by such a process-though sufficiently rapid for all mortal purposes --will yet be such a loss of flesh as to lessen your proportions griev- ously when laid out. Choose some other form of exit. Let it be short, agreeable, and in no ways hurtful to your physique or complexion. Next to the loss of one's friend, is the pain one feels in seeing the ugly changes which a vicious disease, acting through the liver, makes in his personal appearance. Be coun- selled. If you will die, go with me to the chemist. We will get you something which shall serve your, purpose, without pro- ducing tedious discomfort and spoiling your visage." My friend was a genuine Manhattan-a lively rattlepate of good taste and good manners, who had the most unbounded faith in New York; who venerated the ancient Dutch regime of Peter Stuyvesant, hated the Yankees quite as much as the southrons are said to do; but, as usual .in Gotham, believed the south to be a realm of swamp only, miasnma, malaria, mus- quito, and other unmentionable annoyances-totally uninhabit- able in midsummer-from which all persons commonly fled as from the wrath of Heaven. "Nay, nay," was my answer. "I am not for suicide. I sha'n't die in Carolina. You forget, I am a native. Our dis- eases of the south are so many defences. They are of a patri- otic influence and character. They never afflict the natives. They only seize upon the spoiler-those greedy birds of pas- sage, who come like wild geese and wild ducks, to feed upon our rice-fields, and carry off our possessions in their crops, when the harvest is ready for the gathering. We are as healthy in Carolina in midsummer, nay much more so, than you are in New York. - Charleston, for examples is one of the healthiest seaports in the Union." "Oh! get out.; Tell that to the marines. But, supposing that I allow all that. Supposing you don't die there, or even get your liver out of order- there are the discomforts--the hot, furnace-like atmosphere, the musquitoes-the--the--" "You multiply our miseries in vain. I grant you the musquitoes, but only along the seaboard. Twenty miles from the coast, I can 5- SINGING AND STINGING MUSQUITOES. carry you to the most delicious pineland settlements and climate, where you need to sleep with a blanket, where ro epidemic pre- vails, no sickness in fact, and where a musquito's such a rarity, that people gather to survey him, and wonder in what regions hie can harbor; and examine him with a strange curiosity, which they would never exhibit, if he could, then and there, make them sensible of his peculiar powers; When one happens there, driven by stress of weather, he pines away in a settled melan- choly, from the sense of solitude, and loses his voice entirely before he dies. He has neither the heart to sing, nor the strength to sting, and finally perishes of a broken heart. His hope of safety, it is said, is only found in his being able to fasten upon a foreigner, when he is reported to fatten up amazingly. The case, I admit, is rather different in Charleston. There he is at home, and rears a numerous family. His name is Legion. He is a dragon in little, and a fierce bloodsucker. There -he sings, as well as ,stings, with a perfect excellence of attribute. By the way, I am reminded that I .should use the feminine in speaking of the stinging musquito. A lady naturalist has some- where written that it is the male musquito .which does the sing- ing, while the female alone possesses the stinging faculty. How the discovery was made, she has not told us. But the fact need not be questioned. We know that, among birds, the male is usually the singer. Let it pass. The musquitoes, truly, are the most formidable of all the annoyances of a summer residence in Charleston; but, even there, they are confined mostly to cer- tain precincts, In a fine, elevated, airy dwelling, open to south and west, with double piazzas along the house in these quarters, and with leisure and money in sufficient quantity, I should just 'as soon, for the comfort of the thing, take up my abode for the summer in the venerable city watered by the Ashey and the Cooper, as in any other region of the world." "Pooh! pooh! You Charlestonians are such braggers." "'Good! This said by a Manhattan, whose domestic geese are all Cygnets-rare birds, verily!" "But the horrid heat of Charleston." y "The heat! Why Charleston is a deal cooler than either New York, Philadelphia, or Baltimore, in summer." "Psha! How you talk." page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] a6 . SOUTHWARD HO! "I talk truly. I have tried all these cities. The fact is as I tell you; and when you consider all things, you will not ven- ture to doubt. Charleston is directly on the sea. Her doors open at once upon the gulf and the Atlantic. The sea rolls its great billows up to her portals twice in twenty-four hours, and brings with them the pleasantest play of breezes that: ever fanned the courts of Neptune, or made music for the shells of Triton. There are no rocky heights on any side to intercept the winds. All is plain sailing to and from the sea. Besides, 'we build our houses for the summer climate. While you, shud- dering always with the dread of ice and winter, wall yourselves in on every hand, scarcely suffering the sun to look into your chambers, and shutting out the very zephyr, we throw our doors wide to the entrance of the winds, and multiply all the physical adjuncts which can give us shade and coolness. A chamber in a large dwelling will have its half dozen windows-these will be surrounded with verandahs-great trees will wave their green umbrellas over these in turn,; and, with a shrewd whistle -a magic peculiarly our own--we persuade the breeze to take up its- perpetual lodgings in our branches. Remember, I speak for our dwelling-houses-these chiefly which stand in the south- ern and western portions of the city. In the business parts, where trade economizes space at the expense of health and comfort, we follow your Yankee notions-we jam the houses one against the other in a sort of solid fortress, shutting our faces against the breezes and the light, the only true resources against lassitude, dyspepsia, and a countless host of other dis. orders." (I don't believe a word of it." "Believe as you please, but the case is as I tell you." "And you persist in going south V" "I do; but my purpose is only to pass through Charleston, after a brief delay. I am going to spend the summer among our mountains." "Mountains f Why, what sort of mountains have you in Car- olina 2"' "Not many, I grant you, but some very noble, very lofty, very picturesque: some, to which your famous Catskill is only a wart of respectable dimensions! Our Table Rock, for exam- SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS. 7 pie, is a giant who could take his breakfast, with the greatest ease, from your most insolent and conceited summits.' ; "Why have we never heard of them before?" "Because you are talking all the while of your own. You hear nothing. Were you to stop your own boasting for a season, and listen to your neighbors, you would scarcely continue to as- sume, as you do, that the world's oyster, everywhere, was to be opened only by the New York knife. In the matter of moun- tains, North Carolina, where she borders oil South, is in posses- sion of the most noble elevations in the United States proper. Black Mfountain is understood to be the loftiest of our summits. But there are many -that stretch themselves up, in the same re- gion, as if eager for its great distinctions. -- Here you find a grand sea of mountains; billow upon billow, stretching away into remoter states, on all hands, till the ranging eye loses itself with their blue peaks, among the down-tending slopes of heav- en. It is here that I propose to refresh myself this summer. I shall explore its gorges, ascend its- heights, join the chase with the mountain hunters, and forget all your city conventionalities, in a free intercourse with a wild and noble nature. Take my counsel and do the same. Go with me. Give ip your Newport and Saratoga tendencies, and wend south with me in search of cool breezes and a balmy atmosphere." "Could I -believe you, I should! I am sick of the ancient routes. But I have no faith in your report. You think it patri- otism to paint your sepulchres. Their handsome outsides, under your limning, shall not tempt me to approach them, lest they yawn upon me. But, write me as you go. 'Description is your forte.' I shall find your pictures pleasant enough, when not required to believe them truthful. Refresh me with your fictions., Do you really believe you shall see a mountain where you go-anything higher than a hill-anything approaching our Highlands i" "Go with me. See for yourself." "Could I persuade myself that I should not be drowned in a morass, eaten up by musquitoes, have my liver tortured by Yellow Jack, and my skin utterly cured for drumheads by your horrid sun--I might be tempted. You would betray me to my fate. I can't trust you." , page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 . SOUTHWARD HO! "Hear me prophesy! Fifteen years will not pass before the mountain ranges of the Carblinas -and Georgia will be the fash- ionable midsummer resort of all people of taste north of the Hudson. They will go thither in search of health, coolness, pure air,;and the picturesque." "You say it very solemnly, yet I should more readily believe in a thousand other revolutions. At all events, if you will go south in July, see that the captain of your steamer takes an ice- berg in tow as soon as she gets out to sea. There are several said to be rolling lazily about off Sandy Hook. Write me if you survive; and deal in as much pleasant fiction as you can. I shall look for nothing else. Now that postage is nothing, I am ambitious of a large correspondence." "You shall hear from me." "And, by the way, you may do some good in your scrib- blings, by enlightening, others. In truth, your country is very much a terra incognita. Let us have a description of manners and customs, scenery and people. A touch of statistics, here and there, will possibly open the way to our capital and enter- prise; and, to one so fond of such things as myself, an occa- sional legend or tradition--the glimpse of an obscure history of the Revolution-or of the time beyond it-will greatly increase the value of your correspondence." "A good hint! I may inspire that faith in others which you withhold-very unwisely, I must say. Your world does, in truth, need some honest information touching ours, by which to keep it from such sad mistakes as augur much mischief for the future." "O11h! no politics now, I beg! Leave them to the cats and monkeys--the dogs and demagogues."' "Don't fear! My epistles shall be penned in accordance with my moods and humors-according to passing facts and fancies -and I shall only occasionally take you--over the ditch and gutter! This assurance should keep you in good humor." "Write of what you see, of course." ('And of what I feel." "And of what you think." "And of what I hear." ,And of what you know." I 9 E "'ALL ABOARD." 9 "And of what I believe." "And-" "What more! One would think these requisitions quite suffi- cient. I shall try to comply with them--at my leisure.", "Don't forget to give us a story now and then--a legend- fact or fabrication-I don't care which. You may wind up a chapter with a song, and a description with a story." "You are indulgent! Well, I will do what I can foryou. I shall report my daily experiences, and something more., My memory shall have full play, and the events of former prog- resses shall be made to illustrate the present. I shall exercise perfect freedom in what I write -a liberty I hope always to enjoy-and shall' soothe the idle vein, by affording every privi- lege to Fancy. Without some such privilege, your traveller's narrative is apt to become a very monotonous one; and he who drily reports only what he sees, without' enlivening his details by what he feels, or fancies, or remembers, will be very apt,. however much he may desire to correspond, to find few friends willing to pay postage on his letters, even at present prices." "Good! You have the righllt notion of the thing. Well! You go at three? I shall see you off. Adios ." Sure enough, at the designated hour, my friend waited my arrival on the quarter-deck of the good steamer Marion, Berry master. Our hands grasped. "I am here," said he. "I am grateful!" "Stay! Hear me out! Your words have prevailed. I am i! anxious to believe your fiction. I am tired of Newport- and I Saratoga-long for novelty-have insured my life for ten i thousand-and now, ho! for the South! I go with you as I - am a living man!" And we sang together the old chant of the Venetian, done into English- . "As the waves flow, as the winds blow, Spread free the sunny sail, let us go, brothers, go! Southward ho! Southward ho!" h. 2 A- page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] CHAPTER II. "Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee." [Antony 4- Cleopatra. So sudden had been the determination of myfriend to accom- pany me south, that there was but a single acquaintance to see him off, and he came late, with a quarter-box of cigars under his -arm, and a bottle of London-Dock black brandy, rolled up in a blue silk pocket-landkerchef, carried in his hands as gin- gerly as if a new-born baby. These were to afford the neces- sary consolations against salt-water. My friend and myself, meanwhile, mounted to the quarter-deck, leaving the gang-way free to the bustling crowds that come and go, like so many striving, crossing, and purposeless billows, on all such occasions. We had not many passengers, at this season of the year, but they had numerous acquaintances to see them off. We watched sundry groups, in which we could detect symptoms of suppressed emotion, not less intelligent and touching because, evidently, kept down with effort. Even when we know our own restless nature, eager always for change, it is yet wonderful that we should leave home- should tear ourselves away from the living fibres of love which we leave to bleed behind us, and but slowly to close the wounds in our own bosoms, The strongest heart goes with some reluctance, even when it hurries most. The soul lingers fondly, though the horses grow restiff in the carriage at the door. We look back with longing eyes, while the vessel drops down the stream. If we could endure the shame and self-reproach of manhood, in such a pro- ceeding, we should, half the time, returnif we could. Truly, this parting is a serious business-even where the voyager is, like myself, an old one. To the young beginner it PARTING OF FRIENDS. " is a great trial of the strength. To tear oneself away from the youthful homne-the old fcmliliar faces-the well-remembered haunts and pathways, more precious grown than ever,--when we are about to leave them, perhaps for ever,--is a necessity that compels many a struggle in which the heart is very apt to falter. The very strength of the affections betrays its great deficiency of strength. The gathered crowd upon the quay-the eagerness, the anxiety, and earnest words and looks of all-the undisguised tears of many--the last broken, tender words of interest-the subdued speech--the sobs which burst from the bosom in the last embrace;--what associations, and pangs, and fears, and losses, do these declare! what misgivings and terrors! True, the harbor smiles in sweetness; the skies look down in beauty; the waves roll along, soft, subdued, with a pleasant murmur.; there is not a cloud over the face of heaven'not a voice of threat in the liquid zephyr that stirs the hair/upon your fore- head: but the prescient soul knows the caprice of wind, and sea, and sky; and the loving heart is always a creature full of tender apprehensions for the thing it loves. Long seasons of delicious intercourse are about to terminate; sti'ong affinities, which can not be broken, are about to be burdened with cruel apprehensions, and doubts which can not be decided till after long delay; and the mutual intercourse, which has become the absolute necessity of the heart, is to be interrupted by a separa- tion which may be final. The deep waters may roll eternal barriers between-two closely-linked and bonded lives, and nei- ther shall hear the cry of, the other's suffering--neither be per- mitted to extend the hand of help, or bring to the dying lips the cup of consolation. ' Such are the thoughts and fears of those who separate daily. Necessity may excuse the separation; but how is it with those whose chief motive for, wandering is pleasure? In diversity of prospect, change of scene, and novel associations, they would escape that ennui wlich,-it seems,:is apt to make its way even into the abode of love. There is some mystery in this seeming perversity, and, duly examined, it is not without its justification. The discontent wlichl prompts the desire for change in the breast of man, is the frkiut, no doubt, of a soul-necessity which is page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 SOUTHWARD HO! not easy to analyze.' We owe to this secret prompter some of the best benefits which the world enjoys; and the temporary sufferings of the. affections-the wounds of separatior--are not wholly without their compensation, even while the wounds are green. A similitude has somewhere been traced between the effects of parting and of death. The former has been called a death in miniature. It certainly very often provokes as fond an exhi- bition of grief and privation. But these declare as "much for life as for mortality. There is another side to the picture. The parting of friends is so far grateful, as it gives us the renewed evidences of a warm, outgushing, and acutely-sensitive humanity. We are consoled, through the sorrow, by the love. We see the grief, but it does not give us pain, as we find its origin in the most precious developments of the human nature. We weep, but we feel; and there is hope for the heart so long as it can feel. There are regrets-but O! how sweet are the sympa- thies which harbor in those regrets! The emotions, the pas- sions, -the more precious interior sentiments,--need occasion- ally some pressure, some privation, some pang, in order that they may be made to show themselves-in order that we may be assured of our possessions still;--and how warmly do they crowd and gather above us in the moment when we separate from our associates! Into what unexpected activity and utter- ance do they start and spring, even in the case of those whose ordinary looks are cold, who, like certain herbs of the forest, need to be bruised heavily before they will give out the aromatic sweetness which harbors in their bosoms! And these are the best proofs of life--not death. Humanity never possesses more keen and precious vitality than while it suffers. It is not, as in the hour of decay and decline-wheen the blood is chilled by apathy-when the tongue is stilled by palsy--when the exhausted nature gladly foregoes the strug- gle, and craves escape from the wearying conflict for existence- anxious now for the quiet waters only-imploring peace, and dulled and indifferent in respeetto all mortal associations. The thoughts of the mind, the yearnings of the heart, are all of a different nature, at the separation of friends and kindred. They do not part without a hope.- The pain of parting is not without a pleasure. There are sweet sorrows, as well as sad, and this PROFITS OF PARTING. 13 is one of that order. There are many fears, it is true; but these speak for life, nay hope, rather than for death. Every impulse, in the hour which separates the voyagers, tells of life--of vague and grateful anticipations--of renovating experiences- of predicted and promised enjoyments, which neutralize the pain of parting, even in the breasts -that most warmly love. Those who remain weep, perhaps, more passionately than those who go. Yet how sweet is that silent tear in the solitude- haunted by happy memories-in the little lovely realm of home! The voyager loses these presences and associations of home; but, in place of them, he dreams of discoveries to be made which he shall yet bring home and share with those lihe leaves. He will gather new associations to add to the delights of home; new aspects; treasures for the eye and mind, which shall make the solitary forget wholly the lonely length of his absence. Nature has benevolently possessed us with prompt- ings, such as these, which disarm remorse and apprehension: else how should enterprise brave the yet pathless waters, or hope retread the wilderness? Where should genius look for the accompanying aid of perseverance? where would ambition seek for encouragement? where wouldmerit findl its reward? It is well to leave our homes for a season. It is wise to "go abroad among strangers. The mind and body, alike, become debilitated, and lose their common energies as frequently from the lack of change and new society as from any other cause. Relaxation, in this way, firom the toils of one station, serves to enlarge the capacities, to ltake room for thought, to afford time for the gathering of new materials, and for the exercise of all the faculties of sense and sentiment. As the farther we go in the natural, so in the moral world, a like journey in the same manner yields us a wider horizon. We add to our istoek by attrition with strangers. A tacit trade is carried on between us. Our modes of thinking, our thoughts themselves, our manners, habits, aims, and desires-if not exchanged for others-become intermixed with, or modified by them. They gather from us as much, in these concerns, and in this way, as we can possibly derive from them; and thus, by mutual acquaintance with each other, we overcome foolish prejudices, subjugate ancient enmi- ties, make new friends and associations, and all this simply by page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " SOUTHWARD HO! enlarging the sphere of our observation--by overleaping the boundaries of a narrow education-leaving the ten-mile horizon in which we were born, and to which our errors are peculiar, and opening our eyes upon a true picture of the character of the various man. Of all tyrants, home ignorance is the worst. "Home-keepincg youth have ever homely wits," which subjugate the understanding, enthral the heart, minister to a miserable sectarianism, as well in society as in politics and religion, and which, in the denial to the individual of any just knowledge of his fellows, leaves him in most lamentable igno- rance of the proper resources in himself. We should know our neighbor if only in order to know ourselves, and home is never more happily illustrated than when we compare and contrast it with what we see abroad. It is-surprising how soon we lose the faculty of reasoning when the province which we survey is con- tracted to the single spot in which we sleep and eat. We cease to use our eyes when the sphere is thus limited. The disease of moral nearsightedness supervenes, and themind which, in a larger field of action and survey, might have grasped all human- ity within its range, grows, by reason of this one mishap, into the wretched bigot, with a disposition to be as despotic, in de- gree with the extreme barrenness of his mental condition. "Ah! clearly," concluded my companion, after we had worked out the meditations together which I have thrown together above as a sort of essay--" clearly; there is no more moral practice in the world than is found in vagabondage ; yet if you try to prove its morality, you take from it all its charm. I am for enjoying the -vice- as such, without arguing for the necessity of evil-- which I yet admit.--But, look you, we are to have some lady passengers. That's a graceful creature 1" I soon discovered in the group to which my companion called my attention, some old acquaintances. "Ay, indeed; and when you have seen- her face, and chatted with her, you will account her beautiful -as graceful. She is a sweet creature to whom I will introduce you. The family is one of our oldest, highly-esteemed and wealthy. You want a wife--she is the woman for you. Win her, and you are a favor- BEAUTY OF THE HUDSON., 15 its of the gods. - She has already refused a dozen. Ten to one, she is on her way to the very mountain regions to which we go." "Good!-I shall be glad to know her. Not that I want a wife--though, perhaps, I need one." The group disappeared in the cabin. Our hour was ap- proaching. The last bell would soon ring-our fellow-passen- gers-fortunately few-in number-some forty only-were all on board. Several of them were known to me, and I promised myself and my companion good-fellowship. Meanwhile, we were taking our last look at the neighborhood. The bay and harbor of New York make a very grateful picture. The am- phitheatre is a fine and noble one, but it is a mistake to insist upon the grandeuzr of its scenery. Mr. Cooper, once, in a con- versation with me, even denied that it could be called a, beauti- ful one. But he was clearly in error. He had measured its claims by foreign standards, such as the bay of Naples, the ad- juncts of which it lacked. But its beauties are nevertheless. undeniable. The error of its admirers is in talking vaguely of its sublimity. Grandeur is not the word to apply to any por- tion of the Hudson. It is a bold and stately stream, ample, noble, rich, but with few of the ingredients of sublimity. It im- presses you-is imposing; --your mind is raised in its contem- plation, your fancy enlivened with its picturesqueness-but it possesses few or none of the qualities which awe or startle. It has boldness rather than vastness, is commanding rather than striking, and, if impressive, is quite as frequently cold and unat- tractive. To a Southern eye, accustomed to the dense umbrage, the close coppice, the gigantic forest, the interminable shade; the wilderness of undergrowth, and the various tints and hues of leaf and blossom, which crown our woods with variety and sweetness, the sparseness of northern woods suggests a great deficiency, which the absence of a lateral foliage, where the trees do occur, only- increases. Mountain scenery, unless wild and greatly irregular, repels and chills as commonly as it invites and beguiles. There must be a sufficient variety of forest tint and shelter, under a clear blue slky, to satisfy the fancy and the ysympathies. That along the Hudson, afteri the first pleasant transition from the sea, becomes somewhat monotonous as you proceed. For the length of the river, the scenery is probably as page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 SOUTHWARD HO! agreeable and attractive as any in the country, unless, perhaps, the St. John's, which is quite a wonderful stream-imposing in spite of the absence of all elevations -and I may add, in certain respects, the Tselica, or French-Broad, in North Carolina. The first of these rivers is remarkable for its great openings into noble lakes, and its noble colonnades of trees; -the last for its furious rapids, its precipitous and broken heights, that bear upon their blasted fronts the proofs of the terrible convulsion of storm and fire, that rent their walls apart and gave passage for the swollen torrent. These you may study and pursue, mile after mile, withl constant increase of interest. But, along the HEudson, I do not see that the spectator lingers over it with any profound ad- miration, or expectation, the first hour or two of progress being over. His curiosity seldom lasts beyond West Point. Observe the crowds wayfaring daily in the steamboats, between New York and Albany--as they glide below the Palisade, that ex- cellent wall of trap, almost as regularly built, as if by the hand of mortal- artificer--as they penetrate the Highlands and dart beneath the frowning masses -of Crow Nest, and Anthony's Nose;--watch them as they approclh all these points and places -all of them distinguished in song and story, in chronicle and guide-book-and you will perceive but little raised attention- little of that eager enthusiastic forgetfulness of self, which speaks the excited fancy, and the struggling imagination. They will talk to you of beauties, but these do not inflame them; of sublimities, which never inspire awe; and prospects, over which they yawn rather than wonder. In fact, the exaggerations in regard to this river have done some wrong to its real claims to respect and admiration. The traveller is taught to expect too much. The scenery does not grow upon him. The objects change in their positions, from this hand to that, in height and bulk, but seldom in form, and as infrequently in relation to one another. The groups bear still the same family likenesses. The narrow gorge through which you are passing at one moment, presented you with its twin likeness but a few minutes before; and the great rock which towers, sloping gradually up from the river in which it is moored with steadfast anchorage, is only one of a hundred such, which lack an individual character. The time has not yet ar- THE BAY OF NEW YORK. 17 rived when the commanding physical aspects of the scene shall possess an appropriate moral attraction; when the temple shall swell up with its vast range of marble pillars, crowniig the em- inence with a classic attraction, and addressing equally, the taste and patriotism;--when groves and gardens, and palaces, like those of Bagdad, shall appeal to that oriental fancy in the spectator which is clearly the province of our sky and climate. At present, these are somewhat repelled by the frequent and manifest perversities of taste, as it seeks to minister 6t preten- sion, at the expense of fine and-imposing situations. The lawn which spreads away upon the shore, terminating at once with a West Indian verandah, a Dutch farmhouse, and probably a; Gothic cottage, scarcely persuades you to a second glance; or, if it does, only to prompt you to quarrel with the painful and unfruitful labors of the architect in search of the picturesque. In what is natural, it may be admitted that you find grace and beauty, but somewhat injured by monotony; in what is done by art you are annoyed by newness, and a taste still crude and imperfectly developed. The bay of New York is much more noble, I am inclined to think, than the Hudson ; but the characteristics of the two are not unnlike. Depth, fullness, clearness-a colup d'aeil which satisfies the glance, and a sufficient variety in the groups and objects to persuade the eye to wander-these are the constituents,of both; and, in their combination, we find sweetness, grace and noble- ness, but nowhere grandeur or sublimity. Green islets rise on either hand, the shore lies prettily in sight, freshened with ver- dure, and sprinkled by white cottages which you must not ex- amine in detail, lest you suspect that they may be temples in disguise. Here are forts and batteries, which are'usually said to frown, but, speaking more to the card, the grin is more fre- quent than the frown; and here, emerging through the gorge of the Narrows, we gaze on pleasant heights and headlands, which seem the prettiest places in the world for summer dwel- lings and retreats. No one will deny the beauty of the scene, as it is, or will question its future susceptibilities. Let us adopt the right epithets. In passing out to sea, with the broad level range of the Atlantic before us, glowing purple in the evening - sunlight, we find it easy to believe, gazing'i belindl us upon. the page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 SOUTHWARD EO! shore, that, for the'charm of a pleasing landscape, a quiet home, a dear retreat for peace and contemplation, no region presents higher attractions than we find along the shores which lead from Sandy Hook to the city of Manhatta, and spread away from that up the valley of the Hudson, till we pass beyond the Cats- kill ranges. "You are like all the rest of the outsiders," said my compan- ion, querulously. "It takes a New York eye to see and appre- ciate the sublimity of the Hudson." "Precisely. That is just what I say. It is the New York eye only .which makes this discovery. But we are off. There goes the gun!--and farewell, for the present, to our goodly Gotham. Ah! there is Hoboken! How changed for the worse, as a picture, from what is was when I first knew it. Twenty years ago, when I first visited New York, Hoboken was as favorite a resort with me, of an afternoon, as it was to thousands of your citizens.-Its beautifully sloping lawns were green and shady. Now! oh! the sins of brick and mortar! There, I first knew Bryant and Sands, and wandered with them along thle shores, at sunset, or strolled away, up the heights of Weehaw- ken, declaiming the graceful verses of Halleck upon the scene. All is altered now! Vale / . , , / CHAPTER III "The world's mine oyster, Which I with sword will opela': OUR steamers do not take long in getting out to sea. We hlave no such tacking and backing, and sidling and idling, as afflicted and embarrassed the movements of the ancient packet- ships, after they had tripped anchors. On the'present occasion, our vessel went alead with a will, and though not the fastest of our steamers, yet withl a power of her own, particularly in a heavy sea, and with lively breezes, which enables her, under such circumstances to surge ahead with the bravest. We were soon out of the hook, with our nose set south, a mild setting sun persuading us onward, holding out rosy wreaths and halos in the west, which seemed to promise well for the balmy clime to which our course was bent. The breeze, though fresh, was soft and warm, and the sea as smooth as the blandishments of a pop- ular orator. The scene was sufficiently auspicious to bring all the passengers on deck, where they grouped about together ac- cording to their several affinities. I kept my promise to my companion, and introduced him to the interesting lady in dove- colored muslin. "Miss Burroughs, suffer me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Edgar Duyckman of- New York." The lady bowed graciously-mly friend was superlative in courtesy, and expressed his great delight in making her acquaint- ance. She smiled, as she replied-- "Mr. Duyckman seems to forget that he enjoyed this pleasure on a previous occasion." ( Indeed! Where, Miss Burroughs?" was the response. Our yEd'gar was evidently disquieted. The lady smliled again, the smallest possible twinkle of the quiz peeping out from the cor- ner of her eyes. page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 SOUTHWARD HO! "Both at Newport and Saratoga. But I can hardly complain that the impression which I made upon his memory was so slight, remembering how many were the eyes, dazzled like his own, by the blaze of Miss Everton's beauty." Very rich was the suffusion upon Edgar's cheek. He had been one of the heedless beetles, who had his wings singed in that beauty's blaze. Common rumor said that he had been mortified unexpectedly by a rude and single monosyllable, from that young lady, in- reply to a very passionate apostrophe. Poor fellow, he was quite cut up--cut down, he phrased it-by the extent of -his present companion's knowledge. But she was not the person to press an ungenerous advantage, and the subject was soon made to give way to another which left the galled jade free. He soon recovered his composure, and we got into a pleasant chat mostly about the world in which we found our- selves ; suffering a " sea change" in thoughts as well as associa- tion. Our fellow-passengers, numbering just enough for good- fellowship and -ease, were mostly veteran seafarers, to whom salt water brought no afflictions. We were pleasantly enough occupied for a while, in scanning their visages as they passed, and discussing-their appearances, and supposed objects. Of course, a fair proportion of the men were bound south for busi- ness purposes. The ladies were but three in number, and, like my young friend and myself, their aim was for the mountain country. As yet, any notion of taking this route in midsummer had not entered into the ima'gination of summer idlers to con- ceive. We were, in a measure, the pioneers in a novel progress. My friend Duyckman, soon becoming interested in the fair Selina Burroughs, began to bring forth all his resources of read- ing and experience. He had an abundant supply of graceful and grateful resources, and was capable, of that pleasant sort of intellectual trifling which is perhaps the most current of all the light coin of society. The moment that he could fairly forget the ma7capropos reference to the beautiful coquette of Newport, he became easy, fluent and interesting, and under his lead the chat became at once lively and interesting, relating particularly to the scenes about, and the prospect before us. These, as I have shown, were sufficiently pleasant and promising. The sun was set, but the shores lay still in sight, a dim edging of coast, THE OYSTER WAR. 21 a dark stripe of riband along the deep. We were not yet out of our latitude, and the points of shore, as we passed, could still be identified and named. It is easy enough for Americans to pass from the present to antiquity, and, per saltum, to make a hurried transition to the future. The orator who does not begin at the flood, or at least with the first voyage of Columbus, scarcely sat- isfies the popular requisition on this head. Thus, coming out of the mouth of the Hudson, it was matter of course that we should meditate the career of old Hendrick, of that Ilk, the first to pen- etrate the noble avenue of stream from which we had just emerged. It was no disparagement to the ancient mariner, that my friend dealt with him in a vein not dissimilar to that in which Irving disposed of the great men of the Dutch dynasty, the Van Twillers, the Stuyvesants, and other unpronounceable dignitaries. He passed, by natural transitions, to modern periods. ( Perhaps, the most exciting of recent events is the oyster war between the Gothamites and Jerseyites. The history of this amusing struggle for plunder is one that should be put on record by a becoming muse. It is a fit subject for an epic. I would recommend it to Bayard Taylor, or Dr. Holmes. The first essential is to be found in the opposite characteristics of the rival races. They are sufficiently distinct for contrast-York and Jersey--as much so as Greek and Trojan. A study of de- tails would afford us the Achilles and Hector, the Ulysses, Ajax, and Thersites. Nor should we want for a pious priest or two, since, in modern times, piety is, by a large number, supposed to be only a fit training for habits of peculation." "It furnishes a frequent mask, at all events." "Yes, and was not wanting in this contest. The number of persons engaged was sufficient to enlist all varieties of character, and it was a matter of vital interest to one of the parties at least. The smaller republic was largely interested in the subject of debate. The courage and enterprise of the Jerseyans had plucked the ragged oyster from his native abodes, and subjected him to the usual processes of civilization. They had planted him in favorite places, and given due attention to his training. The yyster was grateful, and took his education naturally. He grew and fatted; and the benevolent Jerseyans watched his growth and improvement with daily care, looking fondly forward to the page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 SOUTHWARD HO! time when he shotld I take his place in the gratified presence of the great and noble of the land. Famously did the oyster grow -thus considerately protected-until he rose conspicuous in every estimation among the gastronomes, of Gotham. These looked with equal envy and admiration upon the performances of their neighbors. Little did Jersey suspect the danger that awaited her favorites. But cunning and cupidity, and eager lust, and ravenous appetite, were planning desolation and over- throw to the hopes of these guardians of the innocent. Evil de- signs were plotted-cruel, treacherous, barbarous, like those which finally routed the poor nuns at midnight from their Charlestown convent. And great was the shock and the horror of Jersey when the assault was finally made under cover of night and darkness." "Truly, Mr. Duyckman, you make a lively picture of the event. Pray go on I am -interested to know the result. What of the progress of the war? I confess to only a slight knowl- edge of the affair." "Without the documents, I can not go into particulars. To collect these would require a life. To depict them properly would demand a Homer. The war between the cranes and frogs would alone furnish a just plan for such a history. I must content myself with a summary. But, were you to have proper portraits of the fierce Sam Jones, the redoubtable Pete Pinnock, Ben the Biter, Barney the Diver, Bill the Raker, Ned the Devourer, and a score or two more, ol both sides, who dis- tinguished themselves in the field during this bivalvular cam- paign, -you would feel that there are still provinces for the epic muse, in which she might soar as gloriously as she ever did in the days of Ilium. Jersey rose to the necessities of the occa- sion. We will say nothing about her interest in this event; but her pride was involved in the security of her virgin beds; and when, prompted by cupidity, these were invaded, vi et armis, by the grasping Gothamites, who desired to share the spoils which their valor had not been sufficient to achieve, it was not to be wondered at that all Jersey should rise in arms. The public sentiment was unanimous. From Newark to Absecom, but a single cry was heard. From Jersey City to Cape May, the beacons were lighted up. IThe cry To arms!' spread and SAM JONES.- THE BIG. 23 echoed -far and wide, from the heights of Weehawken to the breakers of Barnegat. The feeling-of each Jerseyan was that of the North Carolinian from Tar river, on his way to Texas, when he heard of Santa Anna's invasion of the single star republic. They flourished their plover-guns, where 'the son of the old North State flourished his rifle, preparing, like him, to assert their rights, in nubibus. Well might the oyster family become proud of the excitement occasioned by the contemplated inva- sion of their abodes. The banner of lust and avarice, carried by the Gothamites, was borne forward with sufficient audacity to show the estimated value of the prize." Here our captain put in with a fragment of one of the ballads made on the occasion: "It was Sam Jones, the fisherman, so famed at Sandy Hook,- That, rising proudly in the midst, the oyster-banner took, And waved it o'er the host, until, convulsed in every joint, They swore with him a mighty oath to capture Oyster Point: Such luscious pictures as he drew of treasures hoarded there, Such prospects of the future stew, the broil and fry to share, No Greek or Roman, Turk or Goth, with such an eager scent, By such a fierce marauder led, to raid or slaughter went. All glory to Sam Jones the Big--a mighty man was he; And when he next goes forth to fight, may I be there to see." "Bravo, captain! you are as good as a chronicler. Let us have the rest." "That is all I recollect of the ballad; but, had I known your wishes in season, we might have got it all out of the pilot. He was in the war, and was one of the wounded-taken with the fine edge of an oyster-shell on the left nostril, where he carries the proof of his valor to this day in a monstrous scar. The only further curious fact I know, in the history, is that the said scar always opens afresh in the ' R' months,-the oyster- seasoln." The curious fact thus stated led to some discussion of the occult subject of moral and physical affinities, in which we wandered off to the philosophies of Sir Kenelm Dighy and Hahnemanh. From these we concluded that there is a latent truth in- the vulgar proverb which asserts "the hair of the dog to be good for the bite"--a proverb which we hold to be the true source of homeopathy. The practical inference from the discussion page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] SOUTHWARD HO! was that our pilot eould do nothing more likely to effect the cure- of his abraded nostril, than to subject his nose to an oyster- scraping in all the months which contain the irritating letter. This episode over, our Gothamite continued his narration:- "The invasion of the oyster-beds of Jersey, thus formidably led by Jones the Big, was at first a surprise. The Jerseyans never dreamed of the malice of their neighbors. But they had been vigilant, and were valiant. The Jersey Blues had enjoyed a very honorable reputation for valor from the Revolutionary period, not exceeded, perhaps scarcely equalled, by any of the neighboring colonies. They had a proper pride in maintaining this reputation. It was at once a question of life and honor, and they rushed fearlessly to the rescue. The slaughter of their innocents had begun, and they were suffered but little time for preparation. Hastily snatching up what weapons and mis- siles they could lay hands upon, they darted forth by land and sea. For a season, the war consisted of unfiuitful skirmishes only, but the two armies at length drew together. The great cities of refuge of the oyster were in sight, the prize of valor. The audacity of the invaders increased with the prospect. Sam Jones led his followers on wittif' savage desperation peculiarly his own. Very fearful had been Sam's experience. He had slept upon a circle of six feet, onI an oyster-bed, with the Atlantic rol- ling around him. He had enjoyed a hand-to-hand combat with a shark, of sixteen feet, in five-fathom water. He had ceased to know fear, and had learned to snap his' fingers at all enemies. No wonder, led by such a hero, that the Gothamites went into the fray with a rush and shout that shook the shores, and made the innocent muscles under water quake to the centre of their terrified beds. They rushed to the attack with a couragew which, as the moral historians are apt to say, was Worthy of a better cause. The Greeks at Troy, under the conduct of Ajax the Buffalo, never darted under the hills and towers of Ilium with more defiant demeanor." "I am impatient for the issue," said the lady. "Pray, how did the Jerseyans stand the shock '"' "Most gallantly-as if duly inspired by the innocence which tley sought to defend. The Trojans, led by Hector and Troilus, never showed fiercer powers of resistance than did the serried ranks of Jersey under the terrible concussion. Every man be- came a hero,--every hero a tower of strength -a fortress. Terrible was the encounter. The battle opened with the flight of missiles from the light troops. Shells skated through the air. It was in the play of this light artillery that the nose of Bill Perkins, the pilot, suffered its hurts. Another-one of the Joneses, a cousin of Sam-had the bridge of his fairly broken. It has not been held passable since. But the sanguinary pas- sions of the two parties were not willing th at the fight should long continue at respectful distances. Soon, pike crossed with pike; oyster-rakes grappled with oyster-rakes; forks, that once drove unembarrassed through the luscious sides of fat victims only, now found fierce obstruction, and no fat, from implements of their own structure and dimensions. The conflict was long in suspense, and only determined in the fall of the redoubtable Sam, the monarch of Sandy Hook. He succumbed beneath a blow inflicted by a young turtle, which, caught up in his des- peration by Ralph Roger, of Tuckahoe, was whirled about as a stone in a sling, thrice above his head, until it came in con- tact-with that of Jones. Shell against shell. The crack of one of them was heard. For a moment, the question was doubtful which. But, in a jiffy, the gigantic bulk of Jones went over, like a thousand of brick, shaking the clam-beds for sixty miles along the shore. An awful groan went up from the assembled Gotham- ites. The affair was over. They lost heart in the fall of their hero, -nd threw down their arms. Jersey conquered in the conflict." "Oh, I am so rejoiced!" exclaimed Miss Burroughs, her proper sense of justice naturally sympathizing with the threatened inno- rents, assailed at midnight in their unconscious beds. "And what punishment was inflicted upon the marauders?" "A very fearful one. Thirty prisoners were taken; many had fallen in the fight; many more had fled. The missing have never been ascertained to this day." "Well, but the punishment?" "This was planned with a painful malice. At first, the vin- dictive passions of the Jerseyans being uppermost, it was strenu- ously urged that the captives should be sacrificed as a due warning to evil-doers. It was agreed that nothing short of the page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] SOUTHWARD HO! most extreme penalties would suffice to prevent the repetition of the offence. The nature of theo necessity seemed to justify, with many, the sanguinary decision. The principle urged was, that the punishment was to be graduated rather by the facility of crime than by its turpitude. Thus, horse-stealing is in some regions rated with murder, simply because, from the nature of beast and country, it is supposed that horses may be more easily stolen than men slain. Men are usually assumed to incline to defend their lives; but it would be an extreme case where i horse, once bridled and saddled, would offer any resistance to his own abduction. He would rather facilitate the designs upon his own innocence by the use of his own legs. The oysters, more simple, more confiding than the horse even, are still more at the mercy of the marauder. His crime is, accordingly, in proportion to the weakness, the good faith, the confiding sim- plicity of the creature, whose midnight slumbers he invades. These arguments were well urged by one of the Jersey oyster- men. who had once filled the station of a chancellor of one of the' supreme courts in one of the states. A passion for Cognac had lost him his elevation, and, in the caprices of fortune, he had passed from equity to oysters. The transition, now-a-days, is hardly one to surprise or startle. He used his old experience, whenever he could get a chance to practise upon an audience, and made a monstrous long speech upon this occasion; and very touching indeed was the picture which he drew of the ten- der character, the virgin innocence, the exposed situation, the helplessness of the oyster--its inabilities for self-defence, and the virtues which commended it to all persons of proper sympa- thies and a genuine humanity-- which were of a sort, also, to provoke the horrid appetites of a class of desperates who per- petually roamed about, like the evil beasts described in scrip- ture, seeking only what they might devour. Our ex-chancello; argued that the oyster was to be protected from invasion; that prevention was always better than cure; that the punishment of the criminal was the only proper process of prevention; that law was only valuable for its effects in terrorem; that the rights of eminent domain in Jersey, along the while oyster region in- vaded, conferred upon her the right of summary punishment, at her discretion, as the necessary incident of her sovereignty; and VfE VICTIS! 27 he wound up by an eloquent allusion to the oysters as among the benefactors of mankind. They suffered themselves to live and fatten only for our gratification; and the least that could be done would be to put to death all persons who, without legal rights, presumed to penetrate their sleeping-places and tear them from their beds with violence." "I begin to tremble for the captives," quoth the lady. "Well you may. The ex-chancellor had gone into the ac- tion only after certain free potations, and he was eloquent in the extreme. The situation of the prisoners became a very perilous one. They were permitted to hearken to the keen de- bate respecting their crimes and probable fate. Roped in boats, or along the shores, they waited in fear and trembling for their doom. Fortunately, the counsels of humanity prevailed. The Jerseyars, satisfied with having asserted their rights, and pleased with victory, were prepared to be magnanimous. They spared the lives of the offenders, but did not suffer them to depart wholly without punishment. It may be said, that, considering the lappetites of the Manhattanese, they adopted the severest of all possible punishments. With their captives fast tethered in sight, they prepared to indulge in a feast of oysters in which the Manhattanese were not allowed to share. ( They provided an ample supply, and dressed them in all pos- sible modes by which to tempt the desires of the epicure. The captives inhaled the pleasant fumes of the fried; they beheld the precious liquid which embraced the portly dimensions of the stewed; they inhaled the odors of choice claret as it amalgamated with other select virtues of the stew, and they gloated over the deliciously-brown aspects of a large platter of oyster-fritters., Oysters on all sides, in all shapes, in every style of dressing, rewarded the victors for their toils, while the conquered, permit- ted to behold, were denied altogether to enjoy. The meat being extracted, the odorous shells were, placed before them, and they were bidden to eat. 'You claimed a share in our beds,' was the scornful speech of the conquerors,-' your share is before you. Fall to and welcome.' Violent groans of anguish and mortifi- ycation burst from the bosoms of the prisoners at this indignity. Sam Jones, with a broken sconce, roared his rage aloud with the breath of a wounded buffalo. But therewas no redress- page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 SOUTHWARD o0 ! no remedy. After a twenty-four hours' captivity, the offenders were permitted to go free, with an injunction to sin no molre' in the way of oysters. It neededcno such injunction with many J of the party. The terrors which the poor fellows had undergone ! probably cured them of their tastes, if not their cupidity, and we may fancy them going off, mournfully singing- - "So we'll go no more an-oysteryng I So late into the nilght." This, ih little, is the history of the war, which, as I have said, deserves to be chronicled for the future in Homeric verse. Here one of our fellow-passengers put ill:- f"The history of the wars between the tribes of Gotham and Jersey, which you have given, has its parallels in other states. I was on a visit to llhat is called in Virginia, sThe Eastern Shore,' where they give you just such a narrative, and where the oyster-beds are similarly harassed by irresponsible marau- ding parties, most of whom are Pennsylvanians. The commerce : of this region is chiefly in oysters. In all the bays you behold g at anchor a suspicious sort of vessel-looking for all the world like the low, long; black-looking craft of the Spanish flibustier. From some of the stories told of these vessels, thlley are really not ' a whit better than they should be ;and their pursuits are held i to be almost as illegitimate as those of the ancient buccaneers f of Nassau and New Providence. They wa age an insatiate wa'r upon one class, the most inoffensive of all the natives of the Eastern' Shore. Their most innocent name is 'p1ngo'--a sort of schooner, hailing mostly from Manhattan and fMassachusetts. !^ They prey upon the Virginia oyster banks, ostensibly under the (? forms of law. By contract, they procure the ordinary raccoon [ oyster'--the meanest of the tribe- an innocent in a perfect v state of nature-totally uneducated, at a shilling (York) per bushel. These are carried off in large quantities to the bays and harbors of Pennsylvania, New York, and places farther east, and placed in nurseries, where good heed is taken to their '; ease, growtlh, and physical development, until they are fitted to ! take their places at table, to the satisfaction of appreciative S guests. For the better oysters, taken from deep water, and worthy of the immediate attention of the public, the 'pungos' pay three shillings. In the cities farther north they are retailed i THE BROAD-BRIMS INVADE THE BUCKSKINS. 29 at this rate by the dozen--that number being a standard allow- ance, for an .able-bodied alderman, of moderate stomach-an Apicius, not an Heliogabalus. This is the only legalized method of robbing the Virginiaf waters of their natives. By this process the poorer sort of people are employed to gathller the oyster, and are thus compensated for their labor--nothing being allowed for the value of the ' innocent' victim. As it is thus made a business for a certain portion of the residents, the practice is tolera- ted, if not encouraged; though. it threatens to destroy, in the end, the resources of the region in respect to this commodity. The clam is appropriated in the same manner, to say nothing of large varieties of fish. i "But there are trespassers who pursue another practice; who seize with the strong hand-who make formidable descents, at unreasonable hours and seasons, and rend and carry off immense quantities, without leaving the usual toll. To these forays, the sensibilities and the patriotism of the people are always keenly alive; and fearful issues, tooth and nail, are sometimes the con- sequence. "On one occasion, not long ago, the Virginians of that region got an. inkling of a formidable invasion by the Pennsylvanians. The 'bale fires' were lighted accordingly;- the horn was blown, and a general gathering took place of all within striking dis- tance. The ' Old Dominion' is not easily roused, being huge of form,/indolent, and easily pacified by appeals to her magnitude and greatness. You may take-many liberties with her, so long as you do not ruffle her self-esteem--nay, you may absolutely meddle witlh her pockethook if you will do the thing adroitly and without disturbing her siesta ;-but beware how you carry off her oysters without paying the customary toll. She can't stand that. "On this occasion, whig and democrat, forgetting old snarls, came forth with a hearty will. They stood shoulder to shoulder, and the same horn summoned equally both parties to the con- flict. It was a common cause, and they promptly agreed to go . together to the death for their rights in oysters. As in the case of the combatants of Gotham and Jersey, each side had its famous captains-its Ajaxes and Hectors. But the Pennsylvanians suffered from a falling of the heart before they came to blows. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] SOUTHWARD HO! Whether it was that their conscientiousness was too active or their courage too dormant, they submitted before they came to blows; and the whole foraging party-'the entire swine' an entire tribe of that peaceable sachem, Penn-in a body, every mother's son of them-eighty or ninety in number- were driven into, an extemporary logpen at the muzzle of the musket. Around this our angry Virginians kept vigilant watch. The Quaker that raised head above the battlements, though but to peep out at the evening sunset, was warned backward with a tap of spear or shilelah. They were held thus trembling for two or three days in durance vile, until they had paid heavy ransom. It required some fifteen hundred dollars, cash, before the foragers were released. This was a famous haul for our guid folk of the Eastern Shore. For some time it had the effect of keeping off trespassers. But when was cupidity ever quieted short of having its throat of greed cut at the carotid? The practice has been resumed, and our Eastern Shore Virginians are again beginning to growl and to show their teeth. When I was there last, they were brushing up their guns, and newly priming. They promise us a new demonstration shortly, both parties, whig and democratic, preparing to unite their forces to prevent their innocent young shellfish from being torn away from their beds at midnight." "And loving oysters as I do, I am free to say they could not peril their lives in a more noble cause. Stamped paper and tea were nothing to it." CHAPTER IV. "With song and story make the long way short." TI-E sea never fails to furnish noble studies to those who, by frequent travel, have succeeded in overcoming its annoyances. But the number is few who feel reconciled to calm thought and patient meditation while roaming, at large and lone, on its wil- derness of bosom. Those only who have completely undergone that sea change, of which Shakspere tells us in the "' Tempest," can yield themselves fairly up to the fancies which it inspires and the subliming thought' which it awakens. Unhappily, to the greater number of those the subject has lost all its freshness. When we have so frequently boxed the compass, that we can "Lay hands upon old ocean's mane, And play familiar with his hoary locks," hle forfeits all his mysteries. It is surprising to note how little there is really visible in the great deeps to those who go down frequently upon the waters. To such eyes they even lose their vastness, their vagueness, the immensity which baffles vision, and fills the mind with its most impressive ideas of eternity. Your "'Old Salt" is a notorious skeptic. He wears his forefinger perpetually upon the side of his nose. He is not to be amused with fancies and chimeras. He has outgrown wholly his sense of wonder, and his thought of the sea is somewhat allied with the contemptuous, as was that of the Mississippian for the brown bear whom he had whipped in single combat. As for marvels and mysteries in the creature beauties of splendor or grandeur--these wholly elude his thoughts and eyes. If he appreciates the sea at all, it is solely because of its sharpening effect upon his appetite! 'Most of those wayfarers whom you meet often upon the route belong to this order. You will find them at all times peering into the larder. In their sleep, they dream of it, and you will page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 SOUTHWARD HO! hear broken speeches from their lips which show their memories still busy with yesterday's feast, or their anticipations preparing for that of the morrow. The steward and cook aboard-ship are the first persons whose acquaintance they make. These they bribe with shillings and civilities. You will scarcely open your eyes in the morning, ere you will see these "hail fellows" with toast and tankard in their clutches; a bowl of coffee and a crack- : - er is the initial appetizer, with possibly a tass of brandy in the purple beverage, as a lacer. Then you see them hanging about the breakfast table, where they take care to plant themselves in the near neighborhood of certain of the choicest dishes. All their little arrangements are made before you get to the table, and there will be a clever accumulation of good things about the plates of these veterans, in the shape of roll and egg, etc., which would seem destined to remind the proprietor, in the language of warning which was spoken daily (though with a far different object) to the monarch of the Medes and Persians-"Remem- ber, thou art mortal." This is a fact which our veterans of the high seas never forget. ; They carry within them a sufficient monitor which ever cries, like the daughter of the horse-leech, "Give! Give!" They I: have no qualms of conscience or of bowels; and it seems to do them rare good to behold the qualms of others. It would seem that they rejoiced in these exhibitions, simply as they are, as- sured by these, that the larder is destined to' no premature in- : vasion on the part of the sufferers. I have often looked upon this class of travellers-not with envy, Heaven forefend! - though it would have rejoiced mefr- f i ' quently, at sea, to have possessed some of their immunities- ^ : that rare insensibility, for example, in the regions of diaphragm and abdomen, which, if unexercised for appetite, might at least suffer other sensibilities to be free for exercise. But it has provoked my wonder, if not my admiration, that i inflexible stolidity of nature, which enables the mere mortal so entirely to obtain the ascendency over the spiritual man. Our gourmand sees no ocean waste around him-follows no tumbling billows with his eye-watches not, with straining eagerness, where the clouds and the waters descend and rise, as it were in , an embrace of passion. Sunrise only tells him of his coffee and OLD SEA-DOGS. o - 3., cracker, noon of lunch, sunset of tea, and the rarely sublimed fires of the moonlight, gleaming from a thousand waves, suggest only a period of repose, in which digestion goes on without any consciousness of that great engine which he has all day been packing with' fuel. Tell him of porpoise and shark, and his prayer is that they may be taken. He has no scruples to try a steak from the ribs of the shark, though it may have swallowed his own grandmother. Of the porpoise he has heard as the sea- hog, and the idea of a roast of it, is quite sufficient to justify the painstaking with which he urges upon the foremast man to take his place at the prow, in waiting, with his harpoon. Nay, let a school of dolphins be seen beneath the bows, darting along with graceful and playful sweep, in gold and purple, glancing through the billows, like so many rainbows of the deep, he thinks of them only as a fry--an capology for wliting and cavalli, of which he sighs with the tenderest recollections, and for which he is always anxious to find a substitute. I have already ob- served that we have two or three specimens of this genus now on board the Marion. "I don't know," said our fair companion, "but that steam has robbed the sea very equally of its charms and terrors." "(Ah! we have now no long voyages. Your coastwise trav- elling seldom takes you from sight of land, and you scarcely step from the pier head in one city, before you begin to look out for the lighthouse of another. Even when crossing the great pond, you move now so rapidly, and in such mighty vessels, that you carry a small city with you-a community adequate to all. your social wants-and are thus made comparatively indifferent to your absolute whereabouts." "Well, there is something pleasant," said one, "to be able to fling yourself into your berth in one city only to awaken in an- other. I confess that it takes away all motive to thought and survey. Few persons care to look abroad and about in such short periods. 'There is little to amuse or interest, traversing the ship's decks for a night, in the face of smoke and steam, jostling with,strange people wrapped in cloaks, whom you do not care to know, as it is not probable that. you are ever to meet y again when you part to-morrow. You must be long and lonely. on the seas, before the seas will become grateful in your sight a page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 SOUTHWARD HO! and Ireveal their Vwonders. Steam ha1s removed this necessity and thus taken away all the wonders of the deep. You now see no mysteries in the surging billows--hear no spiritual voices from the shrouds. The spell has been taken from the waters- the trident is broken in the hands of the great Triton. Steam, a mightier magic, has puffed away, as by a breath, a whole world of unsubstantial, but very beautiful fable. The ocean is now as patient as the wild horse under the lasso-subdued to the will of a rider who was never known to spare whp or spur." "( The worst feature in this improved navigation is its unsocial influence. It deprives you of all motive to break down those idle little barriers of convention which are apt to fetter the very best minds, and cause a forfeiture of some of their sweetest hu- manities. You seek to know none of the virtues of your com- panions, and certainly never care to put in exercise your own. One ceases to be amiable in a short voyage. A long one, on the contrary, brings out all that is meritorious as well in your- self as your shipmate. A sense of mutual dependence is vastly promotive of good fellowship.--Then you see something of one another, and- hear something of the world. People show what they are, and tell you what they have seen; and intimacies, i thus formed, have ripened into friendships, which no after events lhave been able to rupture. Commend me to the ancient slow- ancd-easy packet ships that left you time for all these things;- that went between Charleston and New York, and never felt any impatience to get to the end of their journey;--that took every advantage afforded by a calm to nap drowsily on the bo- som of the broad elemient in which they loved to float;--and rocked lazily upon the great billows, as if coquetting with the breezes rather than using them for progress." "There was leisure then for study and philosophy and poetry; nay, love-making was then an easy and agreeable employment, to such as had the stomach for it. It will not be easy for me to forget my thousand experiences of the tender passion on such voyages-by moonlight and starlight- I'with one sweet spirit i for my minister,' gazing together on the great mirror-like ocean, or up into the persuasive heavens, till we drank in floods of ten- derness, from a myriad of loving eyes." ' Ah!" pried puypckman archly, ( one is reminded of Moore--- THE PILGRIMS COMMUNE. 35 "'Ali! could yon heaven but speak as well, As starry eyes can see, Ahl! think wliat tales 'twould have to tell, Of wandering youth like nme. "(]By the way, why should we not have some tales of wan- dering' youth to-night--and why not some songs too. Miss BIurrouglls, it has not escaped my very curious eye that there is a guitar among your luggage. May I hope that you will suffer mle to brinug it you ." The lady liesitated. I interposed :- Oh! surely; we must not suffer such a night of beauty, such a sea of calm, such a mild delicious evelling, to pass unemployed, and in the only appropriate fashion. We are a little world to ourselves--pilgrims to one Canterbury, and we may well bor- row a leaf from Boccacio and a lesson from Chaucer. You will siing for us, and we shall strive to requite you, each after his own fashion. Here are several whom I know to be capable of pleasant contribution in the way of song and stiory, and my friend Duyckman can hardly refuse to follow your example, as he suggests it. In your ear, I may whisper that he is full of ro- mances, and has a whole budget of legends wrought out of Pro- venqal and Troubadour history." "Fie! Fie! Honor bright." The lady now gracefully consented. "The temptation is too great to be resisted. My scruples yield to your persuasions. Will you order the guitar?" It was broughlt. We had the music, but not alone. To the great delight of all parties, the fair charmer gave us her lyrics woven in with an historical narrative-a romance in itself, which, in a brief and pleasant introduction, she mentioned that she had gathered herself from the lips of the celebrated General of Venezuela, who was only last year in the country. I must deliver the. story, as nearly as possible as it came from the lady's lips, not forgetting to mention that, in the. lyrical portions, the guitar contributed the accompaniment, and the effect of the pieces, thus delivered, was singularly dramatic and effective. Our circle contracted about the fair raconteur, silence followed, Yand raised attention, and she began. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 SOUTHWARD HO! THE STORY OF THE MAID OF BOGOTA. CHAPTER I. WHENEVER the several nations of the earth whcll lave achieved their deliverance from misrule and tyranny, shall point, as they each may, to the fair women who have taken active part in the cause of liberty, and by their smiles and services have contributed in no measured degree to the great objects of na- tional defence and deliverance, it will be with a becoming and just pride only that the Colombians shall point to their virgin martyr, commonly known among them as La Pola, the Maid of Bogota. With the history of their struggle for freedom her story will always be intimately associated); her tragical fate, due solely to the cause of her country, being linked with all the touching interest of the most romantic adventure. Her spirit seemed to be woven of the finest materials. She was gentle, exquisitively sensitive, and capable of the most true and tender attachments. Her mind was one of rarest endowments, touched to the finest issues of eloquence, aiind gifted with all the powers of the improvisatrice; while her courage and patriotism seem to have been cast in those heroic moulds of antiquity from which came the Cornelias and Deborahs of famous memory. Well had it been for her country had the glorious model which she bestowed upon ,her people been held in becoming homage by the race with which her destiny was cast-a race masculine only in exterior, and wanting wholly in that necessary strength of soul which, rising to the due appreciation of the blessings of national freedom, is equally prepared to make, for its attainment, every necessary sacrifice of self. And yet our heroine was but a child in years--a lovely, tender, feeble creature, scarcely fifteen years of age. But the soul grows rapidly to maturity in some countries, and, in the case of women, it is always great in its youth, if greatness is ever destined to be its possession. Dofia Apolinaria Zalabariata-better known by the name of La Pola-was a young girl, the daughter of a good family of Bogota, who was distinguishedl at an early period, as well for her great gifts of beauty as of intellect. Sh11e was but a cllilt i BOLIVAR.. 37 when Bolivar first commenced his struggles with the Spanish authorities, with the ostensible object of freeing his country from their oppressive tyrannies. It is not within our province to dis- cuss the merits of his pretensions as a deliverer, or his courage anld military skill as a hero. The judgment of the world and of time has fairly set at rest those specious and hypocritical claims, which, for a season, presumed to place him on the pedes- tal with our Washington. We now know that he was not only a very selfish, but a very ordinary man-not ordinary, perhaps, in the sense of intellect, for that would be impossible in the case of one who was so long able to maintain his eminent position, and to succeed in his- capriciolus progresses, in spite of inferior means, and a singular deficiency of the heroic faculty. But his ambition was the vulgar ambition, and, if-possible, something still inferior. It contemplatec his personal wants alone; it lackel all the elevation of purpose which is the great essential of patriotism, and was wholly wanting in- that magnanimity of soul which delights in the sacrifice of self, whenever such sacri- fice promises the safety of the single great purpose which it professes to accomplish. Blt we are not now to consider Bolivar, the deliverer, as one whose place in the pantheon has already been determined by tlhe unerring judgment of posterity. We are to behold him only with those eyes in which he was seen by the devoted followers to whom lie brought, or appeared to bring, the deliverance for which they yearned. It is with the eyes of the passionate young girl, La Pola, the bcautiful and gifted child, whose dream of country perpetually craved the republican condition of ancient Rome, in the days of its simplicity and virtue; it is with her fincey and admiration that we are to crown the ideal Bolivar, till we acknowledge him, as he appears to her, the Washington of the Colombians, eager only to emulate the patriotism, and to achieve like successes with his great model of the northern confederacy. Her feelings and opinions, with regard to the Liberator, were those of her family. tHer father was a resident of Bogota, a man of large possessions and considerable intellectual acquire- Y ments. He gradually passed from a secret admiration of Bolivar to a warm sympathy with his progress, and an active support- page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 SOUTRHWARD HO! so far as he dared, living in a city under immediate and despotic Spanish rule--of all his objects. He followed with eager eyes tlhe fortunes of the chief, as they fluctuated between defeat and victory in other provinces, waiting anxiously the moment when tlhe success and policy of the struggle should bring deliverance, in turn;, to the gates of Bogota. Without taking up arms him- self, he contributed secretly from his own resources to supplying the coffers of Bolivar with treasure, even when his operations were remote--and his daughter was the agent through whose unsuspected ministry the money was conveyed to the several emissaries who were commissioned to receive it. The duty was equally delicate and dangerous, requiring great prudence and circumspection; and the skill, address, and courage, with which the child succeeded in the execution of her trusts, would furnish a fiequent lesson for older heads, and the sterner and the bolder sex. La Pola was but fourteen years old when she obtained her first glimpse of the great man in whose cause she had already been employed, and of whose deeds and distinctions she had heard so much. By the lmlnguage of the Spanish tyranny which swayed with iron authority over her native city, she heard him denounced and execrated as a rebel and marauder,. for whom an ignominious death was already decreed by the despotic vice- roy. This language, from such lips, was of itself calculated to raise its object favorably in her enthusiastic sight. By the patriots, whom she had been accustomed to love and venerate, she heard the- same name breathed always in whispers of hope and affection, and fondly commended, with tearful blessings, to tlre :watchful care of Heaven. She was soon to behold with her own eyes this individual thus equally distinguished by hate and homage in her hearing. Bolivar apprized his friends in Bogota that he should visit them in secret. That province, ruled with a fearfully strong hand by Zamano, the viceroy, had not yet ventured to declare itself for the republic. It was necessary to operate with caution; and it was no small peril which Bolivar necessarily incurred, in pene- trating to its capital, and laying his snares, and fomenting in- surrection, beneath the very hearth-stones of the tyrant. It was to La Pola's hands that the messenger of the Liberator confided BOLIVAR IN BOGOTA. 39 the missives that colmmunicated this important intelligence to her father. She little knew the contents of the billet which she carried himn insafety, nor did lie confide them to the child. He himself did not dream of the precocious extent of that enthusiasm which she felt almost equally for the common cause, and for the person of its great advocate and champion. Her father simply praised her care and diligence, rewarded her with his fondest caresses, and then proceeded with all quiet despatch to make his preparations for the secret reception of the deliverer. It was ati midnight, and while a thunder-storm was raging, that lie entered the city, making his way, agreeably to previous arrangement, and under select guidance, into the inner apart- ments of the house of Zalabariata. A meeting of the conspira- tors-for such they were--of head men among the patriots of Bogota, had been contemplated for his reception. Se7eral of them were accordingly in attendance when he came. These were persons whose sentiments were well-known to- be friendly to the cause of liberty, who had suffered by the hands, lor were, pursued by the suspicions of Zamano, and who, it was naturally supposed, would be eagerly alive to every opportunity of sha- king off the rule of the oppressor. But patriotism, as a philosophic sentiment, to be indulged after a good dinner, and discussed phlegmatically, if not classi- cally, over sherry and cigars, is a very different sort of thing from patriotism as a principle of action, to be prosecuted as a dutry, at every peril, instantly and always, to the death if need be. Our patriots at Bogota were but too frequently of the con- templative, the philosophical order. Patriotism with them was rather a subject; for eloquence than use. They could recall those Utopian histories of Greece and Rome which furnish us swith ideals rather than facts, and sigh for names like those of Cato, and Brutus, and Aristides. But more than this did not seem to enter their imaginations as at all necessary to assert the character which it pleased them to profess, or maintain the reputation which,'.they had prospectively acquired for the very commendable virtue which constituted their ordinary theme. Bolivar found them cold. Accustomed to overthrow and usur- pation, they were now slow to venture property and life upon the predictions and promises of one who, however perfect in page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 SOUTHAWrlA) Io! their estimation as a patriot, had yet suffered froml most capri- cious fortunes. His past history, indeed, except for its patriotism, offered but very doubtful guarantees in favor of the enterprise to which they were invoked. Bolivar was artful and ingenious. He had considerable pow- ers of eloquence--was specious and persuasive; had an oily, and bewitching tongue, like Belial; and, if not altogether capable of making the worse appear the better cause, could at least so. shape the aspects of evil fortune, that, to the unsuspicious nature, they would seem to be the very results aimed at by the most deliber- ate arrangement and resolve. But Bolivar, on this occasion, was something more than inge- nious and persuasive; he was warmly earnest, and passionately eloquent. In truth, he was excited munch beyond his wont. He was stung to indignation by a sense of disappointnent. He had calculated largely on this meeting, and it promised now to be a failure. He had anticipated the eager enthusiasm of a host of brave and noble spirits, ready to fling out the banner of freedom to the winds, and cast the scabbard from the sword for ever. Instead of this, he found but a little knot of cold, irresolute men, thinking only of the perils of life which they should incur, and the forfeiture and loss of property which might accrue from ally hazardous experiments. Bolivar spoke to them in language less artificial and much more impassioned than was his wont. He was a man of impulse rather-than of thought or principle, and, once aroused, the in- tense fire of a southern sun seemed to burn fiercely in all his words and actions. His speech was heard by other ears than those to whichl it was addressed. The shrewd mind of La Pola readily conjec- tured that the meeting at her father's lhouse, at midnight, and under peculiar circumstances, contemplated some extraordinary object. She was aware that a tall, mysterious stranger had passed through the court, under the immediate conduct of her father himself. Her instinct divined in this stranger the person of the deliverer, and her heart would not suffer her to lose the words, or, if possible to obtain it, to forego the sight of the great object of its patriotic worship. Besides, she had a right to know THE IMPROVVISATRICL. 41 and to see. She was of the party, and had done them service. ! Sle was yet to do them more. Concealed in an adjoining apartment--a sort of oratory, con- nected by a gallery with the chamber in which the conspirators :were assembled-she was able to hear the earnest arguments and passionate remonstrances of the Liberator. - They confirmed all her previous admiration of his genius antd character. She felt with indignation the humiliating position which the men of Bogota held in his eyes. She heard their pleas and scruples, and listened with a bitter scorn to the thousandsutlggestions of prudence, the thousand calculations of doubt and caution, with which timidity seeks to avoid precipitating a crisis. She could listen and endure no longer. The spirit of the improvvisatrice was upon her. Was it also that of fate and a higher Provi- dence? -She seized the guitar, of which she was the perfect mistress, and sung even as her soul counselleci and the exigency of the event demanded. Our translation of her lyrical overflow is necessarily a cold and feeble one. It was a dream of freedom, A inocking dream, though bright, That showed the men of Bogota All arming for the figlit; All eager for the hour that wakes The thunders of redeeming war, And rushing forth, with glittering steel, To join the bands of Bolivar. My soul, I said, it can not be That Bogota shall be denied -ler Arismendi too--her chief To pluck her honor up and pride; The wild Llanero boasts his braves That, stung with patriot wrath and shhame, Rushed redly to the realm of graves, And rose, through blood and death, to fame. How glad mine ear with other sounds, Of freemen worthy these that tell! Ribas, who felt Caraccas' wounds, And for her hope and triumph fell; And that young hero, well beloved, y Giraldat, still a name for songi Maring, Piar, dying soon, But, for the fiuture living long. 'I page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 - SOUTtHWARD HO! Olh! could we stir with other names, rlle cold, deaf hearts that hear us now, How would it bring a thousand shames, In fire, to each Bogotan's brow! How clap in pride Grenada's hands, How glows Venezuela's heart, And how, through Cartagena's lands, A thousand chiefs and heroes start. Sodeno, Paez, 16! they rush, Each with his wild and Cossack rout A moment feels the fearful hush, A moment hears the fearful shout! They heed no lack of arts and arms, But all their country's perils feel, And, sworn for fieedom, bravely break, The glitteri)ng legions of Castile. I see the gallant Roxas clasp The towering bainner of her sway; And Monagas, with fearful grasp, Plucks down the chief that stops the way; The reckless Urdaneta rides, Where rives the earth the iron hail; Nor long the Spanish foeman bides, The strokes of old Zaraza's flail! Oh-, generous heroes, how ye rise! How glow your states with equal fires f 'Tis there Valencia's banner flies, And there Cumana's soul aspires; There, on each hand, from east to west, From Oronook to PanLama, Each province bares its noble breast, Each hero-save in Bogota! -At the first sudden gush of the music from within, the fatlici of the damsel started to his feet, and, with confusion in his coun- tenance, was about to leavle the apartment. But Bolivar arrested his footsteps, and in a whisper commanded him to be silent and remain. The conspirators, startled if not alarmed, were com- pelled to listen. Bolivar did so with a pleased attention. He was passionately fond of music, and this was of a sort at once to appeal to his objects and his taste. His eye kindled as the song proceeded. His heart rose With an exulting sentiment. The moment, indeed, embodied one of his greatest triumphs- the tribute of a pure, unsophisticated soul, inspired by Heaven BOLIVAR'S APPEAL. 438 with the happiest and highest endowments, and by earth with i the noblest sentiments of pride and country. When the music ceased, Zalabariata was about to apologize and to explain, but ? Bolivar again gently and affectionately arrested his utterance. "Fear nothing," said he. "Indeed, why should you fear? I :am in the greater danger here, if there be danger for any; and I would as soon place my life in the keeping of that noble damsel, as in the arms of my mother. Let her- remain, my friend; let her hear and see all; and above, do not attempt to apologize for her. She is my ally. Would that she could make thlesezmen of Bogota feel with herself-feel as she makes even me1 to feel." The eloquence of the Liberator received a new impulse from that of the improvisatrice. He renewed his arguments and en- treaties in a different spirit. He denounced, in yet bolder lan- guage than before, that wretched pusillanimity whch, quite as much, lie asserted, as the tyranny of the Spaniard, was the curse lunder which the liberties of the country groaned and suffered. "And now, I ask," he continued, passionately," men of Bo- gota, if ye really-purpose to deny your-selves all share in the glory and peril of the effort which is for your own emancipation. Are your brethren of the other provinces to maintain the con- flict in your behalf, while, with folded hands, you submit, doing nothing' for yourselves? Will you not lift the banner also . WTill you not draw sw\ord in your own honor, and the defence of your firesides and families . Talk not to me of secret contri- butions. It is your manhood, not your money, that is needful for success. And can you withhold yourselves while you pro- fess to hung-er after that liberty for which other men are free to peril all--mlanhood, money, life, hope, everything but honor alld the sense of freedom. But whly speak of peril in this? Peril is everywhere. It is the inevitable child of life, natural to all conditions--to repose as well as action,-to the obscurity which never goes abroad, as well as to that adventure which for ever seeks the field. You incur no more peril in openly )raving your tyrant, all together as one man, than you do thus tamely sitting beneath his footstool, and trembling for ever lest his capricious will may slay as it enslaves. Be you but page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " SOUTHWARD HO l true to yourselves--openly true--and the danger disappears as the night-mists that speed from before the rising sun. There is little that deserves the name of peril in thhe issue which lies before us. We are more than a match-- united, and filled with the proper spirit--for all the forces that Spain can send against us. It is in our coldness that she warms-in our want of unity that she finds strength. But even were we not superior to her in numbers--even were the chances all, Aolly and dfecidedly against us--I still can not see how it is that you hesitate to draw the sword in so sacred a strife- a strife which consecrates the effort, and claims Heaven's sanction for success. Are 'your souls so subdued by servitude, are you so accustomed to bonds and tortures, that these no longer irk and vex your daily con- sciousness? Are you so wedded to inaction that vou cease to feel? Is it the frequency of the punishment that has made you callous to the ignominy and the pain? Certainly, your viceroy gives you frequent occasion to grow reconciled to any degree of hurt and degradation. Daily you behold, and I hear, of the exactions of this tyrant-of the cruelties and the murders to which he accustoms you in Bogota. Hundreds of your friends and kinsmen, even now, lie rotting in the common prisons, de- nied equally your sympathies and every show of justice, perish- ing daily under the most cruel privations. Hundreds lhave per- ished by this and other modes of torture, and the gallows and garote seem never to be unoccupied. Was it not the bleaching skeleton of the venerable Hernano, whom I well knew for his wisdom and patriotism, which I beheld, even as I entered, hang- ing in chains over the gateway of your city? Was he not the victim of his wealth and love of country? Who among you is secure? He dared but to deliver himself as a man--and, as he was suffered to stand alone, he was destroyed. Had you, when he spoke, but prepared yourselves to act, fling out the banner of resistance to the winds, and bared the sword for the last noble struggle, Hernmano had not perished, nor were the glorious work only now to be begun. But which of you, involved in the same peril with Hermano, will find the friend, in the moment of his need, to take the first step for his rescue? Each of you, in turn, having wealth to tempt the spoiler, will be sure to need such friendship. It seems you do not look for it among one TIMDITY OF WEALTH. 45 aiother- awhere, then, do you propose to find itl Will you seek for it among the Cartagenians-among the other prov- inces-to Bolivar w:ithout? Vain expectation, if you are un- willilg to peril anything for yourselves witTbin ! In a tyranny so suspicious and so reckless as is yours, you must momentarily tremble lest ye suffer at the hands of your despot. True man- hood rather prefers any peril which puts an end to this state of anxiety and fear. Thus to tremble with apprehension ever, is ever to be dying. It is a life of death only which ye live-and any death or peril that comes quickly at the summons, is to be preferred before it. If, then, ye have hearts to feel, or Lopes to warm ye-a pride to stffer consciousness of shame, or an ambition that longs for better things'--affections for which to covet 'life, or the courage with which to assert and to defend your affections--ye can not, ye will not hesitate to determine, writh souls of freemen, upon what is needful to be done. Ye hlave but one choice as men; and the question which is left for ye to resolve, is that which determines, not your possessions, not even your lives, but simply your rank and stature in the world of humanity and man." The Liberator paused, not so mudh through his own or the exhaustion of the subject, as that his hearers should in turn be heard. But, with this latter objectj his forbearance was profit- less. There were those among them, indeed, who had their answers -to his exhortations, but these were not of a character to promise boldly for their patriotism or courage. Their profes- sions, indeed, were ample, but were confined to unmeaningr gen- eralities. ";Now is the time--now!" was the response of Bolivar to all that was said. But they faltered and hung back at every utterance of his spasmodically-uttered " now! now!" He scanned their faces eagerly, with a hope that gradually I yielded to despondency. Their features were blank and inex- "pressive, as their answers had been meaningless or evasive. i Several of them were of that class of quiet citizens, unaccus- ; tomed to any enterprises but those of trade, who are always slow I to peril wealth by a direct issue with their despotism. They felt the truth of Bolivar's assertions. They knew that their treasures were only so many baits and lures to the cupidity and exactions of the royal emissaries, but they still relied on their page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " SOUTHWaruD no! habitual caution and docility to keep terms withl the tyranny at which they yet trembled. Wl1c,1, in the warlimthl of his entihu- siRasm, Bolivar depicted the bloody struggles whllich mst precede their deliverance, they began, indeed, to wonder among them- selves how they ever came to fall into that mischievous phlos- oi oplhy of patriotism which had involved them with such a restless rebel as Bolivar! Others of the company were ancient hdal- gos, whlo had been men of spirit in their day, but who had sur- vived the season of en'terprise, which is that period only when the heart swells and overflows with fth tides of warm and impetuous blood. "Your error," said he, in a whisper to Seior Don Joachim de Zalabariata, " was in not bringing younlg men into your collunsels." "We slifall have them hereafter,"' was the reply, also in a whisper. "We shall see," muttered the Liberator, who continued, thoughll ill silence, to scan the assembly with inquisitive eyes, and an excitemen t of soul, which increased dtly with his efforts to subdue it. He had found some allies in the circle--some few generoius spirits, who, responding to his desires, were anxious to be up and doing. But it was only too apparent that the main body of the company had been rather disquieted than warmed. In this condition of hopeless and speechless indecision, the emo- tions of the Liberator became scarcely controllable. His whole frame trembled with the anxiety and indignation of his spirit, He paced the room hurriedly, passing from group to group, appealing to individuals now, where hitherto he had spoken col- lectively, and suggesting detailed arguments inl behalf of hopes ' and 'objects, which it does not need that we should incorporate with our narrative. But when he found how feeble was the influence which he exercised, and how cold was the echo to his appeal, le became impatient, and no longer strove to modify the expression of that scorn and indignation which he had for some time felt. The explosion followed in no measured language. ; "Mnen of Bogota, yon are not worthy to be free. Your chains [ are merited. You deserve your insecurities, and may embrace, even as ye please, the fates which lie before you. Acquiesce in the tyranny which offends no longer, but be sure that acqui- INDIGNATION OF THE1 IMP0OVVISATUICE. 47 escence never yet has disarmed the despot when his rapacity needs a victim. Your lives and possessions-- which ye dare not peril in the cause of freedom-lie equally at his mercy. He will not pause; as you do, to use them at his pleasure. To save them from him there is but one way-to employ them against him. There is no security against power but in power; and to clleck the insolence of foreign strength you must oppose to it your own. This ye have not soul to do, and I leave you to the 1destiny you have chosen. This day, this night, it was yours to resolve, I have perilled all to tnove youn to the proper resolu- tion. You have denied me, and I leave you. To-morrow-un- less indeed I am betrayed to-night"--looking with a sarcastic smile around him as he spoke-"I shall unfurl the banner of the republic even within your own province, in behalf of Bogota, and seek, even against your own desires, to bestow upon you those blessings of liberty which ye have not the soul to conquer for yourselves." CHAPTER II. HARDLY had these words been spoken, when the guitar again sounded from witin. Every ear was instantly husheed as the strain ascended-a strain, more ambitious than the preceding, of melancholy and indignant .apostrophe. The improvvisatrice was no longer able to control the passionate inspiration which took its tone fro#x the stern eloquence of the Liberator. She caught from himithe burning sentiment of scorn which it was no longer his policy to repress, and gave it additional effect in the polished sarcasm of her song. Our translation will poorly suf- fice to convey a proper notion of the strain. Then be it so, if serviles ye will be, When manhood's soul had broken every chain, 'Twere scarce a blessing now to make ye free, For such'condition tutored long in vain; Yet may we weep the fortunes of our land, Though woman's tears were niever known to take One link away from that oppre:sive band . Ye have not soul, not soul cliough to break! Oh! there were hearts of might in other days, Brave chiefs, whose memory still is dear to fame; Alas for ours!--the gallant deeds we praise But show more deeply red our cheeks of shame: page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 SOUTHWARD HO! As fronm the midnight gloom the weary eye, With sense that can not the bright dawn forget, Looks sadly hopeless, from the vacant sky, To that where late the glorious day-stlar set! Yet all's not midnight dark if, in your land, There be some gallant hearts to brave the strife; One single generous blow from Freeccdo's hand May speak again our sunniest hopes' to life; If but one blessed drop in living veins Be worthy those who tceacll us from the dead, Vengeance and weapons both are in your chains, Iurled fearlessly upon your despot's head! Yet, if no memory of the living past Can wake ye now to brave the indignant strife, 'Twere nothing wise, at least, that we sliould last When death itself might wear a look of life! Ay, when the oppressive arm is lifted high, And scourge and torture still conduct to graves, To strike, though hopeless still--to strike and die! They live not, worthy fireedom, who .lare slaves! As the song proceeded, Bolivar stood forward as one rapt in ecstacy. The exultation brightened in his eye, and his manner was that of a soul in the realization of its highest triumph. Not so the Bogotans by whom, he was surrounded. They felt the terrible sarcasm which the damsel's song conveyed-a sarcasm'l immortalized to all the future, in the undying depths of a song to be remembered. They felt the humiliation of such a record, and hung their heads in shame. At the close of the ballad, Bolivar exclaimed to Joachim de Zalabarietta, the father: "Bring the child before us. She is worthy to be a prime min- ister. A prime minister? No! the hero of the forlorn hope! a spirit to raise a fallen standard from the dust, and to tear down and trample that of the enemy. Bring her forth, Joachim. Had your mnen of Bogota but-a tithe of a heart so precious! Nay, could her heart be divided among them-it might serve a thou- sand--there were no viceroy of Spain within your city now!" And when the father brought her forth from the little cabinet, that girl, flashing with inspiration-pale and red by turns-- slightly made, but graceful-very. lovely to look upon- I wrapped in loose white garments, with her long hair, dark and ,flowing unconfined, and so long that it was easy for her to THE PROMSE. .49 walk upon it*--the admiration of the Liberator was insuppres. sible. : "Bless you for ever," he cried, " my fair Princess of Free- dom! You, at least, have a free soul, and one that is certainly inspired by the great divinity of earth. You shall be mine ally, thoughl I fimnd none other in all Bogota sufficiently courageous. In you, my child, in you and yours, there is still a redeeming spirit which shall save your city utterly from shame!" While he spoke, the emotions of the maiden were of a sort readily to show how easily she should be quickened with the inspiration of lyric song. The color came and went upon her soft white cheeks. The tears rose, big and bright, upon her eyelashes-- heavy drops, incapable of suppression, that swelled one after the other, trembled and fell, while theli ght blazed, even more brightly from the showers in the dark and dilating orbs which harbored such capacious fountains. She had no words at first, but, trembling like a leaf, sunk upon a cushion at the feet of her father, as Bolivar, with a kiss upon her forehead, released her from his clasp. Her courage came back to her a moment after. S1he was a thing of impulse, whose movements were as prompt and unexpected as the inspiration by which she snng. Bolivar had scarcely turned from her, as if to relieve her tremor, when she recovered all her strength and courage. Sud- denly rising from the cushion, she seized the hand of her father, and with an action equally passionate and dignified, she led him to the Liberator, to whom, speaking for the first time in that presence, she thus addressed herself: - "e He is yours-he has always been ready with his life and money. Believe me, for I know it. Nay more! doubt not that there are hundreds in Bogota--though they be not here--who, like him, will be ready whenever they hear the summons of your trumpet. Nor will the women of Bogota be wanting. There will be many of them who will take the weapons of those who use them not, and do 'as brave deeds for their country as lid the dames of Magdalena when they slew four hundred Spaniards."t ^ A frequent case among the maids of South America. t This terrible slaughter took place on the night of the 16th of June, 1816, under the advice and with the participation of the women of Mornpox, a beau- 3 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 SOUTHWARD EO! "Ah! I remember! A most glorious achievement, and wor- thy to be written in letters of gold. It was at Mompox, where they rose upon the garrison of Aiorillo. Girl, you are worthy to have been the chief of those women of Magdalena. You will be chief yet of the women of Bogota. I take your assurance with regard to them; but, for the men, it were better that thou peril nothing even in thy speech." The last sarcasm of the Liberator might have been spared. That which his eloquence had failed to effect was suddenly ac- complished by this child of beauty. Her inspiration and presence were electrical. The old forgot their caution and their years. The young, who needed but a leader, had suddenly found a genius. There was now no la'ck of the necessary enthusiasm. There were no more scruples. Hesitation yielded to resolve. The required pledges were given- given more abundantly than required; and, raising the slight form of the damsel to his own height, Bolivar again pressed his lips upon her forehead, gazing at her with a respectful'delight, while he bestowed upon her the name of the Guardian Angel of Bogota. With a heart bound- ing and beating with the most enthusiastic emotions--too full for further utterance- La Pola disappeared from that imposing presence which her coming had filled with a new life and impulse CHAPTER III. ITwas nearly dawn when the Liberator left the city. Thlat night the bleaching skeleton of the venerable patriot Hermano was taken down from the gibbet where it had hunlg so long, by hands that left the ,revolutionary banner waving proudly in its place. This was an event to startle the viceroy. It was fol- lowed by other events. In a few days more, and the sounds of tiful city on an island in the river Magdalena. The event has enlisted the muse of many a native patriot and poet, who grew wild when they recalled the courage of "Those dames of Magdalena; Who, in one fearful night, Slew full four hundred tyrants, Nor shrunk from blood in fright." Such women deserve the apostrophe of Macheth to his wife:-- "' Bring forth men children only." PROGRESS OF THE WAR. 51 ! insurrection were lheard throughout the province--the city still ;J moving secretly-sending forth supplies an& intelligence by ! stealth, but unable to raise the standard of rebellion, while Za- - mano, the viceroy, doubtful of its loyalty, remained in posses- sion of its strong places with an overawing force. Bolivar him- self, under these circumstances, was unwilling that the patriots should throw aside the mask. Throughout the province, how- ever, the rising was general. They responded eagerly to the call of the Liberator, and it was easy to foresee that their cause must ultimately prevail. The people in conflict proved them- selves equal to their rulers. The Spaniards had been neither moderate wlhen strong, nor were they prudent now when the conflict found them weak. Still, the successes were various. The Spaniards had a foothold from which it was not easy to ex- pel them, and were in possession of resources, in arms and mate- rial, derived from the mother-country, with which the republi- cans found it no easy matter to contend. But they did contend, and this, with the right upon their side, was the great guarantee for success. What the Colombians wanted in the materials of warfare, was more than supplied by their energy and patriotism; and, however slow in attaining their desired object, it was yet evident to all, except their enemies, that the issue was certainly in their own hands. For two years that the war had been carried on, the casual observer could, perhaps, see but little change in the respective relations of the combatants. Thle Spaniards still continued to maintain their foothold wherever the risings of the patriots had been premature or partial. But the resources of the former were hourly undergoing diminution, and -the great lessening of the productions of the country, incident to its iinsurrectionary condition, had subtracted largely from the temptations to the further prosecution of the war. The hopes of the patriots natu- rally rose with the depression of their enemies, and their in- creasing numbers, and improving slkill in the use of their weap- ons, not a little contributed to their endurance and activity. But for this history we must look to other volumes. The question for us is confined to an individual. How, in all this time, had Lk Pola redeemed her pledge to the Liberator-how had she whom he had described as the "guardian genius of Bogota," page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 SOUTHWARD HO! adhered to the enthusiastic faith which she had voluntarily | pledged to him in behalf of herself and people ? i Now, it may be supposed that a woman's promise, to partici- pate it the business of an insurrection, is not the thing upon which Inuch stress is to be laid. We are apt to assume for the sex a too humble capacity for high performances, and a too small sympathy with tle interests and-affairs of public life. In both respects we are mistaken. A proper education for the sex would result in showing their ability to share with man in all his toils, and to sympathize with him in all the legitimate con- cerns of manhood. But what, demands the caviller, can be ex- pected of a child of fifteen ? and should her promises be held against her for rigid fulfilment and performance ? It might be enough to answer that we are writing a sober history, There is the record. The fact is as we give it. But a girl of fifteen, in the warm latitude of South America, is quite as mature as, the northern maiden of twenty-five; with an ardor in her nature that seems to wing the operations of the mind, making that intu- itive with her, which, in the person of a colder climate, is the result only of long calculation and deliberate thought. She is sometimes a mother at twelve, and, as in the case of La Pola, a heroine at fifteen. We freely admit that Bolivar, though, greatly interested in the improvvisatrice, was chiefly grateful to her for the timely rebuke which she administered, through her peculiar faculty of lyric song, to 'the unpatriotic inactivity of her country- men. As a matter of cours'e, he might still expect that the same muse would take fire under similar provocation hereafter. But he certainly never calculated on other and more decided services at her hands. He misunderstood the being whom he. had somewhat contributed to inspire. He did not appreciate her ambition, or comprehend her resources. From the moment of his meeting with her she became a woman. She was already a politician as she was a poet. Intrigue is natural to the genius i- of the sex, and the faculty is enlivened by the possession of a warm imagination. La Pola put all her facuilties in requisition. : Her soul was now addressed to the achievement of some plan of co-operation with the republican chief, and she succeeded, where i wiser persons must lhavee failed, in compassing the desirable facilities. I POLITICS OF THE IMPROVVISATRICE. 53 Living in Bogota-the stronghold of the enemy--she exer- cised a policy and address which disarmed suspicion. Her father :i and his family were to be saved and shielded, while they re- : mained under the power of the viceroy, Zamano -a; military des- pot who had already acquired a reputation for cruelty scarcely inferior to that of the worst of the Roman emperors in the latter days of the empire. The wealth of her father, partly known, made him a desirable victim. Her beauty, her spirit, the charm of her song and conversation, were exercised, as well to secure favor for him, as to procure the needed intelligence and assis- tance for the Liberator., She managed the twofold object with admirable success--disarming suspicion, and, under cover of the confidence which she inspired, succeeding in effecting constant communication with the patriots, by which she ptit into their possession all the plans of the Spaniards. Her rare talents and beauty were the chief sources of her success. She subdued her passionate and intense nature-her wild impulse and eager heart-employing them only to impart to her fancy a more im- pressive and spiritual existence. She clothed her genius in the brightest and gayest colors, sporting above theprecipice of feel- ing, and making of it a background and a relief to heighten the charm of her seemingly' wilful fancy. Song came at her sum- mons, and disarmed the serious questioner. In the eyes of her country's enemies she was only the improvvisatrice-a rarely gifted creature, living in the clouds, and totally regardless of the things of earth. She could thus beguile from the young officers of the Spanish army, without provoking the slightest apprehen- sion of any sinister object, the secret plan and purpose-the new supply- the contemplated enterprise-in short, a thousand - things which, as an inspired idiot, might be yielded to her with indifference, which, in the case of one solicitous to know, would be guarded with the most jealous vigilance. She was the prin- cess of the tertulia-that mode of evening entertainment so com- mon, yet so precious, among the Spaniards. At these parties she ministered with a grace and influence which made the house of her father a place of general resort. The Spanish gallants thronged about her -person, watchful of her every motion, and yielding always to the exquisite compass, and delightful spiritu- ality of her song. At worst, they suspected her of no greater page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 SOUTHWARD HO! offence'than of being totally heartless, with all her charms, and of aiming at no treachery more dangerous than that of making conquests, simply to deride them. It was the popular qualifica- tion of all her beauties and accomplishments that she was a co- quette, at once so cold, and so insatiate. Perhaps, the woman politician never so thoroughly conceals her game as when she masks it with the art which men are most apt to describe as the prevailing passion of the sex. By these arts, La Pola fulfilled most amply her pledges to the liberator. She was, indeed, Iis most admirable ally inii Bogota. She soon became thoroughly conversant with all the facts in the condition of the Spanish army-the strength of the several armaments, their disposition and destination--the oper- ations in prospect, and the opinions and merits of the officers- all of whom she knew, and from whom she obtained no small knowledge of the worth and value of their absent comrades. These particulars, all regularly transmitted to Bolivar, were quite as much the secret of his success, as his own genius and the valor of his troops. The constant disappointment and de- feat of the royalist arms, in the operations which were conduct- ed in the province of Bogota, attested the closeness and correct- ness of her knowledge, and its vast importance to the cause of the patriots. CHAPTER IV. Unfortunately, however, one of her communications was ill- tercepted, and the cowardly bearer, intimidated by the terrors of impending death, was persuaded to betray his employer. He revealed all that he knew of her practices, and one of his state- ments, namely, that she usually drew from her shoe the paper which she gave him, served to fix conclusively upon her the proofs of her offence. She was arrested in the midst of an ad- miring throng, presiding with her usual grace at the tertulia, to which her wit and music furnished the eminent attractions. Forced to submit, her shoes were taken from her feet in the presence of the crowd, and in one of them, between the sole and the lining, was a memorandum designed for Bolivar, containing the details, in anticipation, of one of the intended movements of the viceroy. She was not confounded, nor did she sink beneath I DETECTION AND DOOM. 55 this discovery. Her soul seem d to rise rather into an unusual degree of serenity and strength. She encouraged her friends with smiles and the sweetest seeming indifference, though she well knew that her doom was certainly at hand. She had her consolations even under this conviction. Her father was in safety in the camp of Bolivar. With her counsel and assistance he would save much of his property from the wreck of confiscation. The plot had ripened in her hands almost to maturity, and, be- fore very long, Bogota itself would speak for liberty in a formi- dable pronunciamento. And this was mostly her work! What more was done, by her agency and influence, may be readily conjectured from what has been already written. Enough, that she herself felt that in leaving life she left it when there-was little more left for her to do. La Pola was hurried from the tertulia before a military court --martial law then prevailing in the capital--with a rapidity corresponding with the supposed enormity of her offences. It was her chief pang that she was not hurried there alone. We have not hitherto mentioned that she had a-lovet, one Juan de Sylva Gomero, to whom she was affianced--a worthy and noble youth, who entertained for her the most passionate attachment. It is a somewhat curious fact that she kept him wholly from any knowledge of her political alliances; and never was man more indignant than he when she was arrested, or more con- founded when the proofs of her guilt were drawn from her per- son. His offence consisted in his resistance to the authorities who seized her. There was not the slightest reason to suppose that he knew or participated at all in her intimacy with the pa- triots and Bolivar. He was tried along with her, and both con- demned--for at this time condemnation and trial were words of synonymous import-to be shot. A respite of twelve hours from execution was granted them for the purposes of confession. Zam'ano, the viceroy, anxious for other victims, spared no means to procure a full revelation of all the-secrets of our heroine. The priest who waited upon her was the one who attended on the viceroy himself. lie held out lures of pardon for both, here and hereafter, upon the one condition only of a full declaration of her secrets and accomplices. Well might theleading people of Bogota tremble all the. while. But she was firm in her re- page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 - SOUTHlWARD HO! fusal. Neither promises of present mercy, nor threats of the future, could extort from her a single fact in relation to her pro- ceedings. Her lover, naturally desirous of life, particularly ill the possession of so much to make it precious, joined in the en- treaties of the priest; but she answered him with a mournful severity that smote him like a sharp weapon- "Gomero! did I love you for this? Beware, lest I hate you ere I die! Is life so dear to you that you would dishonor both of us to live? Is there no consolation in the thought that we shall die together" "But we shall be spared--we shall be saved," was the reply of the lover. "Believe it not--it is false! Zamano spares none. Our lives are forfeit, and all that we could say would be unavailipg to avert your fate or mine. Let us -not lessen the value of this sacrifice on the altars of our country, by any unworthy fears. If you have ever loved me, be firm. I am a woman, but I am strong. Be not less ready for the death-shot than is she whom you-have chosen for your wife." Other arts were employed by the despot for the attainment of his desires. Some of the native citizens of Bogota, who had been content to become the creatures of' the viceroy, were em- ployed to work upon her fears and affections, by alarming her with regard to persons of the city whom she greatly esteemed and valued, and whom Zamano suspected. But their endeavors were met wholly with scorn. When they entreated her, among other things, "to give peace to her country," the phrase seemed to awaken all her indignation. "Peace! peace to our country!" she exclaimed. "What peace! the peace of death, and shame, and the grave, for ever!" And her soul again found relief only in its wild lyrical overflow. What peace for our country, when ye've'made her a grave, A den foerthe tyrant, a cell for the slave; A pestilent plague-spot, accursing-and curst, As vile as the vilest, and worse than the worst! The chain may be broken, the tyranny o'er, But the sweet charms that blessed her ye may not restore; Not your blood, though poured forth from life's ruddiest vein, Shall free her from sorrow, or cleanse her from stain! XI\ IES LA PATRIA. . 'Tis the grief that ye may not remove the disgrace, That brands with the blackness of hell all your race; 'Tis the sorrow that nothing may cleanse ye of shame, That has wrought us to madness, and filled us with flame. Years may pass, but the memory deep in our souls, Shall make the tale darker as Time onward rolls; And the future that grows from our ruin shall know Its own, and its country's, and liberty's foe. And still, in the prayer at its altars shall rise, Appeal for the vengeance of earth and of skies; Men shall pray that the curse of all time may pursue, And plead for the curse of eternity too! Nor wantonly vengeful in spirit their prayer, Since the weal of the whole world forbids them to spare; What hope would there be for mankind if our race, Through the rule of the brutal, is robbed by the base? What hope for the future, what hope for the free,- And where would the promise of liberty be, If Time had no terror, no doom for the slave, Who would stab his own mother, and shout o'er her grave! Such a response as this effectually silenced- all those cunning agents of the viceroy who urged their arguments in behalf of their country. Nothing, it was seen, could be done with a spirit so inflexible; and in his fury Zamano ordered the couple forth to instant execution. Bogota was in mourning. Its people cov- ered their heads, a few only excepted, and refused to be seen or comforted. The priests who attended the victims received no satisfaction as concerned the secrets of the patriots; and they retired in chagrin, and without granting absolution to either vic- tim. The firing party made ready. Then it was, for the first time, that the spirit of this noble maiden seemed to shrink from the approach of death. "Butcher!" she exclaimed to the viceroy, who stood in his balcony, overlooking the scene of execution. "Butcher! you have then the heart to kill a woman!" These were the only words of weakness. She recovered her- self instantly, and, preparing for her fate, without looking for any effect from her words, she proceeded to, cover her face with the saya, or veil, which she wore. Drawing it aside for the pur- y pose, the words "Vive la Patria " embroidered in letters of 3* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 SOUTHWARD HO! gold, were discovered on the\ basuizna. As the signal for exe- cution was given, a distant hum, as of the clamors of all, ap- proaching army, was heard fitfully to rise upon the air. "It is he! He comes! It is Bolivar! It is the Liberator!" was her cry, in a tone of hope and triumph, which found its echo in the bosom of hundreds who dared not give their hearts a voice. It was, indeed, the Liberator. Bolivar was at hand, pressing onward with all speed to the work of deliverance; but he came too late for the rescue of the beautiful and gifted damsel to whom he owed so much. The fatal bullets of the executioners pene- trated her heart ere the cry of her exultation had subsided from the ear. Thus perished a woman worthy to be remembered with the purest and proudest who have done honor to nature and the sex; one whAo, with all the feelings and sensibilities of the woman, possessed all the pride and patriotism, the courage, the sagacity and the daring of the man. s CH APTER V. 7^ ( T'FdWe did keep time, sir, in our catchies." [Twelfth Night. As a matter of course, the contribution of our fair companiol was received with warmest thanks and congratulations. Sh, had delivered herself of the pleasant labor, as if there had beei a pleasure in the service-unaffectedly, with equal ease, modes ty and spirit. Her narrative was graceful, while her lyrica efforts were marked by an enthusiasm which was regulated, ii turn, by the nicest delicacy and good taste. My Gothamit( friend was all in raptures, and I fancied that his praises wer4 by no means of ungracious sound in the ears of Miss Burroughs Selina, by the way-the name which my long intimacy with he permitted me to use familiarly--was young enough for senti ment-was, as I believed, quite free of any attachments; and though too quiet to figure conspicuously in a fashionable jam was here just in the situation which could most i effectually ex hbit her more charming qualities. My friend Duyckman wa evidently touched. There was a probability, indeed--so i fancied-that each of them, before long, would be inclined ti say, in the language of Nicholas Bottom, "I shall desire, you of more acquaintance, good master Pease Blossom." I could lool on such a growth of liking between the parties with, great comu plaisancy. To one who is no longer in the field, the sweetesh picture in the world is in the gradual approach of two younp fond hearts to i one another--they themselves, perhaps, quite unconscious of the tendency, yet as docile as the ductile needl to the directing finger of the pole. For awhile the conversation became general among the group. The night w as passing insensibly. It was so calm soft, seductive, that sleep was forgotten, The cares of trade the tasks of, toil, the intensity of study, affected none of us page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 soUTHraw D Ho! Each, with a fresh sense of freedom, was free also from all sense of physical exhaustion. Why sleep? There were listeners, and each unlocked his stores. The oyster war was re-called, and other anecdotes given. As we swept along by the shores of New Jersey, which we could no longer see, her people, char- acter, and history, furnished our topics. It was- admitted that the Jerseyans were a sterling sort of people. They had shown good pluck in the Revolution, and their country had furnished the battle-fields of some of our most glorious actions -Monmouth, Princeton, Trenton. These recalled Washington, and Lee, and Lafayette, and many others. It was admitted that- "The Jerseyan, when a gentleman, was of the best models; and even when not exactly a gentleman, was still to be recog- nised as a good fellow. Without being the swashing, conceited Gothamite, he was yet very far from resembling the prim, demure broad-brims of the Quaker city. In other words, he was gay and gallant, without rtdeness or foppery; and firm and thoughtful, without,being strait-laced and puritanical. In brief, he had a character of his own, and was not made up of the odds and ends of all sorts of people." Our son of Gotham did not exactly relish the comparison. thus made by one of the group, and replied in a rather stale sarcasm:- "The less said by way of comparison between Jersey, as between New York and fPhiladelphia, the better. As old Franklin phrased it-she is the barrel on tap at both ends." The retort followed from the-former speaker. "These two cities are the sewers of Jersey. She uses them for common purposes-employing them where needful for her common uses, without being responsible for -their morals, or troubled with their nuisances, She is fortunate in escaping the evils of great cities, which she can nevertheless use at pleasure." This was a new view of the case which had never occurred to our Gothamite, and required reflection. He had no imme- diate answer. The other speaker continued, and made his contributions to our entertainment by a statement of certain facts which might be wrought into story. "Jersey," he said, u" even along the shores, and, in recent periods, is not without its picturesque and romantic. It is not- DALTON THE STRANGER. 61 long, since that the coast which we are passing was distinguished infamously by a;class of cruel outlaws, who were not the less It nmurderous because they performed their crimes under the cover of night and tempest. Here, in situations favorable to their accursed trade, dwelt a race of land pirates, such as roved the wastes of the Mississippi-such as not many years ago occu- pied the Keys of Florida-such as still mislead and prey upon the innocent and unsuspecting, on the dreary land routes to Oregon and California. These were wreckers, who lived upon whaifs cast up by the sea, and who hung out false lights, when the nights were dark and stormy, to beguile the unwary and exhausted mariner. Everybody is aware of the' sort of life which- they pursued, for many years, during a period still fresh within the memories of men; though no one can conjecture the extent to which they carried their nefarious traffic. I heard a story, not long ago, told by a sea-captain along this route, which he assured me he had frolm sthe very best authority." We were all agog to hear, and our Jerseyan thus proceeded:- "It appears that some twenty years ago there suddenly'ap- peared a stranger in the country along shore--in a lonely and sequestered spot--of whomn nobody knew anything. Briefly, no one was particularly curious to inquire. He was moody, reserved, sofnewhat sullen, and a person whose aspect gave warning of irritable passions, while his physique was one of great muscular activity andi power. He described hiinself as an Englishman, and went by the name of Dalton. As far as the people could gather from himself and others, he was under- stood to have been a sailor, and a deserter from the royal navy. This was, to, a small degree, a source of sympathy for him- particularly as he had been cruelly treated in the service. Some accounts spoke of him as one who, in sudden fray had used a marlin-spike with a little too heavy a hand upon an inso- lent and brutal lieutenant. In leaving the service, however, in disgust, and at short notice, he yet took up another trade which still kept him in daily commerce with the ocean. The sight of this field was, perhaps, more natural to his eyes than any other. He made- his way along shore to a portion of the coast where the restraints of society and law were fewest. Here he natu- vrally,.became a wrecker, and gathered his spoils along the sea. page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 SOUTHWARID O! side, after a fashion but too common with his neighbors. Every storm brought himh tribute, and his accumulations began to be considerable. Wrecks increased fearfully after his appearance in the neighborhood; and, for the goods thus brought to these wild outlaws, by a wretched fortune, they had but one duty to perform--to bury out of sight the human sufferers who were quite as frequently the victims of their cruel snares as of the treacherous shores and tempests. "Dalton prospered in the horrid trade; and the rude cabin in which he dwelt alone, and which was visited but rarely, began to improve in its furniture. Bedsteads and beds, beyond what he himself could use or seemed to need, were accunulated in his sol- itary chamber. Chairs and tables and mirror followed. Supplies of crockery, and other things, implying the presence of woman, were gradually brought from the cities; and conjecture exagger- ated the value of his stores and treasures. At length, the mys- tery of these proceedings was explained. Dalton was now heard to speak of mother, wife, and sister-all of whom he expected from England--to whom he had written, and sent the necessary money for emigration. He spoke of these relations with a show of feeling which occasionally softened, and even sweetened, his savage aspect and utterance; and seemed to entertain for them severally a degree of affection, which could hardly have been expected from his nature. He was a coarse, uneducated man, and the villanous scrawl which declared his wishes to his kindred, was revised by one of his neighbors, better read than himself, from whom, it seems, these particulars were -afterward obtained. His letter was despatched, and he spoke frequently of the family which he expected, and for which he had prepared his dwelling, filling it with comforts, to 'which, in all probability, they had never before been accustomed. "But months elapsed, bringing him no answer to his entreaties. Meanwlile, he still, continued his fearful and criminal employ- ments. Still he prospered in all merely pecuniary respects. He became the envy of those who regarded- his accumulations as the proper and permanent objects of desire. But the wages of sinl and death are delusions also;--mockeTies, which mortify the very meanest hearts, even when they are most sought, andi most in possession. - T-THE LEE SHORE. 6c "One dark and threatening evening in September, the wine blowing a gale which increased in fury as the night came on, sail was dimly descried in the distance. In the growing darkl ness she disappeared. But, through the night, at intervals the boomings of a cannon might be heard. These appeals ol terror soon ceased; swallowed up in the united roar of sea and storm and thunder. The billows, in mountain rollers, came it upon the sandy shore. But the tempest did not affright oui wreckers. They welcomed the increasing violence of the storm They were abroad and busy--one of them at least. : ( "Dalton had marked the vessel, dimly seen at sunset, for his prey. The course of the wind, the season, the violence of the gale, the proximity of the fated craft to the leeshore, all con- tributed to fill him with the horrid hope of plunder at the ex- pense of life and humanity. He stole out from his hovel, under cover of the darkness, heedless of the driving fury of the wind, to an elevated hammock of sand, where he fired a beacon of tar- barrels. What mocking hopes did this blaze awaken in the bosoms of the hapless creatures in that barque? lie thought nothing of them. Possibly, otler lights were kindled, like those of Dalton, and with like charitable' purposes. The diabolical purpose was aptly answered by the watchful Fates! "That night, while Dalton crouched in his cabin, he fancied that he heard human voices appealing to him, above all the voices of the storm. . It was not the lingering human feeling within his heart, which made him listen and tremble with strange and sti- fling sensations. But, he fancied that he was called by name. He fancied that the voices were familiar, and it seemed to. him that, in his very ears were syllabled in shrieks, the several words --'brother,' 'husband,' 'son.' He was paralyzed. A cold sweat covered his frame. -He could not stir. He could not speak. He sat beside his chimney in a strange stupor, which forbade that he should either sleep or go forth! "But habitual guilt is a thing of rare powers of hardihood and endurance. Cupidity came to his relief. He meditated the great gains of his trade. The prey was in the toils, beyond possibility of escape, and before the dawn its struggles would have ceased. The morning came. With the first gray streak, Y of light he was forth and upon the sands. The storm:had sub- page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] ? r ' 64 SOUTHrWAiM HO - : sided, the sun had opened his eyes, all briglitness, upon the beautiful world. But the seas were still tumultuous, and Dalton could see that a large fragment of the strandecship, was still tossing in their wild embraces in a little cov effich the waves had eaten into the sands. Everywhere befroe him were the proofs of wreck and ruin. Here a mast and slar, there a bit of deck and bulwark; there rolled a barrel in upon the reef, and there floated away a naked raft and hammock. "As he wandered, seeking and picking up his spoils, he hap- pened suddenly upon other trophies of the storm. On the very edge of the sea, where it blended with the shore in comparative calm, lay two human bodies locked closely in a last embrace. Both were females. Their heads rested upon the sands. Their garments, and the arms of one, were lifted to and fro by the billows. Did they live? He approached them with feelings, strange to him, of equal awe and curiosity. He had a fearful presentiment of the truth. He drew them front the waters. He unclasped them from that strong embrace which they had taken in death. He beheld their faces. "'Mother! Sister!' "Ee knew them at a glance! "And it was his hand that had fired the beacon which had conducted both to death. "'My wife! my wife! I have drowned my wife!' "Where was she! He. looked for-her in vain. The remorse- less sea gave, up no other of its victims. But he found a box in which were his own letters. They told her fate. "His horror and remorse, too lately awakened, suffered him to keep no secrets. His first outcry revealed the whole terrible. history. He had avenged humanity upon himself. Even among the wild creatures with whom he herded, the temriible judgment upon his own miserable soul, inflicted by his own deed, was too awful to seem to need other penalties. He was suffered to go free. He remained only long enough in the neighborliood to see the poor corses deposited in earth, and then fled, leaving all behind him,-fled into the interior, and, it was said, nine years afterward, that he was then to be found, somewhere in Ohio, a sad, gray-headed man, a devout Christian, reconciled to the Church, and waiting humbly for that change, which, it was his THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. 65 hope-and should be ours,-might fwitness the purification 'of his stains through the saving grace of his Redeemer." Our Jerseyan, having finished his voluntary yarn, was voted the thanks of the company; and it was then unanimously agreed that our Gothamite should take up the reel, and see what hpe could do, at warp and woof, in the business of invention. ( We were promised a story of the troubadours, I think, sir," said Miss Burroughs. We all concurred in the subject thius indicated, and, after certain modest preliminaries, Duyckman gave us a curious pic- ture of the fantastical sentiment--serious enough in its way-- of which we may find so many remarkable examples in the his- tory of chivalry and the crusades. It may not be amiss to ap- prise the reader that he will find an actual biography in what follows. THE PILGRIM .OF LOVE. "Sails, oars, that might not save, The death he sought, to Geoffrey Rudel gave."' PETRARCH-. THE history of the Provencal troubadours is full of grateful and instructive material- curious as history, instructive as de- veloping a highly-artificial state of society, and full of interest as literary biography. To the young poet, the study is one which will teach many useful lessons of his art. To the pas- sionate dreamer of romance, it will yield delicious provocations to revery, inll which all his ideals will be satisfied. These biog- raphies should be written out by poets; not in verse, for that might suggest doubts of their veracity, but- in a prose at once sparkling and sentimental; uniting the oriental fancy of Curtis, with the sighing pathos of a Noprton or a Landon. We commend. the idea to study and examination; and will content ourselves, in the meantime, with a brief sketch of one of the most remark- able troubadours of his age and order. Geoffrey Rudel was a prince of Blaye, as well as'a trouba- Y dour. In those days, nobility was not inconsistent with letters. page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " SOUTHWARD O O! Our poet was one of those who could wield the sword as well as the lyre. Hewas a knight of high reputation, and a gentleman; and, as such, wore the honors of chivalry with all the grace of one "to the manner born." But, with all' these possessions, there was one deficiency, which was considered fatal to the perfection of his character. His grace and courtesy were acknowledged in court and chamber. He could make his enemy tremble in the field. As a poet he had fire and senti- ment, and was peculiarly sensible to the-glories of the visible world. He was the favorite of princes, and was ranked among, the friends of no less a personage than Richard Coeur de Lion. But he had never once been troubled with the tender passion. He had never been beguiled to love by beauty. He acknowl- edged the charms of woman, but he remained unenslaved. HlIe could sing of the attractions which he did not feel. He had his muse, perhaps his ideal perfection, and to her he sung. He portrayed her charms, but he neither found nor seemed to seek them. Tradition vaguely hints at efforts which he made, to discern a likeness in the living world to the exquisite creation embodied in his mind. But he seemed to search for her in vain. His wanderings, seeking for this perfect creature, were wholly without profit. It does not seem that he exulted in his insensi- bility. An object of universal admiration himself, he himself constantly strove to admire. He did admire, but he did not love. The object of pursuit eluded his grasp. In those days, it was deemed no impropriety, on ,the part of the fairer sex, to seek openly the conquest of the brave knight and the noble poet. Beauty sought Geoffrey' Rudel in his solitude. She brought him rarest tribute. She spoke to him in songs, sweet as his own, and with oriental flowers more precious than any which his care had cultured. She did not conceal the passion which his accomplishments had inspired; but she declared her secret in vain. His heart seemed invulnerable to every shaft. His soul remained inaccessible to all the sweet solicitings of love. It must not be thought that he found pride in this insensi- bility. 'Ie felt it as a misfortune. For the troubadour not to love, was to deprive his verses of that very charm which alone could secure them immortality. For the knight to be untouched by the charms of woman, was to wither the greenest chaplet THE INDOLENT KNIGHT. . 67 whch valor had ever fixed upon his brow. He declared his griefs at the insusceptibility of his heart. His prayer embodied a petition that he might be made to love. But he prayed for heavenly succor, and he looked for earthly loveliness, in vain. His mind was greatly saddened by his condition. 'His isolation impaired his energies. He ceased to sing, to seek the tourney and the court, and delivered himself up to a musing and medi- tative life, which was only not utter vacancy. At a season of general bustle among the nations, he sank into apathy. He had served, in jarms with Richard, but the entreaties of that impetuous and powerful monarch no longer succeeded in be- guiling him from his solitude. The world was again arrayed in armor--the whole wide world of Christendom-moving under the impulses of religious fanaticism, at the wild instance of St. Bernard. Preparations were in progress for the second crusade, but the stir of the multitude aroused no answering chord in his affections. I He put on no armor; his shield hung upon his walls; his spear rusted beneath it, and no ,trumpet was sounded at liis gates. Like one overcome with sloth, Geoffrey Rudel lay couched within the quiet retreats of his castle near Bour- deaux, and gave no heed to the cries and clamors of the world without. But his soul had not lapsed away in luxuries. He^ was immersed in no pleasures more exciting than those of song. Iis soul was full of sadness rather than delight. His lyre sent forth the tenderest pleading, and the most touching lamentation. Itis heart was filled with sorrow, as he entreated vainly that it should be filled with love. Very sweet were his ballads; plain- tive always, and teeming with fancies, which fainly sought to ally themselves; to affections. With a soul given up to contem- plations, which, if not loving, were not warlike, he gave no, heed to the movements, or even the reproaches of his brethren-- knights and troubadours. The preaching of St. Bernard touch- ed not hllim. We do not know that he ever listened once to that great apostle of the crusades; nor, indeed, can we pietend to assert that his conversion ever formed a special object with the preacher. But the entreaties of others were urged upon him, and without success.- He answered them with a melancholy denial, which declared his regrets more than his indifference. v Some of his ditties, written at this period, have been preserved page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 SOUTHWARD HO! to us. They are remarkable for their delicacy, their plaintive- ness of tone, the nice taste by which his spirit was informed, and the grief of those yearnings, the denial of which was the true cause of his lethargy. The muse to Wvhich he now yielded himself was that of a latent affection. The wild spirit- of war- fare had no voice for his soul. He sung--but why not suffer him to speak'for himself, those tender sensibilities which he has put into verse, not wholly unworthy of his renown? Our rude English version may show the character of his sentiment, if not the peculiar art and the ingenuity of his'strain. He speaks in this sonnet of his despondency, and of that ideal which he de- spairs to find in life. "From nature comes the lesson of true love- Sh6 teaches me, through flowers and fiuits, to grace iMy form in gayapparel, and to prove For how much heart my own can furnish place. The nightingale his tender mate caresses, Caressed in turn by mutual look and strain; Ah! happy birds, whom genial love thus blesses, Ye teach me what to seek, yet teach in vain. I languish still in silence-your delight- The shepherd with his pipe - the eager child, That makes his labor speak in pleasures wild- All that I hear, and all that lives in sight- Still moclk me -with denial. Inl my woes The whole world triulphs. Still the image glows, More and more brightly on my yearning eye- A thouisand passionate hopes deny repose, And warm me stiil with promises that fly! Oh! my soul's image, when shall these be o'er, When shall I see thee near, and seek thee never more." This is a sweet murmur, not overstrained, and happily ex- pressed. It should have silenced the reproaches wlich were at length showered upon his head. It shows him to have possessed a soul at once tender and passionate, if not susceptible; and such now was the usual burden of his song. But it failed to convince his neighbors. Beauty, disappointed in all her en- deavors, proclaimed him an insensible. We little know, at this day, how keen and terrible was such a reproachl, at a period when love was the very soul of chivalry. Knighthood regarded him as a recreant to its order, which insisted upon a mistress as * R 69 THE LADY OF TRIPOLI. the first and most powerful incentive to valor. He was called 1 by many cruel epithets-cold, selfish, ungentle; barren of heart, capricious and peevish; loving himself only, like another Narcissus, when a whole world, worthy of a better heart, crowd- ed around him soliciting his love; and this, too, at the very moment when he was repining with the tenderest yearnings, for some one object, precious over all, ulpon whom to expend the whole wealth of his affections. But he was not long to yearn thus hopelessly. The fates were about to give an answer to the cruel reproaches under which he- had suffered. They were about to show that his passion was intense in proportion to the infrequency of its exercise. His destiny was quite as curious as it is touching: we say this by way of warning. The reader must know that we are writing sober history. We are not now practising with artful romances upon his fancy. The chronicles are before us as we write. We are fettered by the ancient record, in complexion of the most sombre black-letter. It was while Geoffrey- Rudel thus lay, sad and sighing, at his castle of Blaye, near Bordeaux, that news came from the Holy Land, which set Christendom once more in commotion. The Crusaders had gone forward in iron legions. They had been successful in every battle, and their triumphs were upon every tongue. Jerusalem, the Holy City, had fallen before their arms, after prodigies of valor had been shown in its defence. But the deeds .of knighthood, and the bloody triumphs of the battle- field, were not alone the theme of the troubadour and the trav- eller. The story which, above all, had served to enliven the imagination, and charm the lyre of Europe; was that of a certain countess of Tripoli-a lady, whose bravery, under circum- stances of particular difficulty and peril, was deemed the subject of greatest wonder and delight. Her beauty had been already sung. It was now ennobled in Provengal minstrelsy, by in- stances of courage, magnanimity, and greatness of soul, such as had seldom been shown by her sex before. Her elastic spirit. the firmness of her soul, ithe grace of her carriage, the loveliness of her face and person, were duly recorded in a thousand ditties I The pilgrims from the Holy Land could speak of nothing else 'The troubadour caught up the grateful 1istory, and found new page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 SOUTHWARD HO! inspiration in the recital. Faint echoes of the story reached our disconsolate poet, and lfell with a renovating influence upon his spirit. He heard, and hearkened with a greedy interest. The recital touched the dormant chords of his nature. He grew excited as he listened, suddenly flung off his lethargy, and soon his lyre began to emulate and excel all others, in rehearsing the charms of her person and the beauties of her soul. He all at once realized his ideal. The countess of Tripoli was the creature of all his imaginings. The image in his soul had found a living likeness. It had long been the image in his dreams-it was now the object of his waking passion. It filled the measure of his hopes; it heightened the glory of his dreams. He loved- he was no longer without a soul. THE imagination of our troubadour thus powerfully excited, it was not surprising that he should enjoy a glorious vision of the lady of his thoughts. He lay sleeping, during a slumberous summer evening, in a favorite bower of his garden : his lute, resting beside him, was silent also; but he still clasped between his fingers the illuminated missal, in which the wandering monk, scarcely less infatuated than himself, had sought to ensirine the beauties of the Lady of Tripoli in the character of the Blessed Virgin. In the deep draughts of delirious passion which the picture had helped to enliven, the troubadour might well lapse away from delicious fancies into as delicious dreams. The warm sun of his region helped the influence. The birds of Provence ministered also,-singing overhead those sweet capriccios, half play, half sentiment, which seem to have furnished the model for many of the best specimens of Provencal poetry. The flowers gave forthl a soft, persuasive firagrance. The leaves floated to and fro upon the slenderest green vines, under the balmy influence of the southern breeze, ever and anon stooping to his floating hair, and trembling over his somewhat pallid cheek. A favorite greyhound slept at his feet, his long brown nose resting upon the gayly-wrougllht slippers which enclosed them. Warm fancies, working with the season and the scene, proved to our poet as deliciously narcotizing as those fabled breezes THE VISION OF THE TROUBADOUR. 71 that sweep with delirium the poppy gardens of Yemen. The protracted denial of his previous life was all compensated in the intoxicating fancy of the hour. The creature of his imperfect waking desires, grew to a perfect being in his dreams. He was transported to Paradise, a region -which, at that moment, he could find at Tripoli only. And she came forth, the first, to bid him welcome. His reception was not only one of blessing but of ceremonial. .The lady of his love was environed by state; but this did not lessen the benignity of her favor. Princes were grouped around her-the severe and stately forms of the Knights of the Temple--the humbler, but not less imposing Brothers of the Hospital-and many others, knights and nobles, with their banners and their shields. And he himself- he, Geoffrey Rudel, prince of Blaye--was in the midst of the splendid circle-the person to whom all eyes were drawn- upon whom her eye was specially fastened-she, the nearest to his heart and person, the lovely countess of Tripoli. But a moment was the glorious vision vonchsafed him; but, even as it began to fade away--growing momentarily-more and more dim, without growing less beautiful-he caught the whispered words of her parting salutation--"Hither to me, Rudel-- hither to me--and the love that thou seekest, and the peace-shall they not both be thine 1" THS was a bliss too great for slumber. It was a bliss too precious to lose at waking. Rudel necessarily awakened with the excess of rapture. He started to his feet with a new im- pulse. The birds sang, but vainly, from his trees. The flowers in vain stretched forth to his -hand. He heeded not the endear- ments of his greyhound, who started up at the same moment with his master, and whined, and lifted his paws to receive 'the accustomed caresses. He saw these things no longer. The old i; temptations and pleasures were discarded or forgotten. A new - Isoul seemed to inform his spirit. A new hope was .embodied in ' his heart. He had received in that dream an inspiration. What was tenderness simply in his heart before, was now passion. His vdream was reality. He no longer sighed--he felt. HHe lived, page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 SOUTHWARD HO! at last; for, until one loves, he can not be said to live. The life of humanity is love. The new passion prompted new ener- gies. Geoffrey Rudel was still at Blaye, but he might soon be at Tripoli. He made his preparations for Tripoli accordingly. Once more his good steed was put in exercise. His shield was taken from the wall. His lance was cleansed of its rust, and glittered gayly in the sunbeams, as if rejoicing in its resumed employments. The proud spirit of knighthood was once more rekindled in the bosom of our hero. He was again a living man, with all, the tenderness which inspires bravery to seek adven- ture. It was easy now to feel all the enthusiasm at which it was his gTont to smile; and he could now look with regret and mortification at those days of apathy which kept him 'in- repose when St. Bernard went through the land, preaching Ilis mission of power. He could now understand the virtue of leaving liome and family, friends and fortune, to fight for the Holy Sepulchre. The spirit of the crusade suddenly impregnated his soul. Sol- emnly he took up the cross-literally, in the figure upon his garments--and made hIs' preparations for embarking for the East. Never had a change so sudden been wrought in human bosom. Nor did he conceal -the true occasion of the miracle. When did troubadour ever withhold the secret of his passion? It was his pride to reveal. Geoffrey Rudel loved at last. He, too, could be made to yield to the spells of beauty. His lyre was not silent.- He unfolded himself in the most exquisite im- provisations, which we should but coldly render in our harsh language of the North. He who had been all apathy before, was now all excitement. His limbs trembled with the wild fever in his veins. A deep spot of red grew suddenly apparent on his faded cheek. A tone of nervous impatience now distin- guished the utterance which had hitherto been gentle and for- bearing always. His muse spoke more frequently, and with a spasmodic energy, which had not been her usual characteris- tic. We preserve another of his sonnets, feebly rendered into our dialect, which he penned just before leaving Provence for the East:- "She I adore, whom, save in nightly dreams, These eyes have ne'er beheld, yet amn I sure She is no other than the thing she'seems, A thing for love and worship evermore. , .THE TROUBADOUR DEPARTS. 73 Oh! not your dark-eyed beauties of the East, Jewish or Saracen-nor yet the fair, Your bright-cheeked maids of Christendom, the best, For saintly virtues and endowments rare- May rank with her whom yet I do not see, To whom I may not speak-- who does not know My homage, yet who nightly comes to me, And bids my hopes revive, my passion glow. With day she disappears, and then alone, I know that she is distant: --I will fly; Pierce the deep space between that foreign sky, And bare to her the heart so much her own. The seas will not betray me, when they know Love is my guide and bids me death defy." His preparations were not long delayed. His soul was too eager in its new passion to permit of any unnecessary waste of time. His flame had become a frenzy-the, leading idea of his mind, which reason had ceased to resist, and which friends no longer ventured to combat. His preparations completed, and the bark ready, his pen records one of the usual vows of knight- - errantry. In the following sonnet, he professes that humility which was commonly set forth quite too ostentatiously to be sin- cere always; but which, in his case, the sequal of our story will show to have been deeply seated in his soul. We shall not find it necessary to call the attention particularly to the delicacy of the sentiments contained in these selections--a delicacy, we may add, which speaks more certainly for the particular instance before us, than it ordinarily did, at that period, for the general character of chivalry:-- "'Tis sworn that I depart-and clad in wool With pilgrim staff before her eyes I go- Glad, if with pity for my love and wo, She suffers me within her palace rule. But this were too much joy. Enough to be Near the blest city which she keeps, though there, The triumph of the Saracen I see, And fall a captive to his. bow and spear. Heaven grant me the sweet blessing in the prayer!- Transport me thither-let me, in her sight, The rapture, born of her sweet presence, share, And live so long within her happy light, The love that fills mny soul, to pour into her ear." page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 SOUTHWARD IO! The sentiment that touched the soul of Geoffrey Rudel, was certainly no common one. It may have been a fanaticism, but it was such a fanaticism as could only happen to a poet. In in- ferior degree, however, the frenzy was not an unusual one. It belonged to the age and to his profession, if -the performances of the troubadour, at any time, could properly deserve this title! Common to his order, it was heightened as well as refined by the peculiar temper of his individual mind, and by that con- templative, inner or spiritual life which he had lived so long. Though I spoken aloud, and fondly and frequently reiterated, it was no momentary ebullition. The passion had fastened upon his mind and his affections, equally, and was fixed there by the grateful image that informed his dreams. These, repeated nightly, according to the tradition, gave him no time to cool. Their visitation was periodical. Their exhortation was pres- sing. They preyed upon his strength, and his physical powers declined in due degree with the wondrous increase of his mental energies. He set sail for Palestine with all the fervor of his enthusiasm upon him, as warm and urgent as whlen it had seized upon him first. The voyage was protracted, and the disease of our pilgrim underwent increase from its annoyances. But, if his frame suffered, the energies of his soul were unimpaired. His muse was never in better wing or vigor. Still he sung, and with all the new-born exultation of a lover. The one hope of his heart, the one dream of his -fancy, gave vitality to every ut- terance. The image of the beautiful and noble Countess of Tripoli was reflected from, and through, all his sonnets, as through a mirror of magic. Of their usual burden, a single specimen will suffice:- - "When my foot presses on those sacred shores- To me thrice sacred, as they bear the sign, That, lifted high, all Christendom adores- RAnd the proud beauty I have loved as mine- My song shall speak my passion--she shall hear How much I love--how powerful is the sway, Her charms maintain o'er heart so far away, That, until now, no other chains could wear. Ah, sure, she will not let me sing in vain- - Such deep devotion, such abiding trust, Love, so wholly born of her own beauty, m11st Touch her sweet spirit with a pleasing pain! THE DYING TROUBADOUR. 75 Should she prove ruthless--no, it can not be My gta-sire gave such evil fate to me." The last allusion in this poem may not be so readily ander- stood in our times. It is still a subject of some discussion. It is thought by some to have reference to the old tradition of gifts bestowed by fairies upon persons in their infancy. Our own no- tion is, that it is taken from one of the institutions of chivalry. A knight was said to be born only when he had received the honors of knighthood. At this ceremony he had a god-father or sponsor. This person was usually chosen by the novice in con- sideration of his high renown, his bravery- and good fortune. A certain portion of these good qualities were naturally supposed capable of transmission. The sponsor answered for the good qualities of the youthful squire, and bestowed on him- his bles- sing with his counsel. The allusion in the verses quoted is not obscure, if we remember the relationship between the parties. IV. BUT we must not linger. The excitement of our troubadour increased with the voyage. It was hardly restrainable within the bounds of sanity as the ship approached her port of destina- tion. ZRudel was beloved by all on board. His grace, talent, gallantry, and enthusiasm, had touched all hearts. The curious history of his passion had lifted him in their admiration and wonder. . They saw, with many misgivings, that it was growing momently at the peril of his life and reason. But it was vain to expostulate with one so completely lifted by his fervor beyond the reach of ordinary argument. He ate but little and had no appetite. His ailments, derived wholly from the strange flame by which he was possessed, were. yet stimulating influences which gave him strength in the absence of mortal nutriment. Very thin, indeed, were the cheeks which yet brightened with the liveliest intelligence. The skin of his face had become so delicately white and transparent, that the blue veins stood out prominent upon his forehead, and you might trace everywhere the progress of the fiery blood through his face and hands. His i eye wore a wild, tunnatural intensity that seemed to dart through the beholder. And yet it was apparent, even then, that the page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 SOUTHWARD HO! glance which seemed to penetrate your soul, was full of intelli- gence to which you were not a party. The soul of that glance was elsewhere, far in advance of the slowly-sailing ship, in search of the mistress of his desires. Fearful was the fever that preyed upon his enfeebled frame. Yet, while momently sinking in the sight of all, his heart was full of hope and courage. There was a cheering and sur- prising elasticity in his tones--an exulting consciousness of as- sured success in voice and aspect-which made him superior to all human anxieties. While no one even supposed he could ever reach the shore alive, he himself hadl no doubts that he would certainly do so. His confidence in this destiny raised strange supernatural convictions in his brother knights, the com- panions of his voyage. Their interest in his fate increased as they beheld and listened. He spoke to them freely, and poured forth, at frequent moments, the sentiments which were inspired by his passion. The exquisite sonnets which were thus delivered, seemed to them the utterance of a being already re- leased from human bonds; they were so tender, so hopeful, and withal so pure. The extravagance of his flame was forgotten in its purity. The wildness of his delirium was sweet, because of its grace and delicacy.- They spread their fruits before him, and poured forth their beakers of Greek wine, to persuade him to partake of more nourishing food than any which his passion could provide; and he smiled as he tasted of their fruits, and lifting the goblet to his lips, he chanted: "Ay, bring me wine of Cyprus, The sweetest of the grove, And we will drink, while passing, A brimful draught of love,-- The laughing wine of Cyprus, A brimful draught for me; And I will yield while passing The goblet to the sea! Yes! Bring me wine of Cyprus!" And, without quaffing, he flung the beaker into the deep. He needed not the stimulus of wine. As he had no longer a rel- ish for earthly nourishment, so it had no power upon his blood or Spirit. They were cheered at length with the sight of the shores of Palestine,-the Promised Land, indeed, to him. .But such an enthusiasm as that which had possessed his soul could not have been entertained by any mortal, except at vital hazard. His joy became convulsion. Lifted from the vessel and placed with his feet upon the earth, he sank down in a swoon, to al appear- ance dead. But the faith which he had in the promise of his dream, was sufficient to reanimate his strength. Borne on a lit- ter to the nearest dwelling, the wonderful story of his passion, and of his voyage in pursuit of its object, was soon borne through Tripoli. It reached, among others, the ears of the noble lady- who had been so innocently the cause of his misfortunes. Then it was that he realized the vision that blessed him while he slept at Blaye. The princess of Tripoli was sensible to all his sor- rows. She was touched by the devotion of the troubadour, and, even as he lay in a state of swoon that looked the image of death itself, his ears caught once more the endearing summons, and the accents of that melodious voice, which had aroused him from his despondency and dreams. Once more it whispered to his exulting soul the- happy invitation: "1 Hither to me, Rudel, hither to me; and the love that thou seekest--and the peace- shall they not both be thine?" V. THESE, dear words aroused him from his swoon. He opened his eyes upo the light, but it was only to close them for ever. /But they had gained all that was precious in that one opening. The single glance around him, by the dying troubadour, showed him all that he had sought. Her holy and sweet face was the first that hle beheld. Her eyes smiled encouragement and love. It was her precious embrace that succored his sinking frame. These tender offices, let it not be forgotten, were not, in those days, inconsistent with the purest virtue. The young maiden was frequently nurse and physician to the stranger knight. She brought him nourishment and medicine, dressed his wounds, and scrupled at no act, however delicate,4which was supposed neces- sary to his recovery. Our countess had been taught to perform these offices, not merely as acts of duty, but as acts of devotion. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 - SOUTHWARD HO! : It is probable that a deeper interest in the sufferer before her gave a warmer solicitude to her ministrations. She had heard the whole story of our troubadour, and of the influence which she had possessed in rousing him from his apathy into life, even though that awakening had been, finally, fatal to life itself. Of his graces and virtues she knew before, and many were the ? admirers who had already taught her how sweet and passionate, Xi;; and how purely due to herself, were the songs and sonnets of Rudel. It was even whispered that their offices were by no ; means necessary to her knowledge. There were those who insisted that there had been some strange spiritual commerce between the parties, though so Many leagues asunder. The story ran that Geoffrey Rudel had been as much the object of her dreaming fancies as she had been of his. They said that while he beheld her in the inspiring vision -of the noonday, in X his garden at Blaye, she herself, in a state of prolonged trance I at Tripoli, was conscious of his presence, and of her own inter- est in his fate, elsewhere. It is certain that she betrayed no I surprise when she heard his story from mortal lips. She be- i trayed no surprise at his coming, and she was among the first to attend the bedside of the dying'man. He felt her presence, as one, even in sleep, feels the sudden sunshine. 'He breathed freely at her approach, as if the flitting soul were entreated back for a moment, by her charms, to its prison-house of mortality. She embraced him as-he lapsed away, while her eyes, dropping ' the biggest tears, were lifted up to heaven in resignation, but I with grief. He, in that mysterious moment, gazed only upon : her. His fading glance was filled with exultation. His hope was realized. He expired, thrice happy, since he expired in her arms. The prophetic vision had deceived him in no single i particular. She was one of the first to receive and welcome him. His reception had been one of state and sympathizing , ceremonial. He beheld, even as he died, the very groups which ;: his dream had shown him. There were the severe and stately aspects of the Knights of the Temple--there again were the !8 humbler Brothers of the Hospital. Princes and barons drew % nigh in armor and resting upon their shields, as at a solemn ser- vice; and he was in the midst, the figure to whom all eyes were addressed, and she, the nearest to his heart, was also the near- THE BRIDAL OF DEATH. 79 est to his person. The love and the peace which she had prom- ised him completed the full consciousness of his exulting spirit. All these things had really come to pass. But the stately ceremonial, which his flattering fancies had persuaded him was his bridal, was in truth his funeral. Dying, thus surrounded, he felt that it was a bridal also. In the brief communion which his eyes enjoyed with those of her he loved, he felt that their souls were united. She' said, to him, as plainly as eyes could speak--"The love and the peace thou seekest, shall they not be thine?" and in this happy faith he yielded up his spirit on her bosom. He was magnificently buried among the Knights Templars at Tripoli. Scarcely had this last ceremonial taken place, when the woman he had so worshipped made a sign, which seemed to confirm the previous rumors of their strange spiritual sympathies. Her heart was certainly more deeply. interested in his fate than might well -have been the case, had their mutual souls not communed before. The very day of his death, she who had lived a princess, in the very eye of pleased and wondering nations, suddenly retired from the world. She buried her head, if not her secret, beneath the hood of the cloister. "' They were placed to sleep aplart," says the ancient chronicle, "but, by the Virgin's grace, they wake together!" An old Provengal author, whose name is unknown, writes: "The Viscount Geoffrey Budel, in passing, the seas to visit his lady, voluntarily died for her sake." His passion has been deemed worthy of the recording muse of Petrarch, who says: "By the aid of sails and oars, Geoffroi Rudel obtained the boon of death which he desired." We have furnished the ample history of this event. In one of the ancient metaphysical dis- cussions so common in the Courts of Love, during the prevalence of chivalry, one of the questions proposed for discussion was as follows:- ( Which contributes most powerfully to inspire love-senti- ment or,sight?--the heart or the eyes " - - The case was at once decided in favor of sentiment when the story of our troubadour was told. Once more, this narrative is no fiction, though of the purest school of fiction. Its facts are all to be found in the sober records of a period, when, however, society was not quite sober. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] CHAPTER VI. "O, the sacrifice, How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, It was i' the offering."--Winler's Tale. THE ladies had retired, but midnight still found a sufficiently large group gathered together on the upper deck. By this time others of the party had added themselves to the circle of racon- teurs, and from one of these we obtained another curious history from the pages of chivalric times, and the troubadours of Pro- vence. The narrator assured us that it was a veritable biogra- phy. "OVE'S LAST SUPPER; A TRUE STORY OF THE TROUBADOURS. CHAPTER I. IN the first conception of the institution of chivalry it was i doubtless a device of great purity, and contemplated none but highly proper and becoming purposes. Those very features which, in our more sophisticated era, seem to have been the most absurd, or at least fantastic, were, perhaps among its best securities. The sentiment of love, apart from its passion, is what l a very earnest people, in a very selfish- period, can not so well understand; but it was this very separation of interests, which we now hold to be inseparable, that constituted the peculiarity I of chivalry-the fanciful in its characteristics rendering senti- !- ment independent of passion, and refining the crude desire by the exercise and influence of tastes, which do not usually accom- Ai pany it. Among the Provencal knights and troubadours, in the palmy days of their progress, love was really the most innocent and the most elevated of sentiments. It seems to have been, nursed without guile, and was professed, even when seemingly GUILLAUME DE CABESTAIGN. 81 in conflict with the rights of others, without the slightest notion of wrong-doing or offence. It did not vex the temper, or imr pair the marital securities of the husband, that the beauties of his dame were sung with enthusiasm: by the youthful poet; on the contrary, he who gloried in the possession of a jewel, was scarcely satisfied with fortune unless she brought to a just knowl- edge of its splendors, the bard who alone could convey to the world a similar sense of the value of his treasure. The narra- tive which we have gathered from the ancient chronicles of Provence, and which we take occasion to say is drawn from the most veracious sources of history, will illustrate the correctness of these particulars. One of the most remarkable instances of the sentiment of love, warmed into passion, yet without evil in its-objects, is to be fourd in the true and touching history of Guillaume de Cabestaign, a noble youth of Roussillon. Though noble of birth, Guillaume was without fortune, and it was not thought improper or humili- ating in those days that he should serve, as a page, the knight whose ancestors were known to his own as associates. It was in this capacity that he became the retainer of Raymond, lord of Roussillon. Raymond, though a haughty baron, was one who possessed certain generous tastes and sentiments, and who showed himself capable of appreciating the talents and great merits of Guillaume de Cabestaign. His endowments, indeed, were of a character to find ready favor with all parties. The youth was not only graceful of carriage, and particularly hand- some of face and person, but he possessed graces of mind and manner which especially commended him to knightly sympathy and admiration. He belonged to that class'of improvvisatori to whom the people of Provence gave the name of troubadour, and was quite as ready to sing the praises of his mistress, as he was to mount horse, and charge with sword and lance in her defence and honor. His muse, taking her moral aspect from his own, was pure and modest in her behavior-indulging in no song or sentiment which would not fall becomingly on the most virgin ear. His verses were distinguished equailly by their delicacy and fangy, and united to a spirit of the most generous and exult- ing life'a taste of the utmost simplicity and purity. Not less gentle than buoyant, he was at once timid in approach, and joy- 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 SOUTl'WARD HO! giving in society; and while he compelled the respect of men by his frank and fearless manhood, he won the hearts of the other sex by those gentle graces which, always prompt and ready, are never obtrusive, and which leave us only to the just appreciation of their value, when they are withdrawn from our knowledge and enjoyment. It happened, unfortunately for our troubadour, that he won too many hearts. Raised by the lordof Roussillon to the rank of gentleman-usher to the Lady Marguerite, his young and beau- tiful wife, the graces and accomplishments of Guillaume de Cabestaign, soon became quite ask ap-parent and agreeable to her as to the meanest of the damsels in her train. She was never so well satisfied as in his society; and her young and ardent soul, repelled rather than solicited by the stern nature of Ray- mond, her lord, was better prepared and pleased to sympathizp with the more beguiling and accessible spirit of the page. The tenderest impressions of love, without her own knowledge, soon seized upon her heart; and she had learned to sigh as she gazed upon the person that she favored, long before she entertained the slightest consciousness that he was at all precious to her eyes. He himself, dutiful as devoted, for a long season beheld none of these proofs of favor on the part of his noble mistress. She called him her servant, it is true, and he, as such, sung daily in her praises the equal language of the lover anid the knight. These were words, however, of a vague conventional meaning, to which her husband listened With indifferent ear. In those days every noble- lady entertained a lover, who was called her servant. It was a prerogative of nobility that such should be the case. It spoke for the courtliness and aristocracy of the party; and to be without a lover, though in the possession of a husband, was to be an object of scornful sympathy in the eyes of the sex. Fashion, in other words, had taken the name of chivalry; and it was one of her regulations that the noble lady should possess a lover, who should of necessity be other than her lord. In this capacity, Raymond of Roussillon, found noth- ing of which to complain in the devotion of Guillaume de Cabes- taign to Marguerite, his wife. But the courtiers who gathered in her train were not so indulgent, or were of keener sight. They boon felt the preference which she gave, over all others, to our FIRST SPEECH OF LOVE. 83 t troubadour.' They felt, and they resented it the more readily, as they were not insensible to his personal superiority. Guil: laume himself, was exceeding slow in arriving at a similar con- sciousness. Touched with a fonder sentiment for his mistress than was compatible with his security, his modesty had never suffered him to suppose-that he had been so fortunate as to in- spire her with a feeling such as he now knew within himself. It was at a moment when he least looked for it, that he made the perilous discovery. -It was in the course of a discussion upon the various signs of love--such a discussion as occupied the idle hours, and the wandering fancies of chivalry-that she said to him, somewhat abruptly- (Surely thou, Guillaume, thou, who canst sing of love so ten- derly, and with so much sweetness, thou, of all persons, should be the one to distinguish between a feigned passion and a real one. Mfethinks the eye of him who loves truly, could most cer- tainly discover, from the eye of the beloved one, whether the real flame were yet burning in her heart." And even as she spoke, the glance of her dark and lustrous eye settled upon his own with such a dewy and quivering fire, that his soul at once became enlightened with her secret. The troubadour was necessarily an improvvisatore. Guillaume de Cabestaign was admitted to be one of the most spontaneous in his utterance, of all his order. His lyre took for him the voice which he could not well have used at that overpowering moment. He sung wildly and triumphantly, inspired by-his new and rap- turous consciousness, even while her eyes were yet fixed upon him, full still of the involuntary declaration which made the in- spiration of his song. thlese verses, which embodied the first impulsive sentiment which he had ever dared to breathe from his heart of the passion which had long been lurking within, it, have been preserved for us by the damsels of Provence. We translate them, necessarily to the' great detriment of their' melody, from the sweet South, where they had birth, to our harsher Runic region. The song of Guillaume was an apos- trophe. Touch the weeping string! Thou whose beauty fires me; Oh! how vainly would I sing v The passion that inspires me. page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 SOUTHWARD HO! This, dear heart, believe, Were the love I've given, Half a, warm for Heaven as thee, I were worthy heaven i! Ah! should I lament, That, in evil hour, Too much loving to repent, I confess thy power. Too much blessed to fly, Yet, with shame confessing, That I dread to meet the eye, Where my heart finds blessing. Such a poem is beyond analysis. It was simply a gush of enthusiasm-the lyrical overflow of sentiment and passion, such as a song should be always. The reiader will easily understand that the delicacy of the sentiment, the epigrammatic intenseness of the expression, is totally lost in the difficulty of subjugating our, more stubborn language to the uses of the poet. A faint and in- ferior idea of what was sung at this moment of wild and almost spasmodical utterance, is all that we design to convey. The spot in which this scene took place was amid the depth of umbrageous trees, in the beautiful garden of Chateau Roussil- Ion. A soft and persuasive silence hung suspended in the at- mosphere. Not a leaf stirred, not a bird chirrupped in the foliage; and, however passionate was the sentiment expressed by the troubadour, it scarcely rose beyond a whisper-harmonizing in the subdued utterance, and the sweet delicacy of its sentiment with the exquisite repose and languor of the scene. Carried be- yond herself by the emotions of the moment, the feeling of Mar- guerite became so far irresistible that she stooped ere the song of the troubadour had subsided from the ear, and pressed her lips upon the forehead of her kneeling lover., He seized her hand at this moment and carried it to his own lips, in an equally involuntary impulse. This act awakened the noble lady to a just consciousness of her weakness. She at once recoiled from his grasp. "Alas!" she exclaimed, with clasped hands, , what have I done " -. "Ah, lady!" was the answer of the troubadour, "it is thy goodness which has at length discovered how my heart is de- - . CONFESSION. 85 voted to thee. It is thy truth, and thy nobleness, dear lady, which I love and worship." "By these shalt thou know me ever, Guillaume of Cabes- taign," was the response; " and yet I warn thee," she continued, "I warn and'T entreat thee, dear servant, that thou approach me not so near again. Thou hast shown to me, and- surprised from me, a most precious but an unhappy secret. Thou hast too deeply found thy way into my heart. Alas! wherefore! wherefore!" and the eyes of the amiable and virtuous woman 'were suffused with tears, as her innocent soul trembled under the reproaches of her jealous conscience. She continued- "I can not help but love thee, Guillaume of Cabestaign, but lit shall never be said that the love of the Lady Marguerite of Rioussillon was other than became the wife of her lord. Thou, too, shalt know me, by love only, Guillaume; but it shall be such a love as shall work neither of us- trespass. Yet do not thou cease to love me as before, for, of a truth, dear servant, the affections of thy heart are needful to the life of mine." The voice of the troubadour was only in his lyre. At all events, his reply has been only preserved to us in song. It was in the fullness of his joy that he'again poured forth his melody:- Where spreads the pleasant garden, Where blow the precious flowers, My happy lot hath found me The bud of all the bowers. Heaven fiamned it with a likeness, Its'very self in sweetness, Where virtue crowns the beauty, And love bestows completeness. Still humble in possessions, That humble all that prove her, I joy in the affections, That suffer me to love her; And in my joy I sorrow, And in my tears I sing her, The love that others hide away, She suffers me to bring her. This right is due my homage, For while they speak her beauty, 'Tis I alone that feel it well, And love. with perfect duty. page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 - SOUTHWARD HO! CHAPTER II. IT does not appear that love trespassed in this instance be- yond the sweet but narrow boundaries of sentiment. The lov- ers met daily, as usual, secretly as well as publicly, and their professions of attachment were frankly made in the hearing of the world; but the vows thus spoken were not articulated any longer in that formal, conventional phraseology and manner, which, in fact, only mocked the passion which it affectedly pro- fessed. It was soon discovered that the songs of Guillaume de Cabestaign were no longer the frigid effusions of mere gallantry, the common stilt style of artifice and commonplace. There was life, and blood, and a rare enthusiasm in his lyrics. His song was no longer a thing of air, floating, as it had done, on the winglets of a simple fancy, but a living and a burning soul, borne upward and forward, by the gales of an intense and earnest pas- sion. It was seen that when the poet and his noble mistress spoke together, the tones of their voices mutually trembled as if with a strange and eager sympathy. When they met, it was noted that their eyes seemed to dart at once into each other, with the intensity of two wedded fires, which high: walls would vainly separate, and which, however sundered, show clearly that they will overleap their bounds, and unite themselves in one at last. Theirs was evidently no simulated passion. It was too certainly real, as well in other eyes as their own. The world, though ignorant of the mutual purity of their hearts, was yet quick enough to discern what were their real sentiments. Men saw the affections of which they soon learned, naturally enough, to conjecture the worst only. The rage of rivals, the jealousy of inferiors, the spite of the envious, the malice of the wantonly scandalous, readily found cause of evil where in real- ity offence was- none. To conceive the crime, was to convey the crutel suspicion, as a certainty, to the mind of him whom the supposed offence most affected. Busy tongues soon assailed the ears of the lord of Roussillon, in relation to his wife. They whispered him to watch the lovers-to remark the eager inti- macy of their eyes--the tremulous sweetness of their voices, and their subdued tones whenever they met--the frequency of their meetings--the reluctance with which they separated; and they ! . THE JEALOUS-LORD. 87 dwelt with emphasis upon the pointed and passionate declara- tions, the intensity and ardor bf the sentiments which now filled the- songs of the troubadour--so very different from what they had ever been before. In truth, the new passion of Guillaume had wrought wondrously in favor of his music. He who had been only a clever and dextrous imitator of the artificial strains of other poets, had broken down all the fetters of convention, and now poured forth the most natural and original poetry of his own, greatly to the increase of his reputation as a trouba- dour. Raymond de Roussillon hearkened to these suggestions in silence, and with a gloomy heart. He loved his wife truly, as far as it was possible for him to-love. He was a stemrn, harsh man, fond of the chase, of the toils of chivalry rather than its sports; was cold in his own emotions, and with an intense self- esteem that grew:impatient under every sort of rivalry. It was not difficult to impress hm with evil thoughts, even where he had bestowed his confidence; and toikindle his mind with the most terrible suspicions of the unconsciously offending parties. Once aroused, the dark, stern man, resolved to avenge his sup- posed wrong; and hearing one day that Guillaume had gone out- hawking, and alone, he hastily put on his armor, concealing it under his courtly and silken vestments, took his weapon, and rode forth in the direction which the troubadour had taken. He overtook the latter after a while, upon the edge of a little river that wound slowly through a wood. Gkuillaume de Cabestaign approadced his lord without any misgiving; but as he drew near, a certain indefinable something in the face of Raymond, inspired a feeling of anxiety in his mind, and, possibly, the secret con- sciousness in his own bosom added to his uneasiness. He re- membered that it was not often that great lords thus wandered forth unattended; and the path which Raymond pursued was one that Guillaume had taken because of its obscurity, and with the desire to find a solitude in which he might brood securely over his own secret fancies and affections. His doubts, thus awa- kened, our troubadour prepared to guard his speech. He boldly approached his' superior, however, and was the first to break silence. "You here, my lord, and alone! How does this chance?" page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 SOUTHWARD HO! "Nay, Guillaume," answered the other, mildly; "I heard that you were here, and hawking, and resolved to share your- amusement. lWhat has'been your sport?" "Nothing, my lord. I have scarcely seen a single bird, and you remember the proverb--'Who finds nothing, takes not much. " The artlessness and simplicity of the troubadour's speech and manner, for the first time, -inspired some doubts in the mind of Raymond, whether he could be so guilty as his enemies had reported him. His purpose, when he came forth that morning, had been to ride the supposed offender down, wherever he en- countered him, and to thrust his boar-spear through his body. Suchl was the summary justice of the feudal baron. Milder thoughts had suddenly possessed him. If Raymond of Rous- sillon was a stern man, jealous of his honol,-and prompt in his resentment, he at least desired to be a just man; and a lurking doubt of the motives of those by whom the troubadour had been slandered, now determined him to proceed more deliberately in the work of justice. He remembered the former confidence which he had felt in the fidelity of the page, and he was not insensible to the charm of his society. Every sentence which had been spoken since their meeting had tended to make him hesitate before he hurried to judgment in a matter where it was scarcely possible to repair the wrong which a rash and hasty vengeance might commit. By this time, they had entered the Rood together, and were now concealed from, all human eyes. The Lord of Roussillon alighted from his horse, and motioned his companion to seat himself beside him in the shade. When both were seated, and after a brief pause, Raymond addrlessed the troubadour in the following language:- "Guillaume de Cabestaign," said he, "be sure I came not hither this day to talk to you of birds and hawking, but of some- thing more serious. Now, look upon me, and, as a true and loyal servant, see that thou answer honestly to all that I shall ask of thee." The troubadour was naturally impressed by the stern sim- plicity and solemnity of this exordium. He was not unaware that, as the knight had alighted from his steed, he had done so heavily, and under the impediment of concealed armor. His THE JEALOUS INQUISITION. 89 doubts and anxieties were necessarily increased by this dis- covery, but so also was his firmness. He felt that much de- pended upon his coolness and address, and he steeled himself, with all his- soul, to the trial which was before him. The recol- lection of Marguerite, and of her fate and reputation depending upon his own, was the source of no small portion of his present resolution. His reflections were instantaneous; there was no unreasonable delay in his answer, which was at once manly and circumspect. "I know not what you aim at or intend, my lord, but- by Heaven!--I swear to you that, if it be proper for me to answer you in that you seek, I will keep nothing from your knowledge that you desire to know!" -"Nay, Guillaume," replied the knight, "I will have no con- ditions. You shall reply honestly, and without reserve, to all the questions I shall put to you." "Let me hear them, my lord--command me, as you have the right," was the reply of the troubadour, " and I will answer you, .witth my conscience, as far as I can." ,( I would then know from you," responded Raymond, very solemnly, "( on your faith and by your God, whether the verses that you make are inspired by a real passion 2" A warm flush passed over the cheeks of the troubadour; the pride of-the artist was offended by the inquiry. That it should be questioned whether he really felt what he so passionately declared, was a disparaging judgment upon the merits of his song. "Ahll my lord," was the reply,- expressed with some degree of mortification, " how could I sing as I do, unless I really felt all the passion which I declare. In good sooth, then, I tell you, love has the entire possession of my soul." "And verily I believe thee, Guillaume," was the subdued answer of the baron; ("I believe thee, my friend, for, unless a real passion was at his heart, no troubadour could ever sing as thou. But, something more of thee, Guillaume de Cabestaign. Prithee, now, declare to me the name of the lady whom thy verses celebrate." Then it was that the cheek of our troubadour grew pale, and %his heart sunk within him; but the piercing eye of the baron page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 SOUTHWARD HO! was upon him. He had no moment for hesitation. To falter now, he was well assured, was to forfeit love, life, and every. thing that was proud and precious in his sight. In the moment of exigency the troubadour found his answer. It was evasive, but adroitly conceived and expressed. ( Nay, my lord, will it please you to consider? I appeal to your own heart and honor-can any one, without perfidy, de- clare such a secret?-reveal a thing that involves the rights and the reputation of another, and that other a lady of good fame and quality? Well must you remember what is said on this subject by the very master of our art-- no less a person than the excellent Bernard de Ventadour. He should know- what- says he '. The baron remained silent, while Guillaume repeated the fol- lowing verses of the popular troubadour, whose authority he appealed to:- "The spy your secret still would claim, And asks to know your lady's name; But tell it not for very shale! "The loyal lover sees the snare, And neither to the waves nor air Betrays the secret of his fair. "The duty that to love we owe, Is, while to her we all may show, On others nothing to bestow." Though seemingly well adapted to his object, the quotation of our troubadour was unfortunate. There were yet other verses to this instructive ditty, and the Baro of Roussillon, who had listened very patiently as -his companion recited the preceding, soon proved himself to have a memory for good songs, though he never pretended to make them himself. When Guillaume had fairly finished, he took up the strain after a brief intro- duction. 'That is all very right and very proper, Guillaume, and I gainsay not a syllable that Master Bernard hath written; nay, rethinks my proper answer to thee lieth in another of his verses, which thou shouldst not have forgotten while reminding me of its companions. I shall refresh thy memory with the next that [ THE LOVER'S RUSE. 91 !I follows." And without waiting for any answer, the baron pro- ceeded to repeat another stanza of the old poem, in very -credit- able style and manner for an amateur. This remark Guillaume de Cabestaign could not forbear making to himself, though he was conscious at the same time that the utterance of the baron was in singularly slow and subdued accents-accents that scarcely rose above a whisper, and which were timed as if every syllable were weighed and spelled, ere it was confided to expres- sion. The verse was as follows:- "We yield her name to those alone, Who, when the sacred truth is shown, May help to make the maid our own." "Now, methinks," continued the baron, " here lieth the wis- dom of my quest. Who better than myself can-- help to secure thee thy desires, to promote thy passion, and gain for thee the favor of the fair? Tell me, then, I command thee, Guillaume, and I promise to help thee with my best efforts and advice." Here was a dildmma. The troubadour was foiled with his own weapons. The quotation from his own authority was con- elusive against him. The argument of Raymond was irresistible. Of his ability to serve the young lover there could be no ques- tion; and as little could the latter doubt the readiness of that friendship-assuming his pursuit to be a proper one--to which he had been so long indebted for favor and protection. He could excuse himself by no further evasion; and, having admit- ted that he really and deeply loved, and that his verses declared a real and living passion, it became absolutely necessary that our troubadour, unless he would confirm the evident suspicions of his lord, should promptly find for her a name. He did so. The emergency seemed to justify a falsehood; and, with firm accents, Guillaume did not scruple to declare himself devoted, heart and soul, to the beautiful Lady Agnes de Tarrascon, the sister of Marguerith, his real mistress. At the pressing solicita- tion of Raymond, and in order to render applicable to this case certain of his verses, he admitted himself to have received from this lady certain favoring smiles, upon which his hopes of future happiness were \folunded. Our troubadour was persuaded to select the name of this lady, over all others, for two reasons. Xie believed that she suspected, or somewhat knew of, the page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 SOUTHWARD HO! mutual flame which existed between himself and her sister; and he had long been conscious of that benevolence of temper which the former possessed, and which he fondly thought would prompt her in some degree to sympathize with him in his neces- sity, and lend herself somewhat to his own and the extrication of Marguerite. After making his confession, he concluded by imploring Raymond to approach his object cautiously, and by no means to peril his fortunes in the esteem of the lady he professed to love. CHAPTER II i BSUT the difficulties of Guillaume de Cabestaign were only begun. It was not the policy of Raymond to be satisfied with his simple asseverations. The suspicions which had been awa- kened in his mind by the malignant suggestions of his courtiers, were too deeply and skilfully infixed there, to suffer him to be soothed by the mere statement of the supposed offender. He required something of a confirmatory character from the lips of Lady Agnes herself. Pleased, nevertheless, at what he had heard, and at the readiness and seeming firankness with which the troubadour had finally yielded his secret to his keeping, he eagerly assured the latter of his assistance in the prosecution of his quest; and he, who a moment before had coolly contem- plated a deliberate murder to revenge a supposed wrong to his own honor, did not now scruple to profess his willingness to aid his companion in compassing the dishonor of another. It did not matter much to our sullen baron that the victim was the sis- ter of his own wife. The human nature of Lord Raymond, of Roussillon, his own dignity uninjured, had but. little sympathy with his neighbor's rights and sensibilities. He promptly pro- posed, at that very moment, to proceed on his charitable imis- sion. The castle of Tarrascon was in sight; and, pointing to its turrets that rose loftily above the distant hills, the imperious- finger of Raymond gave the direction to our troubadour, which he shuddered to pursue. but did not dare to decline. He now began to feel all the dangers and embarrassments which he was about to encounter, and to tremble at the disgrace and ruin which seemed to rise, threatening and dead before him. Never was woman more virtuous than the lady Agnes. Gentle and I &QUICK-WITTED WOMAN. 93 beautiful, like her sister Marguerite, her reputation had been, more fortunate in escaping wholly the assaults of the malignant. She had always shown an affectionate indulgence for our trou- badour, and a delighted interest in his various accomplishments; and he now remembered all her goodness and kindness only to curse himself, in his heart, for the treachery of which he had just been guilty. His remorse at what he had said to Raymond was not the less deep and distressing, from the conviction that he felt that there had been no other way left him of escape from his dilemma. We are bound to believe that the eagerness which Raymond, of Roussillon, now exhibited was not so much because of a desire to bring about the dishonor of another, as to be perfectly satis- fied that he himself was free from injury. At the castle of Tarrascon, the Lady Agnes was found alone. She gave the kindest reception to her guests; and, anxious to behold things through the medium of his wishes rather than his doubts and fears, Raymond fancied that there was a peculiar sort of tender- ness in the tone and spirit of the compliments which she ad- dressed to the dejected troubadour. That he was disquieted and dejected, she was soon able to discover. His uneasiness made itself apparent before they had been long together; and the keen intelligence of the feminine mind was accordingly very soon prepared to comprehend the occasion of his disquiet, when, drawn aside by Raymond at the earliest opportunity, she found herself cross-examined by the impatient baron on the nature and object of her own affections. A glance of the eye at Guil- laume de Cabestaign, as she listened to the inquiries of the sus- picious Raymond, revealed to the quick-witted woman the extent of his apprehensions, and possibly the danger of her sister. Her ready instinct, and equally prompt benevolence of heart, at once decided all the answers of the lady. "Why question me of lovers?" she replied to Raymond, with a pretty querulousness of tone and manner; "certainly I have lovers enow-as many as I choose to have. Would you that I should live unlike other women of birth and quality, without my servant to sing my praises, and declare his readiness to die in my behalf?" y "Ay, ay, my lady," answered the knight, ,"lovers I well page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " . SOUTHWARD HO! know you possess; for of these I trow that no lady of rank and beauty, such as yours, can or possibly should be without;--but is there not one lover, over all, whom you not only esteem for his grace and service, but for whom you feel the tenderest inter- est-to whom, in fact, you prefer the full surrender of your whole heart, and, were this possible or proper, of your whole person?" For a moment the gentle lady hesitated in her answer. The question was one of a kind to startle a delicate and faithful spirit. But, as her eyes wandered off to the place where the troubadour stood trembling-as she detected the pleading ter- ror that was apparent in his face--her benevolence got the better of her scruples, and she frankly admitted that there really was one person in the world for whom her sentiments were even thus lively, and her sympathies thus warm and active. "'And now, I -beseech you, Lady Agfnes," urged the anxious baron, " that you deal with me like a brother who will joy to serve you, and declare to me the name of the person whom you so much favor." "Now, out upon it, my lord of Roussillon," was the quick and somewhat indignant reply of the lady, "that you should presume thus greatly upon the kindred that lies between us. Women are not to be constrained to make such confession as this. It is their prerogative to be silent when' the safety of their affections may suffer from their speech. To urge them to confess, in such cases, is only to compel them to speak unneces- sary falsehoods. And know I not you husbands all.? you have but a feeling in common; and if I reveal myself to you, it were as well that I should go at once and make full confession to my own lord." "Nay, dearest Lady Agnes, have no such doubt of my loyalty. I will assure thee that what you tell me never finds it way to the ear of your lord. I pray thee do not fear to make this con- fession to me; inty, but thou must, Agnes," exclaimed the rude baron, his voice rising more earnestly, and his manner becoming passionate and stern, while he grasped her wrist firmly in his convulsive fingers, and, drawing her toward him, added, in the subdued but intense tones of half-suppressed passion, "'I tell thee, lady, it-behooves me much to know this secret." SMOOTH SAILING AND SUPPER. 95. The lady did not immediately yield, though the manner of I Raymond, from this moment, determined her that she would do so. She now conjectured all the circumstances of the case, and felt the necessity of saving the troubadour for the sake of her sister. But she played with the excited baron awhile longer, and, when his passion grew so impatient as to be almost beyond his control, she admitted, as a most precious secret, confided to his keeping only that he might serve her in its gratification, that she had a burning passion for Guillaume de Cabestaign, of which he himself was probably not conscious. , The invention of the lady was as prompt and accurate as if the troubadour had whispered at her elbow. Raymond was now satisfied. He was relieved of his suspicions, turned away from the Lady of Tarrascon, to embrace her supposed lover, and readily accepted an invitation from the former, for himself and companion, to remain that night to supper. At that moment the great gate of the castle was thrown open, and the Lord of Tar- rascon made his appearance. He confirmed the invitation ex- tended by his wife; and, as usual, gave a most cordial reception to his guests. As soon as an opportunity offered, and before the hour of supper arrived, the Lady Agnes contrived to withdraw her lord to her own apartments, and there frankly revealed to him all that had taken place. He cordially gave his sanctionl to all that she had done. Guillaume de Cabestaign was much more of a favorite than his jealous master; and the sympathies of the noble and the virtuous, in-those days, were always ac- corded to those who professed a love so innocent as--it was justly believed by this noble couple -was that of the Lady Marguerite and the troubadour. The harsh suspicions of Raymond were supposed to characterize only a coarse and brutal nature, which, in the assertion of its unquestionable rights, would abridge all those freedoms which courtliness and chivalry had established for the pleasurable intercourse of other parties. A perfect understanding thus established between the wife and husband, in behalf of the troubadour, and in misleading the baron, these several persons sat down to supper in the rarest good humor and harmony. Guillaume de Cabestaign-recovered all his confidence, and with it his inspiration. He made several iynprovvisations during the evening, which delighted the com- page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 SOUTHWARD HO! pany-all in favor of the Lady Agnes, and glimpsing faintly at his attachment for her. These, unhappily, have not been pre- served to us. They are said to have been so made as to corre- spond to the exigency of his recent situation; the excellent Baron Raymond all the while supposing that he alone possessed the key to their meaning. The Lady Agnes,meanwhile, under the approving eye of her husband, was at special pains to show such an interest in the troubadour? and such a preference for his comfort, over that of all persons present, as contributed to con- firm all the assurances she had given to her brother-in-law in regard to her affections .. The latter saw this with perfect satis- faction; and leaving Guillaume to pass the night where he was so happily entertained, he hurried home to Roussillon, eager to re veal to his own wife, the intrigue between her lover and her sister. It is quite possible that, if his suspicions of the troubadour were quieted, he still entertained some with regard to Marguerite. It is not improbable that a conviction that he was giving pain at every syllable he uttered entered into his calculations, and prompted what he said. He might be persuaded of the inno- cence of the parties, yet doubtful of their affections; and though assured now that he was mistaken in respect to the tendency of those of Guillaume, his suspicions were still lively in regard to those of his wife. His present revelations/ might be intended to probe her to the quick, and to gather from her emotions, at his recital, in how much she was interested in the sympathies of the troubadour. HEow far he succeeded in diving into her secret, has not been confided to the chronicler. It is very certain, however, that he succeeded in making Marguerite very unhappy. She now en- tertained no doubt, after her husband's recital, of the treachery of her sister, and the infidelity of her lover; and though she herself had permitted him no privilege, hiconsistent with the claims of her lord, she was yet indignant that he should have proved unfaithful to a heart which he so well knew to be thor- oughly his own. The pure soul itself, entirely devoted to the beloved object, thus always revolts at the consciousness of its fall from its purity and its pledges; and though itself denied- doomed only to a secret worship, to which no altar may be raised, and to which there is no offering but the sacrifice of constant pri-. I RRECONCILIATION. 97 vation--yet it greatly prefers to entertain this sacred sense of 1 isolation, to any enjoyment of mere mortal happiness. To feel that our affections are thus isolated in vain-that we have yielded theminto one who is indifferent to the trust, and lives still for his earthly passions-is to suffer from a more than mortal depriva- tion. Marguerite of Roussillon passed the night in extreme ag- ony of mind, the misery of which was greatly aggravated by the necessity, in her husband's presence, of suppressing every feel- ing of uneasiness. But her feelings could not always be sup-, pressed; and when, the next day, on the return of the trouba dour from Tarrascon, she encountered him in those garden walks which had been made sacred to their passion by its first mutual revelation, the pang grew to utterance, which her sense of dig- nity and propriety in vain endeavored to subdue. Her eyes brightened indignantly through her tears; and she whose virtue had withheld every gift of passion from the being whom she yet professed to love, at once, but still most tenderly, reproached him with his infidelity. "Alas! Guillaume," she continued, after telling him all that she had heard, " alas! that my soul should have so singled thine out from all the rest, bedause of its purity, and should find thee tlhus, like all the rest, incapable of a sweet and holy love such as thou didst promise. - I had rather died, Guillaume, a thou- sand deaths, than that thou shouldst have fallen from thy faith to 1m1e.' "But I have not fallen-I have not faltered in my faith, Marguerite! I am still true to thee-to thee only, though I sigh for thee vainly, and know that thou livest only for another. Hear me, Marguerite, while I tell thee what has truly hap- pened. Thou hast heard something truly, but not all the truth." And lie proceeded with the narrative to which we have already listened. He had only to show her what had passed between her lord and himself, to show how great had been his emergency. The subsequent events at Tarrascon, only con- vinced her of the quick intelligence, and sweet benevolence of purpose by which her sister had been governed. Her charita- ble sympathies had seen and favored the artifice in which lay the safety equally of her lover and herself. The revulsion of her feelings from grief to exultation, spoke in a gush of tears, which 5 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 SOUTHWARD HO! relieved the distresses of her soul. The single kiss upon his forehead, with which she rewarded the devotion of the trouba- dour, inspired his fancy. He made the event the subject of the sonnet, which has fortunately been preserved to us;- MARGUERITE., "That there should be a question whom I love, As if the world had more than one so fair? Wolthd'st knowz her name, behold the letters rare, God-written, on the bwing of every dove! Ask if a blindness darkens my fond eyes, That I should doubt me whither I should turn; Ask if my soul, in cold abeyance lies, That I should fail at sight 6f her to burn. That I should wander to another's sway, Would speak a blindness worse than that of sight, Since here, though nothing I may ask of right, Blessings most precious woo my heart to stay. High my ambition, since at heaven it aims, Yet humble, since a daisy 's all it claims." The lines first italicised embody the name of the lady, by a periphrasis known to the Provenqal dialect, and the name of the daisy, as used in the -closing line, is Marguerite. The poem is an unequivocal declaration of attachment, obviously mneant to do away. ith all adverse declarations. To those acquainted with the previous history, it unfolds another history quite as significant; and to those who knew nothing of the purity of the parties, one who made no allowance for the exaggerated manner in which a troubadour would be apt to declare the privileges he had enjoyed, it would convey the idea of a triumph inconsistent with the innocence of the lovers, and destructive of the rights of the injured husband. Thus, full of meaning, it is difficult to conceive by what im- prudence of the parties, this fatal sonnet found its way to the hands of Raymond of Roussillon. It is charged by the biogra- phers, in the absence of other proofs, that the vanity of Margue- rite, in her moments of exultation--greater than her passion- proud of the homage which she inspired, and confident in the inno- cence which the world had too slanderously already begun to ques- tion- could not forbear the temptation of showing so beautiful a testimony of the power of her charms. But the suggestion lacks in plausibility. It is more easy to conceive that the fond heart , , THE TROUBADOUR'S TABLET. 99 of the woman would not suffer her to destroy so exquisite a tribute, and that the jealousy of her lord, provoked by the arts of envious rivals, conducted him to the place of safe-keeping I.: where her treasure was concealed. At all events, it fell into I5,Q his hands, and revived all his suspicions. In fact, it gave the !! 'lie to the artful story by which he had been lulled into confi- - dence, and was thus, in a manner, conclusive of the utter guilt of the lovers. His pride was outraged as well as his honor. He had been gulled by all upon whom he had relied-his wife, his page, and his sister. He no longer doubted Marguerite's infidel- ity and his own disgrace; and, breathing nothing but vengeance, he yet succeeded in concealing from all persons the conviction which he felt, of the guilt which dishonored him, and the terrible vengeance which he meditated for its punishment. He was a cold and savage man, who could suppress, in most cases, the pangs which lie felt, and could deliberately restrain the passions which yet occupied triumphant place in his heart and purpose. It was not long before he found the occasion which he de- sired. The movements of the troubadour were closely watched, and one day, when he had wandered forth from the castle seek- ing solitude, as was his fiequent habit, Raymond contrived to steal away from observation, and to follow him out into the for- est. He was successful in his quest.' He found Guillaume resting at the foot of a shady tree, in a secluded glen, with his tablets before him. The outlines of a tender ballad, ten- der, but spiritual, as was the character of all his melodies, were already inscribed upon the paper. The poet was meditating, as usual, the charms of that dangerous mistress, whose beauty was destined to become his bane. Raymond threw himself upon the ground beside him. "Ah! well," said he, as he joined the troubadour, "this love of the Lady Agnes is still a distressing matter in thy thoughts." "In truth, my lord, I think of her with the greatest love and tenderness," was-the reply of Guillaume. "Verily, thou dost well," returned the baron; "she deserves requital at thy hands. Thou owest her good service. And yet, for one who so greatly affecteth a lady, and who hath found so much favor in her sight, methinks thou seek'st her but seldom. v Why is this, Sir Troubadour?" page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100-- . SOUTHWARD HO! Without waiting for the, answer, Raymond added, "But let me see what thou hast just written in her praise. It is by his verses that we understand the devotion of the troubadour." Leaning over the poet as he spoke; as if his purpose had been to possess himself of his tablets, he suddenly threw the whole weight of his person upon him, and, in the very same moment, by a quick movement of the hand, he drove the couteazu de chasse, with which he was armed, and which he had hitherto concealed behind him, with a swift, unerring stroke deep down into the bosom of the victim. Never was blow better aimed, or- with more energy delivered., The moment of danger was that of death. The unfortunate troubadour was conscious of the weapon only when he felt the steel. It was with a playful smile that Raymond struck, and so innocent was the expression of his face, even while his arm was extended and the weight of his body was pressing upon Guillaume, that the only solicitude of the latter had been to conceal his tablets. One convulsive cry, one hideous contortion, and Guillaume de Cabestaign was no more. The name of Marguerite was. the only word which escaped in his dying shriek. The murderer placed his hand upon the heart of the victim. It had already ceased to beat. CHAPTER IV. "Thou wilt mock me no more!" he muttered fiercely, as he half rose from the body now stiffening fast. But his fierce ven- geance was by no means completed. As if a new suggestion had seized upon his mind, while his hand rested upon the heart of the troubadour, he suddenly started and tore away the gar- ments from the unconscious bosom. Once more he struck it deeply with the keen and heavy blade. In a few moments he had laid it open. Then he pluiged his naked hand into the gaping wound, and tore out the still quivering heart. This he wrapped up with care and concealed in his garments. With an- other stroke he smote the head from the body, and this he also concealed, in fragments of dress torn from the person of his victim. With these proofs of his terrible revenge, lhe made his way, un- der cover of the dusk, in secret to the castle. What remains to be :told is still more dreadful--beyond belief, indeed, were it not that THE PRECIOUS MEATS. 101 the sources of our history are wholly above discredit or denial. The cruel baron, ordering his cook into his presence, then gave the heart of the troubadour into his keeping, with instructions to dress it richly, and after a manner of dressing certain favorite portions of venison, of which Marguerite was known to be par- ticularly fond. The dish was a subject of special solicitude with her husband. He himself superintended the preparation, and furnished the spices. That night, he being her only companion at the feast, it was served up to his wife, at the usual time of supper. He had assiduously subdued every vestige of anger, unkindness, or suspicion, from his countenance. Miarguerite was suffered to hear and see nothing which might provoke her ap- prehensions or arrest her appetite. She was more than usually serene and cheerful, as, that day and evening, her lord was more than commonly indulgent. He, too, could play a part when it suited him to do so; and, like most men of stern will and great experience, could adapt his moods and. manners to that livelier cast, and more pliant temper, which better persuade the feminine heart into confidence and pleasure. He smiled upon her now with the most benevolent sweetness; but while he ear- nestly encouraged her to partake of the favorite repast which she so much preferred, he himself might be seen to eat of any other dish. The wretched woman, totally unsuspicious of guile or evil, undreaming of disaster, and really conscious of but little self- reproach, ate freely of the precious meat which had been placed before her. The eyes of Raymond greedily followed every; morsel which she carried to her lips. She evidently enjoyed the food which had been spiced for her benefit, and as she continued to draw upon it, he could no longer forbear to unfold the exulta- tion which he felt at the entire satisfaction of his vengeaAce. "You seem very much to like your meats to-night, Marguerite. Do you find them good?" "Verily," she answered " this venison is really delicious." "Eat then," he continued, "I have had it dressed purposely for you'. You ought to like it. It is a dish of which you have always shown yourself very fond." "Nay, my lord, but you surely err. I can not think that I have ever eaten before of anything so very delicious as this." "Nay, nay, Marguerite, it is you that err. I know that the page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 SOUTHOWARD HO! meat of which you now partake, is one which you have always found the sweetest." * There was something now in the voice of the speaker that made Marguerite look up. Her eyes immediately met his own and the wolfish exultation which they betrayed confounded and made her shudder. She felt at once terrified with a name- less fear. There was a suddefi sickness and sinking of her heart. She felt that there was a terrible meaning, a' dreadful mystery in his looks and words, the solution of whch sle shrunk from with a vague but absorbing terror. She was too well acquainted with the sinister expression of that glance. She rallied herself to speak. "What is it that you mean,nmy lord? Something dreadful! What have you done? This food--" "Ay, this food! I can very well understand that you should find it delicious. It is such as you, have always loved a little too much. It is but natural that you should relish, now that it is dead, that which you so passionately enjoyed while -living. Marguerite, the meat of that dish which you have eaten was once the heart of Guillaume de Cabestaign!" The lips of the wretched woman parted spasmodically. Her jaws seemed to stretch asunder. Her eyes dilated in a horror akin to madness. Her arms were stretched out and forward. She half rose from the table, which she at length seized upon for her support. ' "No!" she exclaimed, hoarsely, at length. ( No! no! It is not true. It is not possible. I will not I dare not believe it." "You shall have a witness, Marguerite! You shall hear it from one whom, heretofore, you have-believed always, and who will find it impossible now to lie. Behold! This is the head of him whose heart you have eaten!" With these dreadful words, the cruel baron raised the ghastly head of the troubadour, which he had hitherto concealed beneath the table, and which he now placed upon it. At this horrible spectacle the wretched woman sunk down in a swoon, from which, however, she awakened but too quickly. The wan and bloody aspect of her lover, the eyes glazed in death but full still of the tenderest expression, met her gaze as it opened upon the light. The savage lord who had achieved the horrid butch- CATASTROPHE. 103 ery stood erect, and pointing at the spectacle of terror. His scornful ant demoniac glance-the horrid cruelty of which he continued to boast-her conscious innocence-'and that of her lover-her complete and deep despair-all conspirec. to arm her soul with courage which she had never felt till now. In the. ruin of her heart she had grown reckless of her life. ]Her eye confronted the murderer. "Be it so!" she exclaimed. "As I have eaten of meat so precious, it fits not that inferior food should ever again pass these lips! This is the last supper which I shall taste on earth!" "What! dare you thus shamelessly avow to me your passion?" ("Ay! as God who beholds us knows, never did woman more passionately and truly love mortal man, than did Marguerite of Roussillon the pure and noble Guillaume de Cabestaign. It is true 2 I fear not to say it now! Now, indeed, I am his only, and for ever!" Transported with fury at what he heard, Raymond drew his dagger, and iushed to where she stood. But she did not await his weapon. Anticipating his wrath, she darted headlong through a door which opened upon a balcony, over the balustrade of which, with' a second effort, she flung herself into the court be- low. All this was the work of but one impulse and of a single instant. Raymond reached the balcony as. the delicate frame of the beautiful woman was crushed upon the flag-stones of the court. Life had utterly departed when they raised her from the ground! This terrible catastrophe struck society everywhere with con- sternation. At a season, when not only chivalry, but the church, gave its most absolute sanction to the existence and encourage- ment of that stranlge conventional love which we have sought to describe, the crime of Raymond provoked a universal horror. Love, artificial and sentimental rather than passionate, was the soul equally of military achievement and of aristocratic society. It was then of vast importance, as an element of power, in the use of religious enthusiasm. The shock given to those who cherished this sentiment, by this dreadful history, was felt to all the extremities of the social circle. Tile friends and kindred of these lovers--the princes and princesses of the land-noble Y lords, knights and ladies, all combined, as by a common impulse, page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 SOUTHWARD HO! to Cdenounce and to destroy-the bloody-minded criminal. Al. phonso, king of Arragon, devoted himself to the wohk of justice. Raymond was seized and cast into a dungeon. His castle was razed to the ground, under a public decree, which scarcely an- ticipated the eager rage of hundreds who rushed to the work of demolition. The criminal himself was suffered to live; but he lived, either in prison or in exile, with loss of caste and society and amidst universal detestation! Very different was the fate of the lovers whom man could no more harm or separate. They were honored, under the sanc- tion of Alphonso, with a gorgeous funeral procession. They were laid together, in the same tomb, before the church of Per pignan, and their names and cruel history were duly engraven upon the stone raised to their memory. According to the Pro- venCal historians, it was afterward a custom with the knights of Roussillon, of Cerdagne, and of Narbonnois, every year to join. with the noble dames and ladies of the same places, in a. solemn service, in memory of M[arguerite of Roussillon, and William of Cabestaign. At the same time came lovers of both sexes, on a pilgrimage to their tomb, where they prayed for the repose of their souls. The anniversary of this service was instituted by Alphonso. We may add that romance has more than once seized upon this tragic history, out of which to weave her fic- tions. Boccacio has found in it the material for one of the stories of the Decameron, in which, however, while perverting history, he has done but little to merit the gratulation of Art. He has failed equally to do justice to himself, and to his melancholy subject. CHAPTER VII. "Ole Btaginny nebber tire." ^Ethiopic Muse. WE are now off the capes of Virginia, and you begin to smell i the juleps. When the winds are fair, they impregnate the at- rmosphere- gratefully I must confess-full forty miles at sea, even as the Mississippi gives its color to the Gulf, the same distance from the Balize. Should your vessel be becalmed along the coast, as mine has been frequently, you will be compensated by the grateful odor, morning and evening, as from gardens where mint and tobacco grow together in most intimate communion. The Virginian has always been a good liver. He unites the contradictory qualities which distinguished the English squire when he drew sword for the Stuarts. He has been freed from the brutal excesses which debased the character of his ancestor as described by Macaulay; but he has lost none of the generous virtues, which, in the same pages, did honor to the same charac- ter. He has all the loyalty and faith of the past--he still be- lieves in the antique charms of his home and parish. He is brave and hardy, though indolent, and has a martial swagger peculiarly his own, which gives an easy grace to his courage while taking- nothing from what is wholesome in his social de- meanor. The Virginian is a lounger. He will sleep for days and weeks, but only to start into the most energetic and performing life. See him as he drowses at ease in the shade of his piazza, his legs over the balustrade; observe him as he dawdles at the tavern, in a like attitude, with a sympathetic crowd of idlers around him. There he sits, as you perceive, in a ricketty chair, of domestic fashion, the seat of which is untanned bull's hide- his head thrown back, his heels in the air over an empty barrel, a huge plantation cigar protruded from his left cheek, and a pint t;* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 SOUTHWARD HO! goblet of julep, foaming amid green leaves and ice, beside him. There he will sit, and swear famously, and discuss politics by the hour, and talk of his famous horses, orators, and warriors- for lhe is a good local chronicler always, and has a wonderful memory of all that has happened in the "Old Dominion." You will, if you know nothing of him, fancy him a mere braggart and a sluggard. But wait. Only sound the trumpet-give the alarm-and he is on his feet. If a sluggard, he is like the Black Sluggard in Ivanhoe. He only waits the proper provo- cation. Like the war-horse, the blast of the trumpet puts liis whole frame in motion. He kicks the chair from under him. He rolls the barrel away with a single lurch. The cigar is flung from his jaw; and, emptying his julep, he is prepared for action -ready to harangue the multitude, or square off against any assailant. His fault in war is want of caution. He. never provides against an enemy because he never fears one. He is fiequently caught napping, but he makes up for it, in the end, by extra ex- ertions. - There is a dash of Raleigh and John Smith both in his caddracter, as when-the "Old Dominion," when it had not a gun- boat or a-piece of ordnance, defied Cromwell, and declared at all hazard for the Stuarts. His loyalty is as indisputable as his Cour- age---provided you let him show it as he pleases. He is as self-will- ed as Prince Rupert, who, in most respects, was no bad representa- tive of the Virginian;--bold, headlong, dashing, full of courage and effrontery, fond of a rouse, and mixing fun, fight and devo- tion, together, in a rare combination, which does not always of- fend, however it may sometimes startle. A proud fellow, who loves no master, and who only serves because it is his humor to do so. He is profligate beyond his means. His hospitality, which was once his virtue, is, like that of some of lis neighbors further south, becoming a weakness and a vice. .He will not, however, repudiate, though his gorge rises at the thought of bank- ruptcy. He is too much of an individual for that--has too much pride as a Virginian. But, I fear that his profligacy of life has tainted the purity of his politics. I could wish that Vir. ginians were less solicitous of the flesh-pots of the national gove ernment. ; ! VIRGINIA POLITICS, 107 i The mention of Virginia recalls one of the most interesting of our state histories. It is the pride of Virginia to have been one of the maternal states of this country. She shares this distinction with Iassachusetts and the Carolinas. I do not mean to sady, simply, that her sons have contributed to form the population of other states. It is in the formatigon of their character that she has been conspicuous. She has given tone and opinion to the new communities that have arisen along her frontier. She has equally influenced their social habits and courage. It would be a pleasant study, for the social philosopher, to inquire into the degree in which she has done this. It is enough that I suggest the inquiry." ' What a misfortune to Virginia that she is so near to the Dis- trict of Columbia." "And that she has given five presidents to the confederacy." "Yes! this effect is to make office a natural craving; while, it is thought that every male-child born since the days of Mon- roe, is born with a sort of natural instinct for, and a right to the presidency.". "Yet, how curious now-a-days are the materiel for a presi- dent!" "Curious, indeed! yet this would be no great evil-this change in the sort of clay supposed essential for the manufac- ture-if states preserved their integrity, their principles and pride, with their passion. But we grow flexible in moral in pro- portion to our appetites, and one who is constantly hungering will never scruple at any sort of food. The eagle descends to the garbage of the kite, and the race who once wrought their gods out of marble, soon content themselves with very rude im- itations in putty." " They need not be imitations either. AWe have reached that condition when it is no longer held essential, the counsel of flam, let to his mother, I assume a virtue if you have it not.' It is not only no longer held essential to keep up the appearances of truth and patriotism, but one is apt to be laughed at for his pains. Even to seem patriotic at WashingtoniAs held to be a gratuitous greenness." v "Let us not speak of -it. How much more grateful is it to look back to the rough, wild, half savage, but brave and honest page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 SOUTHWARD HO! past. What a pity it is that our people do not read their own old chronicles. It is now scarcely possible to pick up any of the old histories of the states, which a sincere people, with any ven.-i eration left, would be careful to keep in every household." "What an equal pity it is that these chronicles have been so feebly exemplified by the local historians. These have usually shown themselves to be mere compilers. They were, in fact, a very dull order of men among us. They were wholly deficient in imagination and art; and quite incapable of developing grace- i fully, or even of exhibiting failly, the contents of the chronicle. They merely accumulated or condensed the records; they nev- er displayed them. This is the great secret by which histories i are preserved to the future and kept popular through time. Art ' is just as necessary in truth as in fiction--a fact of which critics ; even do not always appear conscious. See now the wonderful success and attraction of Mr. Prescott's labors. His secret con- / sists chiefly in the exercise of the appropriate degree of art. His materials, in the main;, re to be found in a thousand old : volumes, available to other writers; but it was in his art that ' the lumbersome records became imbued-with life. His narra- tives of the conquest of Peru and Mexico are so many exquisite /f pictures--action, scene, portrait, all harmoniously blended inl beautiful and symmetrical connection. His details, which, in i : common hands, were usually sadly jumbled, constitute a series of noble dramas-all wrought out in eloquent action. His events are all arranged with the happiest order. His dramatis :: personce play their parts according to the equal necessities of the history and of their individual character. The parts harmonize, ...^. the persons work together, and the necessary links preserved between them, the action is unbroken to the close. All irrele- : vant matter, calculated to impair this interest, is carefully dis- carded; all subordinate matter is dismissed with a proper brev- ity, or compressed in the, form of notes, at the bottom of hs page. Nothing is dwelt upon at length, but that which justifies delineation, either from the intrinsic value of the material, or from its susceptibilities for art. Suppose the historian were to employ such a rule in the development of such chronicles as those of Virginia? What a beautiful volume might be made of it! How full of admirable lessons, of lovely sketches, of J SMTH AND POCAHONTAS. 109 fine contrasts, and spirit-stirring actions. The early voyagers, down to the time of Smith, would form the subject of a most delightful chapter; and then we open upon the career of Smith himself-that remarkable man, excellent politician, and truly noble gentleman and soldier. He seems to have been the last representative of an age which had passed from sight before he entered upon the stage. He was the embodiment of the best characteristics of chivalry. How manly his career--with what a noble self-esteem did he prepare for, the most trying issues- how generous his courage--how disinterested his virtues-how devoted to the sex--a preux chevalier, not unworthy to have supped with Bayard after the battle of Marignano. Neither England nor America has ever done justice to the genius or the performances of this man, and I fear that his name was some- what in the way of his distinctions. It is difficult- to believe in the heroism of a man named Smith. Alen do not doubt that he will fight, but mere fighting is not heroism. Heroism is the model virtue; and we are slow to ally it with the name of Smith-in- deed, with any name of a single syllable. T There are really few or no flaws in the character of the founder of Virginia." "I am not sure of that! What do you say to his treatment of the beautiful daughter of Powhatan? His coldness--" "You have simply-stumbled in the track of a popular erroi.' It is a vulgar notion that he encouraged and slighted the affec- tions of Pocahontas. All this is a mistake. He neither beguiled her with false shows of love, nror was indifferent to her beauties or her virtues. Pocahontas was a mere child to Smith, but twelve years old when he first knew'her, and he about forty." "But his neglect of her when she went to England " "Te did not neglect her." "She reproached him for it." "Yes; the poor savage in her unsophisticated child-heart, knew nothing of that convention which, in Europe, lay as bur- densomely upon Smith as upon herself. Even then, however, he treated her as tenderly as if she were his own child, with this difference, that he was required to approach her as a princess. His reserves were dictated by a prudent caution which did not venture to outrage the pedantic prejudices of the Scottish Solo- mon, then upon the throne, who, if you remember, was very page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O SOUTHWARD HO! slow to forgive Rolfe, one of his subjects, for the audacity which led him to marry the princess of Virginia." "By the way, you have yourself made Smith an object -of the love of Pocahontas." "It was the sin of my youth; and was the natural use to be made of the subject when treating it in verse." "Come--as one of your contributions to our 'evening, give us your legend. Miss Burroughs will no doubt be pleased to hear it, and your verse may very well serve as a relief toeour prose." "What do you say, Seila i" "Oh! by all means-the legend." "To hear is to obey." The circle closed about me, and, with many natural misgivings, and a hesitation which is my peculiar infirmity, I delivered my- self as well as I could of the fabrication which follows:- POCAHONTAS; A LEGEND OF VIRGINIA. I. "GHT was her heart and sweet her smile, The dusky maid of forest-bower, Ere yet the stranger's step of guile Bore one soft beauty from the flower; The wild girl of an Indian vale, A'child, with all of woman's seenling, And if her cheek be less than pale, 'Twas with the life-blood throughl it streaming. Soft was the light that fill'd her eye, And grace was in her every motion, Her voice was touching, like the sigh, When passion first becomes devotion ;- And worship still was hers--her sire Beloved and fear'd, a prince of power, Whose simplest word or glance of ire Still made a thousand warriors cower. Not such her sway,-yet not the less, Because it better pleased to bless, And won its rule by gentleness; Among a savage people, still She kept from savage moods apart, And thought of crime, and dream of ill Had never sway'd her maiden heart. THE FOREST MAIDEN. 1"L A mildler tutor had been there, And, midst wild scenes and wilder men, Her spirit, like her form, was fair, And gracious was its guidance then. - Her sire, that fierce old forest king Himself had ruled that she should be A meek, and ever gentle thing, To clip his neck, to clasp his knee; To bring his cup when, from the chase, He came o'erwearied with its toils; To cheer him by her-girlish grace, To sooth him by her sunniest smiles :- They rear'd her thus a thing apart From deeds that make the savage mirth, And haply had she kept her heart As fresh and gentle as at birth; A Christian heart, though by its creed Untaught, yet, in her native wild, Free from all evil thought or deed, A sweet, and fond, and tearful child; Scarce woman yet, but haply nigh The unconscious changes of the hour When youth is sad, unknowing why,- The bud dilating to the flower, And sighing with the expanding birth Of passionate hopes, that, born to bless, May yet, superior still to earth, Make happy with their pure impress. Such, in her childhood, ere the blight Of failing fortunes touch'd her race, Was Pocahontas still,--a bright And blessing form of youth and grace;-- Beloved of all, her father's pride, His passion, from the rest apart, A love for which he would have died, The very life-blood of his heart. II. The king would seek the chlse to-day, And mighty is the wild array That gathers nigh in savage play,- A nation yields its ear; A bison herd-- so goes the tale- Is trampling down the cultured vale, Y And none who love the land may fail To gather when they hear. page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 s SOUTHWARD HO! He goes--the father from his child, To seek the monster of the wild, But, in his fond embraces caught, Ere yet he goes, he hears her thought- Her wish-the spotted fawn-the prize, The pet most dear to girlhood's eyes, Long promised, which the chase denies. Stern is the sudden look he darts Among the assembled crowd, as now His footstep friom the threshold parts, And dark the cloud about his brow. "We hunt no timid deer to-day, And arm for slaughter, not for play- Another senson for such prey, My child, and other prey fo(r thee: -A captive from the herd we seek, Would bring but sorrow to thy cheek, AlMake thee forget what peace is here, Of bird, and bloom, and shady tree, And teach thine eyes the'unknown tear!- No more!" He puts her firom his grasp, Undoes, with gentle hand, the clasp She takes about his neck, and then, Even as he sees her silent grief, He turns, that stern old warrior-ceief, And takes her to his arms again. "'It shall be as thou wilt-thec fawsn, ,\. Ere from the hills the light is gone, Shall crouch beneath thy hands." How sweetly then she smiled--his eye Once more perused her tenderly, Then, With a smile, he put her by, And shouted to his bands. "I. They came! -a word, a look, is alil- The thicket hides their wild array; A thousand warriors, plumed and tall, Well arm'd and painted for the fray. The maiden watch'd their march,-a doubt Rose in her heart, which, as they went, Her tongue had half-way spoken out, 'Suspicious of their fell intent. "A bison herd - yet why the frown Upon my father's brow, and why THE WAn PARTY. 113 The war-tuft on each warrior's crown, The war-whoop as they gather'd nigh? Tlhey tell of stranger braves - a race, With thunder clad, and pale of face, And lightnings in their grasp -who dart The bolt unseen with deadliest aim- A sudden shock, a rush of flame - Still fatal, to the foeman's heart. Ah! much I fear, with these to fight, Our warriors seek the woods to-day; And they will back return by night With horrid tokens of the fray;- With captives doom'd in robes of fire To sooth the spirits of those who fell, And glut the red and raging ire Of those who but avenge too well! Ah!- father, could my prayer avail, Such should not be their sport and pride; It were, methinks, a lovelier tale, Of peace along our river's side; And groves of plenty, fill'd with song Of birds that crowd, a happy throng To hail the happier throngs below; That tend the maize-fields and pursue Thi chase, or urge the birch canoe, And seek no prey and have no foe! Ah! not for me--if there should come A chief to bear me to his home- Let him not hope, with bloody spear, To win me to his heart and will- Nor boast, in hope to please mine ear, Of victims he has joy'd to kill. No! let me be a maiden still; I care not if they mock, and say The child of Powhatan sits lone, And lingers by the public way With none to hearken to her moan- She'll sit, nor sigh, till 9ne appears Who finds no joy in human tears." IV. Now sinks the day-Star, and the eve With dun and purple seems to grieve; Sudden the dark ascends, the night I Speeds on', with rapid rush and flight; i . The maiden leaves her forest bowers, i ' Where late she wove her idle flowers, page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 SOUTHWARD HO! Chill'd by the gloom, but chill'd the moro As from the distant wood she hears A shrie. of death, that, heard before, Halh grown familiar to her cars; And fills her soul with secret dread Of many a grief the young heart knows, '- In loneliness, by fancy fed, That ever broods o'er nameless woes, And grieves the more at that relief Which finds another name for grief. Too certain now her cause of fear, That shout of death awakes again; The cry which stuns her woman ear, Is that of vengeance for the slain. Too well she knows the sound that speaks For terrors of the mortal strife; The bitter yell, whose promise recks With vengeance on the captive life. "' No bison hunt," she cried, " but fight: Their cruel joy, their sad delight; They come with bloody hands to bring Some captive to the fatal ring; There's vengeance to be done to-day For warrior slaughter'd in the fray; Yet who their foe, unless it be The race that comes beyond the sea, The pale, but powerful chiefs who bear The lightnings in their grasp, and fling Their sudden thunder through the air, With bolts that fly on secret wing? The Massawomek now no more Brings down his warriors to the shore; And 'twas but late the Monacan, UOercome in frequent fight, gave o'er, And bow'd the knee to Powhatan. Scarce is gone three moons ago Since they laid the hatchet low, Smoked the calumet, that grew To a sign for every eye, And by this the warriors knew That the Spirit from above, As the light sinoke floated high, Bless'd it with'the breath of love. 'Tis the pale-face, then, and he,- Wild in wrath, and dread to see,- Terrible in fight,-ah t me!- WAR COUNCIL OF POWHATAN. " If against my father's heart He hath sped his thunder-dart! V. Now gather the warriors of Powhatan nigh, A rock is his throne, His footstool a stac e Dark the cloud on his brow, keen the fire in his eye; To a ridge on his forehead swells the vein;- His hand grasps the hatchet, which swings to and fro As if ready to sink in the brain, But seeking in vain for the foe! Thus the king on the circle looks round, With a speech that hath never a sound; His eye hath a thirst which imparts What the lip might but feebly essay, And it speaks like an arrow to their hearts, As if bidding them bound on the prey. The brow of each chief is in air, With a loftiness born of his own; And the king, like the lion from his lair, Looks proud on the props of his throne. His eagle and his tiger are there, His vulture, his cougrar, his fox,- And, cold on the edge of his rocks, The war-rattle rings his alarum and cries, "I strike,,and my enemy dies!" Lifts the soul of the monarch to hear, Lifts the soul of the monarch to see, And, quick at his summons, the chieftains draw near, And, shouting they sink on the 1knee,- Then rise and await his decree. The king in conscious majesty Roll'd prouind his fiery eye, As some meteor, hung on high, Tells of fearful things to be, In the record roll of fate, Which the victim may not flee- It may be to one alone, Of the thousand forms that wait,' At the footstool of the throne! Parts his lips for speech, but ere Word can speak to human sense, Lo! the circle -opens- there - page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 SOUTHWARD HO! One descends, a form of light, As if borne with downward flight, You mnay hardly gather whence; Slight the form, and with a grace Caught from heaven its native place; Bright of eye, and with a cleek, , ' In its glowing ever meek, With a maiden modesty, That puts Love, a subject, by;--- And such soft and streaming tresses, That the gazer stops and blesses, Having sudden dreams that spell Reason on her throne, and make All the subject thoughts rebel, For the simple fancy's sake! Such the vision now! The ring Yields,-and lo! before the king, Down she sinks beneath the throne Where he sits in strength alone,- She upon a lowly stone! And her tresses settle down Loosely on her shoulders brown Heedless she, the while, of aught But the terror in her thought. Eager in her fears, her hand Rests upon his knee-her eye- Gazing on the fierce command Throned in his with majesty- She alone at that dark hour, Dare approach the man of power. VII. Dread the pause that followed then In those ranks of savage men; Fain would Powhatan declare What is working in his soul; But the eye that meets him there, As the maiden upward looks, Spells him with a sweet control Never long his spirit brooks Such control--his angry eye- Seeks her with reproving fire, And her lips, with fond reply, Part to calm the rising ire; , Soft the accents, yet the sound Strangely breaks the silence round. THE DARK SPOT. 117 VIii, "Is't thus t,lloll keep'st thy word with meo? I see not here the spotted fawn, Which thou didst promise me should be, Ere daylight from the hills was gone, A captive all unharmed caught. For this, to wreathe its neck, I sought The purple flower that crowns the wood,-- And gather'cd from the sandy shore The singing shell with crimson core, As it wcre dropp'd with innocent blood. To thee I l;now the taslk were light To rouse the silver-foot and take, Even in its weeping mother's sight, The bleating captive from the braloe. Yet, here, no captive waits for me; No trophy of thy skill and toil; Not even the bison-head I see, The youthful hunter's proper spoil. But, in its stead--ah! wherefore now,- My father! do not check thy child! Why is the dark spot on thy brow, And why thy aspect stern and wild? What may this mean? no bison chase, Nor failing sport, not often vain, Hath fix'd that sign upon your face, Of passionate hate and mortal pain! Ah! no! methinks the fearful mood Hath found its birth in hostile blood- The war-whoop, shouted as ye went, This told me of your fell intent; The death-whoop, chanted as ye came, Declared, as well, defeat and shame!" IX. "Ay!" cried the monarch, " well ye speak; I feel the words upon my cheek, In burning characters that cry For vengeance on mine enemy. 'Tis true as thou hast said, my child, XWe met our foemen in the wild, And from the conflict bear away But death and shame to prove the fray. Vainly our warriors fought,--our sires, y Withhllllold their blessings on our arms; page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 SOUTHWARD HO! The pale-face with his thunder-fires, His lightning-shafts, and wizard charms, Hath bated strength and courage.--We May fold our arms-the glorious race, That from the day-god toolk their birth Must to the stranger yield the place, Uproot the great ancestral tree, And fling their mantles down on earth. Yet shall there be no vengeance? Cries, From earth demand the sacrifice; Souls of the slaughllter'd warriors stand, And wave us with each bloody hand; 4 Call for the ghost of hilm whho slew- In bloody rites, a warrior txue,- And shall they call in vain? To smooth the path of shadows, Heaven A victim to the doom hath given, Whose heart, with stroke asunder riven, Shall recompense the slain!" X. While fury took the place of grief, Impatient then the monarch chief, A stalwart savage summon'd nigllh ;- ",The pale-faced warrior bring -the brave Shriek o'er the valley for their slave,- I hear them in the; eagle's cry, The wolf's sharp clamors-he must die! No coward he to shrink firom death, But, shouting in his latest breath, Its pangs he will defy.-- It joys, my soul at such a fate, Which, though the agony be great, Can still exulting sing,- Of braves, the victims to his brand, Whose crowding ghosts about him stand, To bear him to the spirit-land On swift and sublject wing!" XI. The block is prepared, The weapon is bared, -And the warriors' are nigh with their tonmahawks rcar'd; The prisoner they bring In the midst of the ring, And the king bids the circle around him be clear'd. THE VICTIM AT THE STAKE. 119 The wrath on his brow at the sight Of the prisoner they brihg to his doom, Now kindles his eye with a lordly delight, As the lightning-flash kindles the gloom. He rises, he sways, with a breath, And hush'd grows the clamor of death; Falls the weapon that groan'd with the thirst To drink from the fountain accurst; Stills the murmur that spoke for the hate That chafed but to wait upon fate. XII. How trembled then the maid, as rose That captive warrior calm and stern, Thius girded by the wolfish foes His fearless spirit still would spurn; How bright his glance, how fair his face, And with what proud and liberal grace His footsteps free advance, as still He follows firm the bloody mace That guided to the gloomy place Where stood the savage set to kill! How fills her soul with dread dismay, Beholding in his form and air How noble is the unwonted prey Thus yielded to the deatlisman there! Still fearless, though in foreign land, No weapon in his fettered hand, Girt by a dark and hostile band That never knew to spare! \ His limbs, but not his spirit bound, How looks the god-like stranger round! As heedless of the doom, as when, In sight of thirty thousand men, He stood by Regall's walls, and slew The bravest-of her chiefs that came His best in beauty's sight to do, And seeking honor, finding shame! As little moved by fate and fear, As when, in fair Charatza's smile Exulting, he was doom'd to bear The Tartar's blows and bondage. vile;- And slew him in his resolute mood, Though Terror's worst beside him stood, And all her sleuthhounds follow'd fast, Death, hunger, hate, a venomous brood, page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 SOUTHWARD HO! Where'er his flying footsteps past.* Not now to shrink, though, in his eyes, Theireager hands, at last, elate, Have track'd him where the bloodstone lies, And mock him with the shaft of fate! With courage full as great as theirs, He keeps a soul that laughs at fears; Too proud for grief, too brave for tears, Their tortures still he mocks, and boasts His own great deeds, the crowding hosts, Tliat witness'd, and the shrieking ghosts His violent arm set firee; And, while his heart dilates in thought Of glorious deeds in lands remote, The pride of Europe's chivalry, It seem'd to those who gazed, that still The passion of triumph seem'd to fill, While nerving with a deathless will, The exulting champion's heart! Half trembled then the savage foe, Lest sudden, from the unseen bow, , He still might send the fatal blow, He still might wing the dart. But soon-as o'er the captive's soul, Some tender memories seem'd to roll, Like billowy clouds that charged with streams, Soon hide in saddest gloom the gleams Of the imperial sun, and hush, In grief, the day's dilating flush . Of glory and pride,- the triumph fell- The soul obey'd the suddilen spell!-- A dream of love that, kindled f'ar, In youth, beneath .the eastern star, Is passing from his hope, to be The last best lighlt of memory. Soft grew the fire within his eyes, One tear the warrior's strength defies,-- His soul a moment falters-then, As if the pliancy were shame, Dishonoring all his ancient fame, He stood! -the master-man of men! - XIII. That molment's sign of weakness broke, The spell that still'd the crowd! The chief, * See the Life of Captain John Smith, the founder of Virginia; his wondrous adventul's among the Turks, &c, AT TIEE STAKE " 121 With moc-lkery in his accent spoke- For still the savage mocks at grief-T "No more! why should th' impatient death Forbear, till with the woman's breath, Her trembling fear, her yearning sigh For life but vainly kept with shame, He wrongs his own and people's name!- I would not have the warrior die, Nor to the last, with battle cry, Exulting, shout-his fame! Spare him the crime of tears that flow, A sign of suffering none should know But him who flings aside the bow, And shrinks the brand to bear, Let not our sons the wealkness see, Lest from the foe in shame they flee, And by their souls no longer free, Grow captive to their fear: For him!--I pity while I scorn The tribe in which the wretch was born; And, as I gaze around, I glad me that mine aged eye Sees none of all who gather nigh, Who dreads to hear the war-whoop's sound, Not one who fears to die!" XIV. They cast the prisoner to the ground, With gyves from neighboring vines they bound, }His brow upon the aqcient rock They laid with wild and bitter mock, That joy'd to mark the deep despair That moment in'the prisoner's eye, As sudden, swung aloft in air, He sees the bloody mace on high! But not for lim to plead in fear- No sign of pity comes to cheer, And, with one short unwhisper'd prayer, He yields him up to die. Keen are the eyes that watch the blow, Impatient till the blood shall flow, A thousand hearts that gloating glow, In eageil silence hush'd: The arm that wields the mace is bending, The instrument of death descending,- A moment, and the mortal sinks, 6 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 SOUTHWArD HO! - A moment, and the spirit soars, The earth his parting life-blood drinks, The spIrit flies to foreign shores: A moment!--and the maiden rush'd From the low stone where still affrighted, Scarce dreaming what she sees is true- With vision dim, with thoughts benighted, She sate as doom'd for slautghtertop;- . And stay'd the stroke in its descent, r While on her childish knee she bent, i Flings one arm o'er the captive's brow, ' Above Il;s forehead lifts her own, Then turns-- with eye grown tearless now, . But full of speech--as eye alone -! Can speak to eye and heart in prayer- For mercy to her father's throne! Al! can she hope for mercy there? f - XV. - And what of him that savage sire? 1,! Oh! surely, not in vain she turns .:i; To where his glance of mortal ire, : InIlurid light of anger burns. t A moment leaps he to his feet, : When first her sudden form is seen, / ] Across the circle darting fleet, The captive fi'om the stroke to screen. Above his heard, with fulious whilrl, The hatchet gleamis i1 act to fly;- - But., as he sees the kneeling girl, The pleading glances of her eye.- The angel spirit of mercy waves The evil spirit of wrath away, And all accords, ere yet she craves Of that her eye alone can pray. Strange is the weakness born of love, That melts the iron of his soul, And lifts him momently above His passions and their dark control; And he who pity ne'er had shown To captive of his bow and spear, By one strong sudden sense has grown To feel that pity may be dear As vengeance to the heart,--when still Love keeps one lurliing-place, and grows, Thus prompted by a woman's will, Triumphant o'er a thousand foes. " ,1 "OVERS TRIUMPH. 123 'Twas as if sudden, touch'd by Heaven, The seal -that kept the rock' was riven; As if tlIe waters slumbering deep, Even from the very birth of light, Smote by its smile, had learn'd to leap, Rejoicing to their Maker's sight. How could that stern old king deny The angel pleading in her eye?- How mock the sweet imploring grace, That breathed in beauty from her face, And to her kneeling action gave A power to soothe, and still subdue, Until, though humble as the slave. To more than queenly sway she grew? Oh! brief the doubt, -O! short the strife! She wins the captive's forfeit life. She breaks his bands--she bids him go, Her idol; but her country's foe; And dreams not, in that parting hour, The gyves that from his limbs she tears, Are light in weight, and frail in power, To those that round her heart she wears. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] CHAPTER VIII. Nest egg of th6 OId Dominion. WITH joined hands, Smith and Pocahontas conduct you natu- rally to Janiestown, that abandoned nest of the Sire of Eagles. James river is one of the classic regions of the country. Aeo should all of us, once in a life, at least, make it the object of a pilgrimage! It is full of associations, to say nothing of it as a fine spacious stream, which, when a better spirit and knowledge of farming shall prevail and a denser population shall inhabit its borders, will become a clannel of great wealth, and present a throng of quiet beauties to the eye wherever its currents wander. "But the imputation of a sickly climate rests upon Jamles river." "( This is due wholly to the sparseness of the settlements, the lack of drainage, the want of proper openings in the woods for the progress of the winds, and to the presence of a cumbrous and always rotting undergrowth. Population will cure all this. It is doing it already. The farming settlements are improving, and the health of the river is said to be improving along withl them. You will have pointed out to you, along the route, a number of well-cultivated plantations, some, containing four or five thousand acres, which are represented as being among the best man- aged and most profitable in the state. With the substitution of farming for staple culture, this progress would be rapid." But the genius of the Southron, particularly the Virginian, has always inclined more to extensive than to careful cultivation. His aims were always magnificent. Hle must have large estates. He can not bear to be crowded. Like his cattle, he must get all the range he can; and, in the extent of his territory, he neg- lects its implovement. Indeed, his force-that is, his labor- was never equal to his estates. The New York farmers have , JAMESTOWN. 125 * been farming- upon his waste domains. Their policy differs, from his in one essential particular. They concentrate the energies which he diffuses. They require but small territory, and they make the most of it. Lalds which, in the hands of the Virgin- ian, were no longer profitable for tobacco, the New-Yorkers have limed for wheat; and wlhat he sold at a dollar per acre, in many instances will now command seventy-five dollars. The character of the Southron is bold and adventurous. This leads him to prefer the wandering to the stationary life. He needs excite- ment, and prefers the varieties and the vicissitudes of the forest, to the tame drudgery of the farmstead. His mission is that of a pioneer. The same farmer who now makes his old fields flour- ish in grain, thirty bushels to the acre, would never hlave set foot in the country, until the brave Virginian had cleared it of its savage inhabitants, the wild beast, and the red man." ( James river conducts you to Jamestownamesmestown and St. Augustine are among the oldest landmarks of civilization in Anglo-Norman America. You approach both, if properly minded, with becoming veneration. The site of Jamestown is an island, connected by a bridge with the main. The spot is rather a pleas- ing than an imposing one. It was chosen evidently with regard to two objects, security from invasion by the sea, and yet an easy communication with it when desirable. Here, squat- and hidden like a sea-fowl about to lay her eggs, the colony escaped tlhe vigilant eyes and ferocious pursuit of the hungry Spaniard." "What a commnientary upon the instability of national power is the fact, that, at this day, this power has no longer the capa- city to harm. In the time of Elizabeth, the Spaniard was the world's great Tiger Shark. Now, he is little better than a skip- jack in the-maw of that Behemoth of the nations, whose sea- growth lhe certainly did something to retard. In the time of Roundhead 'authority, the Dutch were a sort of corpulent sword- fish of the sea; now you imay better liken them to the great lazy turtle, fat and feeble, whomn more adroit adventurers turn upon their backs to be gathered up at leisure. Both of these nations mllay find their revenges, and recover position in other days, when the powers by which they were overcome shall f/all into their errors, and contrive, through sheer blindness, their own Y emasculation." -i page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 SOUTHWARD HO! "Did you ever, read ' Purchas, his Pilgrims?' V He has a de- scription of Jamestown in 1610, written by William Strachey, If you are curious to see it, I have it in my berth, and malrked the passage only this morning." Some curiosity being expressed, the book was brought, and the extract read. It may possibly interest others, in this con- nection, to see where the first tree was hewn in the New World g by the hands of the Anglo-Norman. , i"A low levell of ground about halfe an acre, or (so much as ; Queene Dido might buy of King Hyarbas, which she compassed ? about with the thongs cut out of one bull's, and therein built her castle of Byrsa) on the North side of the river is cast almost into : the forme of a triangle, and so pallazadoed. The South side g: next the river (howheit extended in a line, or curtaine six score i foote more in lengthe, than the other two- by reason of the ad- . vantages of the ground doth so require), contains- one hundred and forty yards: the West and East side a hundred only. At every angle or corner, where the lines meet, a bulwarke or- watchtower is raised, and in each bulwarke a piece of ordnance ! or two well mounted. To every side, a proportionate distance ? from the pallisado, is a settled streete of houses, that runs along, so as each line of the angle hath his streete. In the midst is a market place, a storehouse and a corps du garde, as likewise a pretty chappelle, though (at this time when we came in) as ruin- ed and unfrequented: but, the Lord, Governor and Captaine General, hath given order for-the repairing of it, and at this in- stant many hands are about it. It is in lengthe three-score : foote, in breadth twenty-four, and shall have a chancell in it of ; cedar, and a communion table of the blacke walnut -and all the I pewVs of cedar, with fair broad windows, to shut and open, as the weather shall occasion: a pulpit of the same wood, with a font hewn hollow like a canoa; with two bells at the West end. It is so cast as it be very light within, and the Lord Governor and Captaine Generall doth cause it to be passing sweete and trim- med up with divers flowers;--with a sexton belonging to it." "So much for the Church--the first Elnglish Church, be it remembered, ever raised in America. This should render the descriptionan interesting one. And now something for the uses to which it was put. We see that Strachey found it in a ruinous EARLY DEVOTION, UO' vlRlUlA. . -. condition. This was in 1610. You are not to suppose that the ruin of the church 'arose from the neglect of the worshippers. It was rather the result of thce more pressing misfortunes of the colonists. Smith was superseded by Lord Delaware in 1609, who brought with him a host of profligate adventurers, some of whom Smith had sent out of the colony, tied neck and heels, as crimi- nals. It as an evil augury to him and to the colony that they were brought back. They brough t with them faction, confusion, and misery. Insurrection followed--the Indians revolted and commenced the work of indiscriminate massacre, and the church and religion necessarily suffered all the disasters which had be- fallen society. But, with the restoration of the church under Delaware, let us see what followed. Our Puritans make a great outcry about their devotions. They are perpetually raising their. rams' horns, perhaps quite as much in the hope of bringing down the walls of their neighbors, as with the passion of religion. Our Virginia colonists boast very little of what they did in the way of devotion. Let us hear Stracley still further on this subject- . "'Every Sunday we have sermons twice a day, and every Thursday a sermon-having two preachers which take their wekely turnes-and every morning at the ringng of a bell, about ten of th-e clocke, each man addresseth himself to prayers, and so, at four of the clocke before supper.' "Verily, but few of the ' guid folk' of Virginia or New Eng- land are so frequent now-a-days at their religious exercises! The authorities of Virginia set the example :- "'Every Sunday, when the Lord Governor and Captain Gen- erall goeth to church, he is accompanied with all the Counsail- lors, Captains, other officers, and all the gentlemen, and with a guard of Halberdiers, in his lordship's livery, faire red cloaks, to the number of fifty, both on each side and behind him: and being in the church, his lordship hath his seate in the Quzer in a green velvet chair, with a cloath, with a velvet cushion spread on a table before him on which he kneeleth, and on each side sit the Counsell, Captains, and officers, each in their place; and when he returneth home again, he is waited on to his house in the same manner. y Something stately, these devotions, but they were those of page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] SOUTHWARD HO! the times, and of-the politician. Religion has a twofold as. pect, and concerns society as well as the individual, though not in the same degree. And this, would you believe it, was just ten years before the, Puritans landede at Plymouth. Our Vir- ginians were clearly not wholly regardless of those serious per- formances- which their more youthful neighbors, farther East, claim pretty much to have monopolized. But to return. It may interest many readers to see what Strachey further says of the ancient city of Jamestown. "' The houses first raised were all burnt, by a casualty of fire, the beginning of the second year of their siat [settlement] and in the second voyage of Captain Newport; which have been bet- ter rebuilted, though as yet in no great uniformity, either for the fashion or the beauty of the streete. A delicate wrought fine kind of mat the Indians make, with which (as they can be trucked for, or snatched up*) our people so dress their chambers and-inward rooms, which make their homes so much the more handsome. Thle houses have large and wide country chimnies in the which is to be supposed (in such plenty of wood) what fires are maintained; and they have found the way to cover their houses, now (as the Indians), with barkes of trees, as du- rable and good proofs against stormes andc winter weather as the best tyle, defending likewise the piercing sunbeams of summer and keeping the inner lodgings coole enough which before would be in sultry weather like stoves, rwhilst they were, as at first, pargetted and plaistered with bitumen or tough clay; and thus armed for the injury of changing times, and seasons of the the year, we hold ourselves well apaid, though. wanting array s This snatching up bothered us in the case of a people so devout in their attendance upon church, but, turning to the Journal of the Plymouth Pilgrims (Cheever's) we found at their very first entrance upon Indian land a similar case of snatching up, which proves the practice to have been no ways improper, even if not exactly religious. At page 34, we read, that our beloved Pilgrims found where the " naked salvages" had put away a basket of come, four or five bushels. "We were in suspense what to do with it," says our simple chroni- cler, but the' long and short of the suspense and consultation resulted'in their. taking off the commodity-in other words, " snatching up," which they did, with the avowed determination if they ever met with the owner to satisfy him for his grain. Our Virginians, I filncy, did their snatching precisely on the same. terms. hangings, tapestry, and guilded Venetian cordovan, or more spruce household garniture, and wanton city ornaments, remem- bering the old Epigraph- - "We dwelt not hero to build us Barnes And Halls for pleasure and good cheer, But Halls we build for us and ours To dwell in them while we live here.' "The Puritans could not have expressed themselves more de- 1 yvoutly. Here are texts to stimulate into eloquence a thousand annual self-applausive orators, for a thousand years to come. That this was the prevailing spirit of those who gave tone to the- colony, and lnot the sentiments of a single individual, hear fur- ther of the manner in which that most excellent ruler, the Lord Delaware, first made his approaches to the colony. This, be it remembered, was in 1610, ten years before the Plymouth pil. grims brought religion to the benighted West:- - "'Upon his lordship's landing, at the south gate of the Palle- sado (which looks into the river) our governor caused his com- pany to stand in order and make a guard. It pleased him that: I (William Strachey) should bear his colours for that time:- His lordship landing, fell upon his knees, and before us: all made a long and silent prayer to himself, and after marching up into the town: when at the gate, I bowed with the colours' and let them fall at his Lordship's feet, who passed into the chapelle, where he heard a sermon by Master Bucke, our Governor's preacher,' &c. "To pray to himself, perhaps, was not altogether in the spirit of that very intense religion which some portions of our country so love to eulogize; but methinks it was not bad for our Virginia Governor, whom their better neighbours were wont to suppose never prayed at all. But they worked, too, as well as prayed, these rollicking Virginians: and their works survive them. The conversion of Pocahontas--the possession of that bright creature of a wild humanity--has been long since envied to Virginia by all the other colonies. Take the account of her conversion from a letter of Sir Thomas Dale .- "'Powhatan's daughter I caused to be carefully instructed in the Christian religion, who, after she had made some good progresse therein, renounced publickly her Country's Idolatry, 6* page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] SOUTHWARD HO! ; openly confessed her Christian Faith, was, as she desired, bap. tized, and is since married to an English Gentleman of good un. derstanding--as by his letter unto me, containing the reasons of his marriage unto her, you may perceive. Another knot to bind the knot the stronger. Her father and friends gave appro- bation of it, and her uncle gave her to him in the Church: she lives civilly and lovingly with him, and I trust will increase in goodnesse as the knowledge of God increaseth in her. She will goe into England with mee, and were it but the gaining of this one such, I will think my time, toile, and present stay, well spent,' "Enough of our old chronicler for a single sitting. I trust the taste will lead to further readings: too little is really known of our early histories. We gather the leading facts, perhaps, from the miserable abridgments that flood the country, and too frequently pervert the truth'; but, at best, the tone, the spirit of the history is sadly lacking. We want books which shall not only see the doings of our fathers, but trace and appreciate their sympathies and feelings also. But the bell rings for sup- per, and the captain signalizes us with an especial leer and wave of the hand. With you in a moment, Seior, as soon as I have laid old Purchas on his pillow." CIAPTER IX. "To servo bravely is to come lalting-off you know." King Henry IV. " ONE lingers thoughtfully among the ruins of Jamestown. It is, of course, the mere site which will now interest you in its con- templation. There is little or nothing to be seen. It is the as- sociation only, the genius loci, that 'offers provocation to the con- templative spirit. You behold nothing but an empty and long- abandoned nest; but it is the nest of one of those maternal birds whose prolific nature has filled the nations. 'The ruins which remain of Jamestown consist only of a single tower of the old church. In the dense coppice near it, you see the ancient piles which cover the early dead of the settlement. The tower is a somewhat picturesque object by itself, though it depends for its charm chiefly on its historical associations. It is enough of the ruin for the romantic, and, seen by moonlight, the arches and the "rents of ruin;" through which ivy and lichen, shrub and creeper, make their appearance, are objects which fancy will find precious to those even who never turn the pages of our musty chronicles, and hear nothing of the mournful whispers of the past. What stores of tradition, wild song and wilder story, are yet to be turned up with the soil of this neighborhood, or laid bare in the search among the ruins of this ancient tower. Could it only speak, what a fascinating history would it reveal. What glorious traditions ought to invest the locality. What memories are awakened by its simple mention. What pictures does it not paint to the fancy and the thought!" "Talking of traditions of the Old Dominion,' I am reminded of one which was told me many years ago by a fellow traveller, as we pursued our way up James river. He insisted that there were good authorities for the story which I had rashy imputed to his own invention. He was one of, those persons who never page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 SOUTHWARD O! scruple at a manufacture of their own, when the thing wanted is not exactly ready to. their hands, and I dare not answer for the chronicle." "Let us have it by all means." The ladies seconded the entreaty, and our fellow-voyager begani "You are aware," said he, "that in the early settlement of Virginia, as perhaps in the case of all colonists in a new coun. try, there is always at first a lamentable dearth of women. The pioneers were greatly at a loss what to do for wives and house- keepers., Nothing could be more distressing." "As Campbell sings it, of a more select region-- 'lThe -world was sad, the garden was a wild, And man the hermit sighed- till woman smiled.' " "Precisely! Our Virgilnians felt particularly lonesome along the wildernesses of James river, as is the case even now witl our Californians along the Sacramento and other golden waters." "Nay, they are much more charitable now. The gold re- gions are not so barren of beauty as you think. This may be owing to the greater safety of the enterprise. In 1600 a young woman incurred some peril of losing a scalp while seeking a swain in the territories of that fierce Don of Potomacke, Pow- hatan." "The danger certainly was of a sort to demand consideration. It was one which the old girls might be permitted to meditate : almost as cautiously as the young ones. At all events, our 'guid folk' in the Old Dominion felt the 'need of a supply, the 1 demand being no less earnest than pressing. They commissioned t their friends and agents in England to supply their wants withl t all despatch, making the required qualifications as moderate and ;' few as possible, the better to insure the probability of being pro- vided. The proprietaries, after a solemn counsel together, ar- I rived at the conclusion that the requisition was by no means anll unreasonable one; a conclusion to which they arrived more I readily from the great interest which their 'own wives respect- ively took in the discussion. Efforts were accordingly made for meeting the wishes of the colonists. Advertisements, whichh, it is said, are still to be found in the news organs of the day-- were put forth in London and elsewhere, announcing the nature of the demand and soliciting the supply. M[uch, of course, wa1s IF WIVES WANTED. -. 133 said in favor of the beauty and resources of the country in which they were expected to seek a home. Much also was urged in behalf of the individual settlers, whose demhands were most ur- ? gent. 'They were of good health and body, very able and dil- i igent, men of moral and muscle, very capable of maintaining church and state, and contributing in a thousand ways to the growth and good of both.' Certain of them were especially described with names-given, not omitting sundry cogent particu- lars in respect to their moneyed means, employments, and general worldly condition. In brief, able-bodied, well-limbed and well- visaged young women, were assured of finding themselves well matched and honorably housed within the sylvan paradise of Powhatan, as soon as they should arrive. The advertisements prudently forbore to insist upon any special certificates--so necessary when housemaids are to be chosen-of claracter and manners. A small bounty, indeed, was offered with outfit and free passage. "The appeal to the gentle hearts and Christian charities of the sex, was not made in vain. A goodly number soon offered themselves for the adventure, most of whom were supposed likely to meet the wishes of the hungry colonists. The standards were not overlyhigh--the commissioners, appreciating the self-sacri- ficing spirit which governed the damsel-were not disposed to be exacting. There were some of the damsels of much and decided growth--some were distinguished more by size than sweetness: others again might-though they modestly forebore to do so-this is the one failing of the sex-boast of their ripe antiquity; none of them were remarkable for their beauty, but as all parties agreed to evade this topic--for reasons no doubt good enough in those days-we will not make it a subject of discussion in ours. There was one only, among two score, about whom the commissioners came to a dead pause--an absolute halt--and. finally to a grave renewal of their deliberations. "The party thus in danger of rejection, was, comely enough to the eye, according to the standards adopted in the- general rec- ognition of applicants. She was fair enough, and strong enough, and' there could be no doubt that she was quite old enough, but there was not quite enough of her. "She was minus a leg! page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 SOUoTHWARD HO! "Was this a disqualification or not? That was the difficult question. When first presenting herself, it was observed that she had advanced a foot. The foot was a good one--a foot of size and character, and the leg wlwhich accompanied it, and of which more was exhibited than was absolutely necessary to the examination, was admitted to be an unobjectionable leg. Bt somehow, one of the commissioners begged leave to see the other. This literally occasioned a halt. In place of the required mem- ber, she thrust forward a stick of English oak, which might have served to splice the bowsprit of a Baltimore clipper. "There was a sensation-a decided sensation. The commis. sioners were taken all aback. They hemmed and hawed. A consideriation of the peculiar case was necessary. "'My good woman,' quoth one of the commissioners, who served as spokesman. ' You have but one leg.' ("' You see, your hionor. But it's sure I shall be less apt to run away from the guid man.' "' True; but whether that consideration will be suffcient to reconcile him to the deficiency.' "'7Why not ' answered the fair suitor, seeing that I am a woman for all that.' "'But you are not a perfect woman.' "'Will your honor be so good' as to mention if you ever did meet with a perfect woman?' "This was a poser. The commissioners were men of expe- rience. They had seen something of the world. They were all women's men. The woman was too much for them. They went again into consultation. The question was a serious one. Could a woman be a complete woman-a perfect one was not now the question-who lhad but a single leg? The subject of discussion was reduced to this: what are the requisites of a wife in Virginia? The result was, that they resolved to let the woman go, and take her chance. They could not resist a will so determined. They were naturally dubious lwhether any of the sturdy adventurers in the realm of Powhatan would be alto- gether willing to splice with a lame damsel not particularly charming, or attractive in any respect:, but women for such an expedition were not in excess. The demand from James river for wives was exceedingly urgent; -the woman's frankness pleased THE LAME DUCK. 135 the commissioners, and her confidence of success finally encour- aged them with a Similar hope on -her behalf. They gave her the necessary funds and certificate, partially persuaded that- I " ' There swims no goose, however gray in state, Who can not find some gander for her mate.' And the cripple went on her way swimmingly." is And the event?" "Justified the faith of the legless damsel in the bounty of Providence. Very great was the rejoicing in James river, when the stout vessel wearing English colors was seen pressing up the stream. They knew what. they had to expect, and each was eager for his prize. The stout yeomanry of Jamestown turned out en masse, each in his best costurme and behavior; and as each had yet to make his choice, and as a wife is always, more or less, the subject of some choice, each was- anxious to get on board the ship in advance of his comrades. Never'was there such a scramble. Wives rose in demand and value; and but little time was consumed in seeing the parties paired, and, two by two, returning from the vessel to the shore. How proudly they departed--our brave adventurers, each with his pretty commodity tucked under his arm! The supply fell short of the demand. There were several who retired with sad hearts, and lonely as they came. All were snatched up except our lame girl; but she was not the person to despair. She put on her sweetest smiles, as the unsupplied seekers circled about lher. They had no objection to her face. Her smiles were suf- ficiently attractive; but that leg of English oak, which she in vain strove to pucker up under her petticoats. The truth had leaked out; and it was no go. Though grievously in want of the firniture so necessary to a warm household, it was rather too much to require our well-shaped and dashing Virginians- to couple with a damsel of but one leg; and after circling her with wobegone visages, half-doubting what to do, they at length dis- appeared, one by one, resolved to await a new ship, and a bride of adequate members. The,prospect for our lame duck became rather unpromising; but Fortune, amid all her blindnesses and caprices, is usually governed by a certain sense of propriety and fitness. It so happened that there was a cobbler in the colony; v whose trade had been chosen with reference to the painful fact page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] that he had no leg'at all. He, poor fellow, needing- a wife as much as any of the rest, had but little hope of having his wants supplied by the preeent consignment. It was doubtful whether he could have ventured to hope under any circumstances-- still more absurd to hope when the supply was small, the seek. ers many, and, all in the market before himself. And when he saw those returning who had failed to secure companions, he naturally gave up all notion, if he had ever dared to, entertain any, of gratifying his domestic ambition. - But as these disap.- pointed adventurers crossed him on their return, and saw the I wistful eyes which he cast upon the vessel, they bade him deri- sively go and seek his fortune. "'Now's your chance, old fellow!' He soon gathered the intelligence, and at first his soul revolted at the idea of coupling ?: with a'lame woman. i "' A woman,' said he to himself, 'gains enough when she gets : a husband. She ought to be finished at the least. Nothing should be wanting.' " ' - : "But. a-moment's reflection made him more indulgent. He seized his crutches and made toward the vessel. Then he be- thought- himself again and made toward his cabin. But the tempter prevailed, and he hobbled slowly forward. With help he was at length brought into the vessel and the presence of -! the waiting spinster. ("She had been long enough on the anxious benches. They - ! had been a sort. of torture to her patience as well as her hope. "' Why,' said he -as if only now apprized of her deficiency- ^ you've got but one leg.' ' " And you've got none,' she answered pertly. t "This threw him into a cold sweat. i-e now feared that he should lose .his prize. ' What of that .' said he-' better a lame . donkey than no horse. Is it a match? I'm for you.' "It was now her time to demur. She walked all round him, he wheeling about the while with the utmost possible effort, to show how agile he could be, legless or not. The man was good- looking enough, mninus his pins; and after a painful pause-to one of the parties at least--she gave him her hand. "The cobbler's rapture was complete. A chair was slung down the ship's side. Scarcely had this been done when - g *, ,! . ' .r ' :S ] i MAT.[ ].&1-^; iJ zD " - r A... . one of the former seekers reappeared. He was now willing to take the lame damsel; but our cobbler suffered no time for de- liberation. Ie did not dare exercise any foolish generosity in leaving it to her to choose between the two. 44 His choler was roused. It was his betrothed to whom the wooer came, and, with a tremendous flourish of one of -his crutches, our cripple made at the, intruder. This demonstration was sufficient. He was allowed to retain, his prize. The can- didate hurried off, cooling his thirst with whatever philosophy he could muster. When the bridal took place, many were the jests at the expense of our cripple couple. Even the priest who united thlem was not unwilling to share in the humor of the scene, making puns upon the occasion, such as have been cheap- ened somewlhat by a too frequent circulation. "' I know not, good people,' he, said,-' whether you can prop- erly contract marriage, seeing that you both lack sufficient understanding'.' " ' No man should marry with a woman, said one of the spec- tators, ' who teaches the utter uselessness of his own vocation. c; And why they should be married under a Christian dis- pensation, I can not see,' was the comment of a third,' seeing that neither of them are prepared to .give proper heed to their 'It will be a marriage to bind,' said afourth seeing that neither can well run away from the othler.' "' She won't trouble him long,' said he who had come a moment too late,--' she has already one foot in the grave.': "l The Crutch of the cripple was again uplifted. "Parson,' said he, 'make us fast, please, as soon as possi- ble. I reckon, if there's but one leg between us, there's no law agin our children having a full complement.' " Whereat the betrothed blushed prettily, and the ceremony, proceeded." Our companion's narrative might be all-true,- for what we lknow. Its elements were all probable enough. But thrstory rather whet than pacified the appetite; other legends were called for, and the following legend of Venice, founded Ialso on history, succeeded to that of-the Virginian. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 SOUTHWARD .HO:! THE BRIDE OF FATE. CHAPTER I. IT was a glad day in Venice. The eve of the Feast of the Purification had arrived, and all those maidens of the Republic, whose names had been written in the "Book of Gold,", were assembled with their parents, their friends and lovers-a beau- tiful and joyous crowd--repairing, in the gondolas provided by the Republic, to the church of San Pietro di Castella, at Olivolo, which was the residence of the patriarch. This place was on the extreme verge of the city, a beautiful and isolated spot, its pre. cincts almost without inhabitants, a ghostly and small priesthood excepted, whose grave habits and taciturn seclusion seemed to lend an additional aspect of solitude to the neighborhood. It was, indeed, a solitary and sad-seeming region, which to the thoughtless and unmeditative, might be absolutely gloomy. But it was not the less lovely as a place suited equally for the pic- turesque and the thoughtful; and, just now, it was very far from gloomy or solitary. The event which was in hand was decreed to enliven it in especial degree, and in its consequences, to im- press its characteristics on the memory for long generations after. It was the day of St. Mary's Eve--a day set aside from imme- morial time for a great and peculiar festival. All, accordingly, was life and joy in the sea republic. The marriages of a goodly company of the high-born, the young and the beautiful, were, to be celebrated on this occasion, and in public, according to thle custom. Headed by the doge himself, Pietro Candiano, the city sent forth its thousands. The ornamented gondolas plied busily from an derly hour in the morning, from the city to Oli- volo; and there, amidst music and :merry gratulations of friiends and kindred, the lovers disembarked. They were all clad in their richest array. Silks, which caught their colors from the rainbow, and jewels that had inherited, even in their caverns, their bealties from the sun and stars, met the eye in all direc- tions. .Wealth had put on all its riches, and beauty, always modest, was not satisfied with her intrinsic loveliness. All that could delight the eye, in personal decorations and nuptial orna- ments, was displayed to the eager gaze of curiosity, and, for a I THE HEARTHS SACRIFICE. 139 moment, the treasures of the city were transplanted to the soli: tude and waste. ' But gorgeous and grand as was the spectacle, and joyous as was the crowd, there were. some at the festival, some young, throbbing hearts, who, though deeply interested in its proceed- ings, felt anything but gladness. While most of the betrothed thrilled only with rapturous anticipations that might have been counted in the strong pulsations that made the bosom heave rap- idly beneath the close pressure of the virgin zone, there were yet others, who felt only that sad sinking of the heart which de- clares nothing but its hopelessness and- desolation. There were victims to be sacrificed as well as virgins to be made happy, and girdled in by thousands of the brave and goodly--bygolden images and flaunting banners, and speaking symbols--by music and by smiles-there were more hearts than one that longed to escape from all, to fly away to some far solitude, where the roices of such a joy as was now present could vex the defrauded soul no more. As the fair procession moved onward and Up through the gorgeous avenues of the cathedral to the altar-place, where stood the venerable patriarch in waiting for their coming, in order to begin the solemn but grateful rites, you might have marked, in the crowding groups, the face of one meek damsel, which declared a heart very far removed from hope or joyful expectation. Is that tearful eye-is that pallid cheek-that lip, now so tremulously convulsed-are these proper to one going to a bridal, and that her own? Where is her anticipated joy? It is not in that despairing vacancy of face- not in thlat, feeble, faltering, almost fainting footstep-not, certainly, in any- I thing that we behold about the maiden, unless we seek it in the rich and flaming jewels with which she is decorated and almost laden down; and these no more declare for her emotions than the roses which encircle the neck of the white lamb, as it is led to the altar and the priest. The fate of the two is not unlike, and so also is their character. Francesca Ziani is decreed for a sacrifice. She was one of those sweet 'and winning, but feeble spirits, which know how to submit only. She has no powers of resistance. She knows that she is a victim ; she feels thait her lheart has been wronged even to the death, by the duty to whch it is now commanded; she feels that it- is thus made the cruel, page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O SOUTHWARD HO! but unwilling instrument for doing a mortal wrong to the heart of another; but she lacks the courage to refuse, to resist, to die rather than subrfit. Her nature only teaches her submission; and this is the language of the wo-begone, despairing glance, but one which she bestows, in passing up the aisle, upon one who stands beside a column, close to -her progress, in whose countenance she perceives a fearful struggle, marking equally his indignation and his grief. Giovanni Gradenigo was one of the noblest cavaliers of Vcl. ice-but nobleness, as we know, is not always, perhaps not often, the credential in behalf of him who seeks a maiden from her pa- rents. He certainly was not the choice of Francesca's sire. The poor girl was doomed -to the embraces of one Ulric, Barberigo, a man. totally destitute of all nobility, that alone excepted whichl belonged to wealth. This shone in the eyes of Francesca's parents, but failed utterly to attract her own. She saw, through the heart's simple, unsophisticated medium, the person of Giovanni Gradenigo only. Her sighs were given to him, her loathings to the other. Though meek and finally submissive, she did not yield Without a. remonstrance, without mingled tears and entreat. ies, which were found unavailing. The ally of a young damsel is naturally her mother, and when she fails her, her best human hope is lost. Alas! for the poor Francesca! It was her motli- 'er's weakness, blinded by the wealth of Ulric Barberigo, that rendered the father's will so stubborn. It was the erring mother that wilfully beheld her daughter led to the sacrifice, giving no heed to the heart which was breaking, even beneath its heavy weight of jewels. How completely that mournful andll despond- ing, that entreating and appealing glance to her indignant lovel, told her wretched history. There he stood, stern as well as sad, leaning, as if for support, upon the arm of his kinsman, Nicolo Malapieri. Hopeless, helpless, and in utter despair, he thus lin- gered, as if under a strange and fearful fascination, watching the progress of the proceedings which were striking fatally, with every movement, upon the sources of his own hope and happiness. His resolution rose with his desperation, and he sud- denly shook himself free from his friend. "( I will not bear this, Nicolo," he exclaimed, "I must not suf- fer it without another effort, though it be the last." THE REJECTED LOVER. ,lWhat would you do, Giovanni," demanded his kinsm an, grasping him by the wrist as lhe spoke, and arresting his move- ," Shall I see her thus sacrificed delivered to misery and the grave! Neer! they shall not so lord it over true affections to their loss and mine. Francesca was mine -is mine -even now, in the very sight of Heaven. How often hath she vowed it He r glance avows it now. My lips shall as boldly declare it again; and as Heaven has heard our vows, the church shall hear them. The patriarch shall hear. Hearts must not be wronged -Heaven must not thus be defrauded. That selfish, vain woman, her mother-that mercenary monster, miscalled her father-have no better rights than mine-none half so good. They shall hear me. Stand by me, Nicolo, while I speak!" This was the language of a passion, which, however true, was equally unmeasured and imprudent. The friend of the unhappy lover would have held him back. "It is all in: vain, Giovanni! Think! my friend, you can do nothing now. It is too late; nor is there any power to prevent this consummntlon. Their names have been long s wnce written in the 'Book of Gold,' and the doge himself may not alter the destiny!" "The Book of Gold!"' exclaimed the other. "Ay, the ' Bride of Gold!' biut-we shall see!" And he again started forward. His kinsman clung to hinm. "Better that we leave this place, Giovanni. It was wrong that you should come. Let us go. You will only commit some folly to remain." o Ay! it is folly to be wronged, and to submit to it, I know! folly to have felt and still to feel! folly, surely, to discover, and to live after the discovery, that the very crown that made life precions is lost to you for ever! What matter if I should com- mit this folly! Well, indeed, if they who laugh at the fool, taste none of the wrath that they provoke." "This is sheer madness, Giovanni." "R Release me, Nicolo." ' The kinsman urged in vain. The dialogue, which was carried on in under tones, now enforced by animated action, began to attract attention. The procession was moving forward. Tho page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 SOUHWARDE HO! deep qnthem began to swell, and Giovanni, wroughit to the high. est pitch of frenzy by the progress of events, and by the opposie tion of Nicolo, now broke away from all restraint, and hurried through the crowd. The circle, dense and deep, had already gathered closely about the altar-place, to behold the ceremony. lThe desperate youth made his way through it. The crowd gave way at his approach, and munder the decisive pressure of his person. They knew his mournful history-for whllen does the lbistory of love's denial and defeat fail to find its way to the world's curious hearing? Giovanni was beloved in Venice. Sucl a llistory as Mis and Francesca's wVas surell- to beet sympathy, R particularly with all those who could find no rich lovers for them- selves or daughters, such as Ulric Barberigo. The fate of the youthful lovers drew all eyes upon the two. A tearful interest in the event began to pervade the assembly, and Giovanni really found nlo suchll difficulty as would hlave attended the efforts of any other person to approach the sacred centre of the bricdal circle. He made his way directly for the spot where Francesca stood. She felt his approach and presence by the most natural instincts, though without ever daring to lift her eye to his person. A nmoe -deadly paleness than ever came over her, and -as she heard the first sounds of his voice, she faltered and grasped a column for sulpport. The patriarch, startled by the sounds of confusion, rose from the sacred cushions; and spread his hands over the assembly for silence; but as yet he failed to conceive the occasion for commotion. Meanwhile, the parents and rela- tives of Francesca had gathered-around her person, as if to guard her from an enemy. Ulric Barberigo, the millionaire, put on the aspect of a man whose word was law on 'change. He, too, had his retainers, all looking daggers, at the intruder. Fortunately for Giovanni, they were permitted to wear none at these peace- ful ceremonials. Their looks of wrath did not discourage the approach of our lover. He did not seem, indeed, to see them,i but gently putting them by, he drew near to the scarcely con- scions maiden. He lifted the almost'lifeless hand from her side, and pressing it within both his own, a proceeding which her mother vainly endeavored to prevent, he addressed the maiden with all that impressiveness of tone which declares a stifled but SCENE AT T'HEi a'i-AVA. on the, he;,Hi od 1 present and passionate emotion in the heart His words : re of a touching sorrow s nd is it tus, my Francesca,look pon e the last time I Henceforth, are we to be dead to one an- ,er Is it tus that I am to hear that, forgetful of thy virgin :^ s;,'es s^^^Have towt:: ta ws to Gradenigo, thou art here calling Heaven to witness that ou givest t lyself and affections to anotler ta as Not Willingly, O !-not willingly, Giovanni, as I live! Ih ave It forgotten-aIlas I can not forget-that I have once vowed yself to thee. But I pray thee to forget, Giovanni. Forget e anvd forgive-forgive i f an f Oh! how mournfully was this response delivered. There was dead silence throughout the assembly; a silence which imposed similar restraint even upon the parents of the maiden, who -had iown a desire to arrest the speaker. They had appealed to the patriarch; but the venerable man was wise enough to per - ceive that this was the last open expression of a passion which must leave its utterance in some form, and if not this, must result rePater mischief. His decision tacitly sanctioned the inter- iew as we have witnessed it. It was with increased filtering, which to the bystanders seemed al most fainting, that the un- happy Francesca thus responded to her lover. Her words were ittle more than whispers, and his tones, tlaougy deep, were very ow and subdued, as if spoken while the teeth were shut-' There ivas that in the scene whichn brought firward the crowd in breathless anxiety to hear, and the proud heart of the damsel's iothek revolted at an exhibition in Which her position was by no means a graotefu I one. She would have wrested, even by vio- lence, the hund -of her daughter from the grasp of Giovanni; but he retained it firmly, the maiden herself being scarcely conscions that he did so. His eye was sternly fixed-uponithe mother, as be drew Francesca toward himself. 'His words followed lis looks:- Hlfave you not enough triumphed, lady, in thus bringing about your cruel purpose, to the sacrifice of two hearts-your child's no less than mine? Mrine was nothingD to you-but hers! what had she done that you' should trample upon hers 1 This least thotr done! Thou Ilast triumphed i Wlat ouldst thou more ill-List she be denied the mournful privilege of saying her last parting with hm to whom she-vowed lerself, ere she vows page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 SOUTHWARD H! herself to another! For shame, lady; this is .a twofold and needless tyranny!" - As he spoke, tke more gentle and sympathizing spirits around looked upon the stern mother with faces of the keenest rebuke and indignation. Giovanni once more addressed himself to thle maiden. "And if you do not love this man, my Francesca, why is it that you so weakly yield to his solicitings? Why submit to thllis sacrifice at any instance? Have they strength to subdue thee? -has lie the art to ensnare thee?-canst thou not declare thy affections with a will? What magic is it that they employ g which is thus superior to that of love? - and what is thy right -if heedless of the affections of thby hleart-to demand the sac- rifice of mine? Thou hadst it in thy keeping, Francesca, as I fondly fancied I had thine!" K "Thou hadst-- thou hadst! " "Francesca, my child!" was the expostulating exclamation of the mother; but it failed, except for a single instant, to arrest the passionate answer of the maiden. "Hear me, and pity, Giovanni, if you may not forgive! I Blame ipe for my infirmity-for the wretched weakness whichll has brought me to this defeat of thy heart-this desolation of mine---but do not doubt that I have loved thee-that I shall ever-" "Stay!" commanded the imperious father. g -"What is it thou wouldst say, Francesca? Bewae e!" was the stern language of the mother. The poor girl shrunk back in trembling. The brief impulse i of courage which the address of her lover, and the evident symi- pathy of the crowd, had imparted, was gone as suddenly as it came. She had no more strength for the stiluggle; and as she sunk back-nerveless, and closed her eyes as if fainting under the i terrible glance of both her parents, Giovanni dropped her hand from his grasp. It now lay lifeless at her side, and she was sustained from falling by some of her sympathizing companions. The eyes of the youth were bent upon her with a last look. "It is all over, then," he exclaimed. "Thy hope, unhappy naiden, like mine, must perish because of thy weakness. Yet 'here will be bitter memories for this," he exclaimed-and his SEPARATION. 145 ieye now sought the mother-" bitter, bitter memories! Fran- cesca, farewell! Be happy if thou canst-!" She rushed toward him as he moved away, recovering all her strength for this one effort. A single and broken sentence- " Forgive me, 0 forgive !"--escaped her lips, as she sunk sense- less upon the floor. lie would have raised her, but they did not suffer him. " Is this not enough, Giovanni " said his friend, reproachfully. Seest thou not that thy presence but distracts her ?" ( Thou art right, Nicolo; let us go. I am myself choking- undo me this collar !-There! Let us depart." The organ rolled its anthem-a thousand voices joined in the hymn to the Virgin, and as the sweet but painful sounds rushed to the senses of the youth, he darted through the crowd, closely followed by his friend. The music seemed to pursue him with mockery. He rushed headlong from the temple, as if seeking escape from some suffocating atmosphere in the pure breezes of heaven, and hurried forward with confused and purposeless footsteps. The moment of his disappearance was marked by the partial recovery of Francesca. She unclosed her eyes, raised her head, and looked wildly around her. Her lips once more murmured his name. "Giovanni !" "He is gone," was the sympathizing answer from more than one lip in the assembly; and once more she relapsed into un- consciousness. CHAPTER II.- Giovanni Gradenigo was scarcely more conscious than the maiden whom he left. He needed all the guidance of his friend. ' Whither ?" asked Nicolo Malapiero. "What matter! where thou wilt!" was the reply. "For the city, then ;" and his friend conducted him to t gondola which was appointed to await them. In the pro foundest silence they glided toward the city. The gondola stopped before the dwelling of Nicolo, aid he, taking the arm of the sullen aid absent Giovanni within his own, ascended the marble steps, and was about to enter, when a shrillvoice clal- lenged their attention by naming Giovanni. page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 SOUTHWARD. H! "How now, signor," said the stranger. "Is it thou? Where- fore hast thou left Olivolo? Why didst thou not wait the bridal " ' The speaker was a strange, dark-looking woman, in coarse woollen garments. She hobbled as she walked, assisted by a heavy staff, and seemed to suffer equally from lameness and from age. Her thin depressed lips, that ever sunk as shel spoke into the cavity of her mouth, which, in the process of time, had been denuded of nearly all its teeth; her yellow wrinkled visage, and thin gray hairs, that escaped from the close black cap which covered her head, declared the presence of very great age. But her eye shone still with something even more lively and oppressive than a youthful fire. It had a sort of spiritual intensity. Nothing, indeed, could have been more brilliant, or, seemingly, more unnatural. But hers was a nature of which we may not judge by common laws. She was no com- mon woman, and her whole -life wras characterized by mystery. She was known in- Venice as the "Spanish Gipsy ;" was sup- posed to be secretly a Jewess, and had only escaped from being punished as a sorceress by her profound and most exemplary public devotions. But she was known, nevertheless, as an e-n- chantress, a magician, a prophetess; and her palmistry, her magic, her symbols, signs and talismans, were all held in great repute by the superstitious and the youtlihful of the ocean city. Giovanni Gradenigo himself, obeying the popular custom, had consulted ler; and now, as he heard her voice, he raised his eyes, and started forward with the impulse of one who sud- denly darts from under the griding knife of the assassin. Before Nicolo could interfere, he had leaped down the steps, and darted to the quay from which the old woman was about to step into a gondola. She awaited his coming with a smile of peculiar meaning, as she repeated her inquiry:- "Why are not you at Olivolo ." He answered the question by another, grasping her wrist vio- lently as he spoke. Did you not promise that she should wed. with me--that she should be mine-mine only?",' "Well," she answered calmly, without struggling or seeking to extricate her arm from the strong hold which he had upon it. 4 . , THE AUGURY AND WARNING. 147- , Well! and even now the rites are in progress which bind her to Ulric Barberigo!" ,I She will' never wed Ulric Barberigo," was the quiet answer. ( Why left you Olivolo?" she continued. ("Could I remain and look upon these hated nuptials?-could I be patient and see her driven like a sheep to the sacrifice? I fled from the spectacle, as if the knife of the butcher were already in my own hleart." "You were wrong; but the fates have spoken, and their de- crees are unchangeable. I tell you I have seen your bridal with Francesca Ziani. No Ulric weds that maiden. She is re- served for you alone. You alone will interchange with her the final vows before the man of God. But hasten, that this may find early consummation. I have seen other things! Hasten--but hasten not alone, nor without your armor! A sudden and ternri- ble danger hangs over San Pietro di Castella, and all within its walks. Gather your friends, gather your retainers. Put on the, weapons of war and fly thither with all your speed. I see a ter-. rible vision, even nowr, of blood and struggle! I behold terrors that frighten evez me! Your friend is a man of arms. Let your war-galleys be put forth, and bid them steer for the La- gune of Caorlo. There will you win Francesca, and thenceforth shall you wear her--you only-so long as it may be allowed you to wear any human joy!" Her voice, look, manner, sudden energy, and the wild fire of her eyes, awakened Giovannli to his fullest consciousness. His friend drew nigh--they would have conferred together, but the iwoman interrupted them. "You would deliberate," said she, " but you have no time! What is to be done must be done quickly. It seems wild to you, and strange, and idle, what I tell you, but it is nevertlhe- less true; and if you heed me not now bitter will be your re- pentanece hereafter. You, Giovanni, will depart at least. Heed not your friend-he is too cold to be successful. He will always be safe, and do well, but he will do nothing further. Away! if you can but gather a dozen friends and man a single galley, you will be in season. But the time is short. I hear a fearful cry -the cry of women-and the feeble shriek of Francesca Ziani y is among the voices of those who wail with a-new terror! I see page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] SOUTHWARD HO! their struggling forms, and floating garments, and dishevelled hair! Fly, young, men, lest the names of those whom Venice has written in her Book of Gold shall henceforth be written in a Book of Blood." The reputation of the sybil was too great in Venice to allow her wild predictions to be laughed at. Besides, our young Ve. netians-Nicolo no less than Giovanni-in spite of what the woman had spoken touching his lack of enthusiasm-- were both aroused and eagerly excited by her speech. Her person dilated as she spoke; her voice seemed to come up from a fear- ful depth, and went thrillingly deep into the souls of the hear- ers. They were carried from their feet. by her predictions. They prepared to obey her counsels. Soon had they gathlered their friends together, enough to man three of the fastest galleys of the city. Their prows were turned at once toward the Lagune of Caorlo, whither the woman had directed them. She, mean- while, had disappeared, but the course of her gondola lay for Olivolo. CHAPTER IIl. IT will be necessary that we should go back in our narrative but a single week before the occurrence of these events. Let us penetrate the dim and lonesome abode on the confines of the " Jewish Quarter," but not within it, where the " Spanish Gipsy" delivered her predictions. It is midnight, and still she sits over her incantations. There are vessels of uncouth shape and un- known character before her. Huge braziers lie convenient, on one of, which, amid a few coals, a feeble flame may be seen to struggle. The atmosphere is impregnated with a strong but not ungrateful perfume, and through its vapors objects appear with some indistinctness. A circular plate of brass or copper- it could not well be any more precious metale-rests beneath the eye and finger of the woman. It is covered with strange and mystic characters, which she seems busily to explore, as if they had a real significance to her mind. She evidently united the highest departments of herart with its humblest offices; and possessed those nobler aspirations of the soul, which, during the middle ages, elevated in considerable degree the professors of necromancy. But our pu e isnot now to determine her pre- tensions. We have but to exhibit and to asceitain a small specimen of her skill in the vulgar business of fortune-telling- an art which will continue to be received among men, to a greater or less extent, so long as they shall possess a hope which they can not gratify, and feel a superstition which they can not: explain. Our gipsy expects a visiter. She hears his footstep. The door opens at her bidding, and a stranger makes Iiis appearance. He is a tall and well-made man, of stern and gloomy countenance, which is half concealed beneath the raised foldings of his cloak. His beard, of enormous length, is seen to stream down upon his breast; but his cheek is youthful, and his eye is eagerly and anxiously bright. But for a certain repel- ling something in his glance, he might be considered a very handsome man-perhaps by many persons he was thought so. He advanced with an air of dignity and power. His deportment and manner and, when he spoke, his voice--all seemed to denote a person accustomed to command. The woman did not look up as he approached: on the contrary, she seemed more intent than ever in the examination of the strange characters be- fore her. But a curious spectator might have seen that a corner of her eye, bright with an intelligence that looked more like cun- ning than wisdom, was suffered to take in all of the face and per- son of the visiter that his muffling costume permitted to be seen. "Mother," said the stranger, "I am here." "You say not who you are," answered the woman. "Nor shall say," was the abrupt reply of the stranger. "That, you said, was unnecessary to your art-to the solution of the questions that I asked you." "Surely," was the answer. " Mly art, that promises to tell thee of the future, would be a sorry fraud could it not declare the present-could it not say who thou art, as well as what thou seekest." '"Ha! and thou knowest!" exclaimed the other, his hand suddenly feeling within the folds of his cloak as he spoke, as if for a weapon, while his eye glared quickly around the apart- ment, as if seeking for a secret enemy. " Nay, fear nothing," said the woman, calmly. "I care not to know who thou art. It is not an object of my quest, other- wise it would not long remain a secret to me." page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 SOUTHWARD HO! "It is well! mine is a name that must not be spoken among the homes of Venice. It would make thee thyself to quail couldst thou hear it spoken." "Perhaps! but mine is not the heart to quail at many tlings, unless it-be the absolute wrath of Heaven. What the violence or the hate of man could do to this feeble frame, short of death, it has already suffered. Thou knowest but little of human cru- elty, young man, tlough thy own deeds be cruel." "How knowest thou that my deeds are cruel??" was the- quick and passionate demand, while the form of the stranger suddenly and threateningly advanced. The woman was un. moved. "Saidst thou not that there was a name that might not be spoken in the homes of Venice? Why should thy very name make the hearts of Venice to quail unless for thy deeds of cru- elty and crime . But I see further. I see it in thine eyes that thou art cruel. I hear it in thy voice that thou art criminal. I know, even now, that thy soul is bent on deeds of violence and blood-; and the very quest that brings thee to me now is less the quest of love than of that wild and selfish passion which so frequently puts on its habit." "Ha! speak to me of that! This damsel, Francesca Ziani! 'Tis of her that I would have thee speak. Thou saidst that she should be mine; yet lo! her nalme is written in the ' Book of Gold,' and she is allotted to this man of wealth, this Ulric Barberigo." "She will never be the wife of Ulric Barberigo." "Thou saidst she should be mine." "Nay, I said not that." "Ha!-but tliou liest!" "No! Anger me not, young man! I am slower, much slower to anger than thyself--slower than most of those who still chafe within this mortal covering-yet am I mortal like thyself, and not wholly free from such foolish passions as vex mortality. Chafe me, and I will repulse thee with scorn.' An- noy me, and I close upon thee the book of fate, leaving thee to the blind paths which thy passions have ever moved thee to take." Y The stranger muttered something apologetically. THE MAGIC ITIRROR. - 151 "Make me no excuses. I only ask thee to forbear and sub- mit. I said not that Francesca Ziani should be thine! I said only that I beheld her in thy arms." "And what more do I ask!" was the exulting speech of the strcanger, Jhis voice rising into a sort of outhurst, which fully declared the ruffian, and the cruel passions by which he was governed. If that contents thee, well!" said the woman, coldly, her eye perusing with a seeming calmness the brazen -plate upon which the strange characters were inscribed. "( That, then, thou promisest still?" demanded the stranger. "6 Thou shalt see for thyself," was the reply. Thus speaking tlec woman slowly arose and brought fortlh a small chafing-dish, also of brass or copper, not much larger than a common plate. This she placed over the brazier, the flame of which she quick- . ened by a fewn smart puffs from a little bellows which lay beside her. As the flame kindled, and the sharp, red jets rose like tongues on either' side of the plate, she poured into it some- thing like a gill of a thick, tenacious liquid, that looked like, and might have been, honey. Above this she brooded for a while nwith her eyes immediately over the vessel; and the keen ear of the stranger, quickened by excited curiosity, could detect the muttering of her lips; though the foreign syllables which she employed were entirely beyond his comprehension. Suddenly, a thick vapor went up from the dish. She withdrew it from the brazier and laid it before her on the table. A few moments sufficed to clear the surface of the vessel, the vapor arising and hanging langnuidly above her head. Look now for thyself and see!" was her command to the visiter; she herself not deigning a glance upon the vessel, seem- ing thus to be quite sure of what it would present, or quite indif- ferent to the result. The stranger needed no second summons. He bent instantly over the vessel, and started back with undis- guised delighlt. "It is she!-' he exclaimed. "She droops! whose arm is it that supports her--upon whose breast is it that she- lies-who bears her away in triumph?" "Is it not thyself?" asked the woman, coldly. "By Hercules, it is! She is mine! Shle is in my arms! page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 SOUTHWARD HO! She is on my bosom! I have her in my galley! Sle speeds with me to my home! Hsee it all, even as thou hast promised me!" "I promise thee nothing. 'I but show thee only what is written." "And when and how shall this be effected?" "How, I know not," answered the woman; "this is withheld from me. Fate shows what her work is, only as it appears when done, but not the manner of the doing." "But when will this be?" was the question. "It must be ere she marries with Ulric Barberigo, for him she will never marry." "And it is appointed that he weds with her on the day of St. Mary's Eve. That is but a week hence, and the ceremony takes place-" "At Olivolo." "Ha! at Olivolo!" and a bright, gleam of intelligence passed over the features of the stranger, from which his cloak had by this time entirely fallen. The woman beheld the look, and a slight smile, that seemed to denote scorn rather than any othler emotion, played for a imoment over her shrivelled and sunken lips. "Mother," said the stranger, "tmust all these matters be left to fate?" "That is as thou wilt." "But the eye of a young woran umay be won--her heart may be touched-so that it shall be easy for fate to accomplish her designs. I am young; am indifferently well-fashioned in person, and have but little reason to be ashamed of the face which God has given me. Beside, I have much skill in music, and can sing to the guitar as fairly as most of the young men of Venice. What if I were to find my way to the damsel-- what if I play and sing beleath her father's palace? I have disguises, and am wont to practice in various garments: I can--" The woman interrupted him. "Thou mayst do as thou wilt. , It is doubtless as indifferent to the fates, what thou doest, as it will be to me. Thou hast seen what I have shown-I can no more. I am not permitted to counsel thee. I am but a- oice; thou hast all that I can give thee." f .. THE DECREE OF FATE. ::153 The stranger lingered still, but the woman ceased to speak, and betrayed by her manner that she desired. his departure. Thus seeing, he took a purse from his bosom and laid it before her. She did not seem to notice the action, nor did she again look up until he was gone. With the sound of his retreating footsteps, she put aside the brazen volume of strange characters which seemed her favorite study, and her lips slowly parted in soliloquy':- "Ay! thou exultest, fierce ruffian that thou art, in the assu- rance that Fate yields herself to thy will! Thou shalt, indeed, have the maiden in thy,arms, but it shall profit thee nothing; and that single triumph shall exact from thee the last penalties which are sure to follow on the footsteps of a trade like thine. Thou thinkest that I know, thee not, as if thy shallow masking could baffle eyes and art like mine; but I had not shown thee thus much, Were I not in possession of yet further knowledge- did I not see that this lure was essential to embolden thee to thy own final overthrow. Alas, that in serving the cause of inno- cence, in saving the innocent from harm, we can not make it safe in happiness. Poor Francesca! beloved of three, yet blest with neither. Thou shalt be wedded, yet be no bride; shall gain all that thy fond young heart craveth, yet gain nothing- be s"pared- the embraces of him tlou loathest, yet rest in- his arms whom thou hast most need to fear; and shalt be denied, even when most assured, the only embrace which might'bring thee blessing! Happy at least that thy sorrows 'shall'not last thee long-their very keenness and intensity being thy security from the misery which holds throughl years like mine." Let us leave' the woman of mystery let us once more change the scene. Now pass we to the pirate's domailn at Istria a region over which, at the period of our narrative, the control of Venice was feeble, exceedingly capricious, and subject to fre- quent vicissitudes. At this particular time, the place was main. tained by the fiarcest band: of pirates that ever swept the Mediterranean with their bloody prows, page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 15 4 SOUTHWARD HO! CHAPTER IV. IT was midnight when the galley of the chief glided into the harbor of Istria. The challenge of the sentinel was answered from the vessel, and she took her place beside the shore, where two other galleys were at anchor. Suddenly her sails descended with a rattle; -a voice hailed throughout the ship, was answered from stem to stern, and a deep silence followed. The fierce chief of the pirates, Pietro Barbaro-the fiercest, strongest, wisest, yet youngest, of seven brothers, all devoted to the same fearful employment--strode in silence to his cabin. Here, throwing himself upon a couch, he prepared rather to rest his limbs than to sleep. He had thoughts to keep him wakeful. Wild hopes, and tenderer joys thian his usual-occupations offered, were gleaming before his fancy. The light burned dimly in his floating chamber, but the shapes of his imagination rose up before his mind's eye not the less vividly becaiise of the obscurity in which he lay. Thus musing over expectations of most agree- able and exciting aspect, he finally lapsed away in sleep. He was suddenly aroused from slumber by a rude hand that lay heavily on his shoulder. "Who is it 2l" he asked- of the intruder. "Gamba," was the answer. "Thou, brother?" "Ay," continued the intruder, " and here are all of us." "Indeed! and wherefore come you . I would sleep--I am weary. I must have rest." t "Thou hast 'too much. rest, ietro," said another of the broth- ers. "It is that of which we complain--that of which we would speak to thee now." "Ha! this is new language, brethren! Answer me-per- haps I am not well awake-am I your captain, or not?" "Thou art--the fact seems to be forgotten by no one but thyself. Though the youngest of our mother's children, we made thee our leader." -; "For what did ye this, my brothers, unless that I might com- mand ye?" i "For this, in truth, and this only, did we confer upon thee THE PIRATE COUNCIL. - 5 ,this authority. Tho'i4 hadst shown thyself worthy to com- mand--" Well:!" "Thy skill--thy courage--thy fortitude-" c' In brief, ye thought me best fitted to command ye?' "Yes." "Then I command ye hence! Leave me, and let me rest!" "Nay, brother, but this can not be," was the reply of an- other of the intruders. "We must speak with thee while the night serves us, lest thou hear worse things with the morrow. Thou art, indeed, our captain; chosen because of thy qualities of service, to conduct and counsel us; but we chose thee not that thou shouldst sleep! Thou wert chosen that our enter- prises might be active and mighlt lead to frequent profit." "Has it not been so?" demanded the chief. ";For a season it was so, and there was no complaint of thee." , "Who now complains ." "Thy people-all!" "And can ye not answer them?" . , "No! for we ourselves need an answer! We. too, complain." "OOf what complain ye?" "That our enterprises profit us n1othing." "Do ye not go forth in the galleys . Lead ye not, each of you, an armed galley . Why is it that your enterprises profit ye nothing?" Because of the lack of our captain." "And ye can do nothing without me; and because ye are in- capable, I must have no leisure for myself!" "Nay, something n;iore than this, Pietro. Our enterprises avail us nothing, since you command that we no longer trouble the argosies of Venice. Venice has become thy favorite. Thou shieldest her only, when it is her merchants only who should give us spoil. This, brother, is thy true offence. For this we complain of thee; for this thy people complain of thee. They are impoverished by thy new-born love for Venice, and they are angry with thee. Brother, their purpose is to depose thee." "Ha! and ye--" "We are men as welLas brethren. We cherish no such at- page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 SOUTHWARD O! - tachment for Venice as that which seems to fill thy bosom. When the question shall be taken in regard to thy office, our voices shall be against thee, unless--" ;' There was a pause. It was broken by the chief. "Well, speak out. What are your conditions?" "Unless thou shalt cdnsent .to lead us on a great enterprise against the Venetians. Hearken to ns, Brother Pietro. Thou knowest of the annual festival at Olivolo, when the marriage takes place of all those maidens whose families are favorites of the Signiory, and whose names are written in the ' Book of Gold' of the Republic." The eyes of the pirate chief involuntarily closed at the sug- gestion, but his head nodded affirmatively. The speaker con- tinued. "It is now but a week when this festival takes place. On this occasion assemble the great, the noble, and the wealthy of the sea city. Thither they bring all that is gorgeous in their apparel, all that is precious among their ornaments and decora- tions. Nobility and wealth here strive together which shall most gloriously display itself. Here, too, is the beauty of the city-the virgins of Venice-the very choice among her flocks. Could: there be prize more fortunate? Could there be prize more easy of attainment? The church of San Pietro di Castella permits no armed men within its holy sanctuaries. There are no apprehensions of peril; the people who gather to the rites are wholly weaponless. They can offer no defence against our assault; nor can this be foreseen. What place more lonely than Olivolo? Thither shall we repair the day before the festival, and shelter ourselves from scrutiny. At the moment when the crowd is greatest, we will dart upon our prey. We lack women; we desire wealth. Shall we fail in either, when we have in re- membrance the bold deeds of our ancient fathers, when they looked with yearning on the fresh beauties of the Sabine vir- gins? These Venetian beauties are our Sabines. Thou, too o-if the bruit of thy followers doth thee no injustice--thou, too, hast been overcome by one of these. She will doubtless be present at this festival. Make her thine, and fear not that each of tihy brethren will do justice to his tastes and thine own. Here, now, thou hast all. Either thou agreest to that which thy people de- THE PIRATE PURPOSE. 1'5 mand, or the power departs from thy keeping. Fabio becomes our leader!" * There was a pause. At length the pirate-chief addressed his brethren. "Ye have spoken! ye threaten, too! This power of which ye speak, is precious in your eyes. I value it not a zecchino; and wert thou to depose me to-morrow, I should be the master of ye in another month, did it please me to command a people so capricious. But think not, though I speak to ye in this fash- ion, that I deny your demand. I but speak thus to show ye that I fear ye not. I will do as ye desire; but did not your own wishes square evenly with mine own, I should bide the issue of this struggle, though it were with knife to knife." "It matters not how thoun feelest, or what moveth thee, Pietro, so that thou dost as we demanld. Thou wilt lead us to this spoil?" "I will." "It is enough. It will prove to thy people that they are still the masters of the Lagune-that they are not sold to Venice." . "Leave me now." The brethren took their departure. When they had gone, the chief spoke in brief soliloquy, thus:- "Verily, there is the hand of fate in this. Methinks I see the history once more, even as I beheld it in the magic liquor of the Spanish Gipsy. Why thought I not of this before, dreaming vainly like an idiot boy, as much in love with his music as him- self, who hopes by the tinkle of his guitar to win his beauty from the palace of her noble sire, to the obscure retreats of his gondola! These brethren shall not vex me. They are but the creatures of my fate!" CHAPTER V. "ET us now return to Olivolo, to the altar-place of the church of San Pietro di Castella, and resume the 'progress of that- strangely-mingled ceremonial-mixed sunshine and sadness- which was broken by the passionate conduct of Giovanni Gra- denigo.: We left the poor, crushed Francesca, in a state of un- page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 SOUTHWARD HO! consciousness, in the arms of her sympathizing kindred. For a brief space the impression was a painful one upon the hearts of the vast assembly; but as the deep organ rolled its ascending anthems, the emotion subsided. The people had assembled for pleasure and an agreeable spectacle; and though sympathizing, for a moment, with the pathetic fortunes of the sundered lovers, quite as earnestly as it is possible for mere lookers-on to do, they were not to be disappointed in the objects for which they came. The various shows of the assemblage--the dresses, the jewels, the dignitaries, and the beauties-were quite enough to divert the feelings of a populace, at all times notorious for its levities, from a scene which, however impressive at first, was becoming a little tedious. Sympathies are very good and proper things; but the world seldom suffers them to occupy too much of its time. Our Venetians did not pretend, to be any more humane than the rest of the great family; and the moment that Fran- cesca had fainted, and Giovanni had disappeared, the multitude began to express their impatience of any further delay by all the means in their possession. There was no longer a motive to re. sist their desires, and simply reserving the fate of the poor Fran- cesca to the last, or until she should sufficiently recover to be fully conscious of the sacrifice which she was about to make, the ceremonies were begun. There was a political part to be played by the doge, in which the people took particular interest; and to behold which, indeed, was the strongest reason of their impa- tience. The government of Venice, as was remarked by quaint and witty James Howell, was a compound thing, mixed of all kinds of governments, and might be said to be composed of"a grnai of monarchy, a dose of democracy, and a dram, if not an ounce of optimacy." It was in regard to this dose of democracy that the government annually assigned marriage portions to twelve young maidens, selected from the great body of the peo- ple, of those not sufficiently opulent to secure husbands, or find the adequate means for marriage, without this help. To bestow these maidens upon their lovers, and with. them the portions allotted by the state, constituted the first, and in the eyes of the masses, the most agreeable part of the spectacle. The doge, on this occasion, who was the thrice-renowned Pietro Candiano, "did his spiriting gently," and in a highly edifying manner. SURPRISE AND! TERROR. 159 The bishop bestowed his blessings, and confirmed by the reli- gions, the civil rites, which allied the chosen couples. To these succeeded the voluntary parties, if we may thus presume upon a distinction between the two classes, wlhich we are yet not sure that we have a right to make. The high-born and the wealthy, couple after, couple, now approached the altar, to receive the final benediction which committed them to hopes of happiness which it is not in the, power of any priesthood to compel. No doubt there was a great deal of hope among the parties, aild we have certainly no reason to suppose that happiness did not follow in every instance. But there is poor Francesca Ziani. It is now her turn. Her cruel parents remain unsubdued and unsoftened by her deep and touching sorrows. She is made to rise, to totter forward to the altar, scarcely conscious of anything, except, perhaps, that the worthless, but wealthy, Ulric Barberigo is at her side. Once more the mournful spectacle restores to the spectators all their better feelings. They perceive, they feel the cruelty of that sac- rifice to which her kindred are insensible. In vain do they murmur " shame!" In vain does she turn her vacant, wild, but still expressive eyes, expressive because of their very soulless vacancJy, to that stern, ambitious mother, whose bosom no longer responds to her child with the true maternal feeling. Hopeless of help from that' quarter, she lifts her eyes to heaven, and, no longer listening to the words of the holy man, she surrenders herself only to despair. Is it Heaven that hearkens to her prayer . Is it the benevo- lent office of an angel that bursts the doors of the church at the very moment when she is called upon to yield that response which dooms her to misery for ever? To her ears, the thunders which now shhake the church were the fruits of Heaven's benig- nani interposition. The shrieks of women on every hand-the oaths and shouts of fierce and insolent authority-the clamors of- men--the struggles and cries of those who seek safety in flight, or entreat for mercy--suggest no other idea to the wretched Fran- cesca, than that she is saved frolm the embraces of Ulric Barbe- rigo. She is only conscious that, heedless of her, and of the entreaties of her mother, he is the first to endeavor selfishy to save himself by flight. But her escape from Barberigo is only page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 SOUTHWARD HO! the prelude to other embraces. She knows not, unhappy child, that she is an object of-desire, to another, until she finds herself lifted in the grasp of Pietro Barbaro, the terrible chief of the Is- triote pirates. He and his brothers have kept their pledges to one another, and they have been successful in their prey. Their fierce followers have subdued to submission the struggles of a weaponless multitude, who, with horror and consternation, behold the loveliest of their virgins, the just wedded among them, boine away upon the shoulders of the pirates to their warlike galleys. Those who resist them perish. Resistance was hopeless. The fainting -and shrieking women, like the Sabine damsels, arehur- ried from the sight of their kinsmen ,and their lovers, and the Istriote galleys are about to depart with their precious freiglt. Pietro Barbaro, the chief, stands with one foot upon his vessel's side and the other on the shore. Still insensible, the- lovely Francesca lies upon his breast. At this moment the skirt of his cloak is plucked by a bold hand. He turns to meet the glance of the Spanish Gipsy.- Theold woman leered on him with eyes that seemed to mock his triumph, even while she appealed to it. , "Is it not even as I told thee-as I showed thee q" was her demand. "It is!" exclaimed the pirate-chief, as he flung her a purse of gold. "Thou art a true prophetess. -Fate has done her work! He was gone; his galley was already on the deep, and he himself might now be seen kneeling upon the deck of the ves- sel, bending over his precious conquest, and striving to bring back the life into her cheeks. "Ay, indeed!" muttered the Spanish Gipsy, "thon hast had her in thy arms, but think not, reekless robber that thou art, that fate has done its work. The work is but begun. Fate has kept its word to thee; it is thy weak sense that fancied she had nothing more to say or do!" Even as she, spoke these words, the galleys of Giovanni Gradenigo were standing for the Lagune of Caorlo. He had succeeded in collecting a gallant band of cavaliers who tacitly yielded him the command. The excitement of action had served, in some measure, to relieve the distress under wlhich lhe PURSUIT OF THE PIRATES. 161 suffered. iHe Was no longer the lover, but the man; nor the man merely, but the leader of men. Giovarfni was endowed for this by nature. His valor was known. It had been tried upon the Turk. Now that he was persuaded by the Spanish Gipsy, whom all believed and feared, that a nameless and terrible dan- ger overhung his beloved, which was to- be met and baffled only by the course he was pursuing, his whole person seemed to be informed by a new spirit. The youth, his companions, wondered to behold the chainge. There was no longer a dreaminess and doubt -about his words and movements, but all was prompt, en- ergetic, and directly to the purpose. Giovanni was now the confident and strong man. Enough for him that there owas dan- ger. Of this he no longer entertained a fear. Whether the danger that was supposed to threaten Francesca was still sug- gestive of a hope--as the prediction of the Spanish Gipsy might well warrant--may very well be questioned. It was in the very desperation of his hope, that his energies became at once equally well-ordered and intense. He prompted to their utmost the energies of others. He impelled all his agencies to their best exertions. Oar and sail were busy without intermis- sion, and soon the efforts of the pursuers were rewarded. A gon- dola, bearing a single man, drifted along their path. He was a fiugitive from Olivolo, who gave them the first definite idea of the foray of the pirates. His tidings, rendered imperfect by his terrors, were still enough to goad the pursuers to new exertions. Fortune favored the pursuit. In their haste the pirate galleys had become entangled in the lagune. The keen eye of Gio- vanni was the first to discover them. First one bark, and then another, hove in sight, and soon the whole piratical fleet were made out, as they urged their embarrassed progress through the intricacies of the shallow waters. "Courage, bold hearts!" cried Giovanni to his people; "' they are ours! We shall soon be upon them. They can not now escape us!" The eye of the youthful leader brightened with the expecta- tion of the struggle. His exulting, eager voice declared the strength and confidence of his soul, and cheered the souls of all around him. The sturdy oarsmen "gave way" with renewed efforts. The knights prepared their weapons for the conflict. page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 SOUTHWARD HO! Giovanni signalled the otler galleys by which his own was fol- lowed. "I am for the red flag of Pietro Barbaro himself. I know lhis banner. Let your galleys grapple with,the-rest. Cross their path--prevent their flight, and bear cdown upon the strongest. Do your parts, and fear not but we shall do ours."' With these brief instructions, our captain led the iway with the Venetian galleys. The conflict was at hand. It came. They drew nigh and hailed the enemy. The parley was a brief one. The pirates could hope no mercy, and they asked none. But few words, accordingly, were exchanged between the parties, and these were not nwords of peace. "Yield,thee to the mercy of St. AMark!" was the stern stum- mons of Giovanni, to the pirate-chief. "St. Mark's mercy has too many teeth!" was the scornful reply of the pirate. "The worthy saint must strike well before Barbaro of Istria sues to him for mercy." With the answer the galleys grappled. The Venetians leaped on board of the pirates, with a fury that was little short of mnad- ness. Their wra-th was terrible. Under the guidance of the fierce Giovanni, they smote with an uinforgiving vengeance. It was in vain that the Istriotes foughlt as they had been long accus- tomed. It needed something more than customary valor to meet the fury of their assailants. All of them perished. Mercy now was neither asked linor given. Nor, as it seemed, did the pirates care to live, when they beheld the fall of their; fearful leader. He had crossed weapons with Giovanni Gradenigo, in whom he found gis fate. Twice, thric e, the sword of the latter drove through the breast of the pirate. Little did his conqueror conjec- ture the import of the few words which the dying clief gasped forth at his feet, his glazed eyes striving to pierce the ,deck, as if seeking some one within. "I have, indeed, had thee in my arms, but--" There was no more-death finished the sentence! The vic- tory was complete, but Giovanni was wounded. Pietro Barbaro was a fearful enemy. He was conquered, it is true, but lie ]ad made his mark upon his conqueror. He had bitten deep before he fell. The victors returned with their spoil. They brought back the "OVE TRIUMPHANT. -163 captured brides in triumplh. That same evening preparations were made to conclude the bridal ceremonies which the morning tad seen so fearfully arrested. With a single exception, -the original distribution of the " brides" was persevered in. That exception, as we may well suppose, was Francesca -Ziani. It was no longer possible for her annatural parents to withstand the popular sentiment. The doge himself, Pietro Candiano, was particularly active in persuading the reluctant mother to submit to what was so evidently the will of destiny. But for tlhe discreditable baseness and cowardice of Ulric Barberigo, it is probable she never would have yielded. But his imbecility and unmanly terror in the moment of danger, had been too conspic- uons. Even hiis enormous wealth could not save him from the shame 'that iollorwed ; and, however unwillingly, the parents of Francesca' consented that she should become the bride of Gio- vanlli, as the only proper reward for the gallantry which had saved her, and so many more, from shame. But where was Giovanni? His friends have been despatched for him; why comes he not? The maid, now happy beyond helr hope, awaits him at the altar. And still- he comes not.- Let us go back to the scene of action in the moment of his victory over the pirate-chief. Barbaro lies before him in the agonies of death. Ilis sword it i- which hlas sent the much-dreaded outlaw to his' last account. But he himself is woundecdl--wounded severely, ult not mortally, by the man whom he has slain. At this mo- l1ellt 1lie received a blow from the axe of one of the brothers of Barbaro. He had strength left barely to behold and to shout hiis victory, when he sank fainting upon the6 deck of the pirate vessel. 'His further care devolved upon his friend, Nicolo, who ihad followed his footsteps closely through all the paths of dan- ger. In a state of stupor he lies ulpon the couch of Nicolo, when the aged prophetess, the "Spanish Gipsy," appearea beside his bed. "He is called," she said. "The doge demands his presence. They will bestow upon him his bride, Francesca Ziani. You nmust bear him thither." The surgeon shook his head., "It may arouse him," said Nicolo. "We can bear him thither on a litter, so that he shall feel no pain." page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 SO'UTHWARD HO! (It were something to wake him from this apathy," mused the surgeon. "Be it as thou wilt." Thus, grievously wounded, was the noble Giovanni borne into the midst of the assembly, for each member of which he had' suffered and done so much. The soft music which played around, awakened him. His eyes unclosed to discover the lovely Francesca, tearful,- but hopeful, bending fondly over him. She declared herself hiis. The voice of the doge confirmed the assurance; and the eyes of the dying man brightened into the life of a new and delightful consciousness. Eagerly he spoke; his voice was but a whisper. "Make it- so, I pray thee, that I may live!" The priest drew nigh with the sacred, unction. The mar- riage service was performed, and the hands of the two were clasped in one. "Said I not?" demanded an aged woman, who approached tlhe moment after the ceremonial, and whose face was beheld by none but him whom she addressed. "Shl is thine!" The youth smiled, but made no answer.! His hand drew that of Francesca closer. She stooped to his kiss, and whispered him, buthe heard her not. With the consciousness of the sweet treasure that he had won after such sad denial, the sense grew conscious no longer-the lips of the youth were- sealed for ever. The 3young Giovanni, the bravest of the Venetian youth, lay lifeless in the embrace of the scarcely more living Francesca. It was a sad day, after all, in Venice, since its tri- umph was followed by so great a loss; but the damsels of the ocean city still declare that the lovers were much more blest in this fortune, than had they survived for the embrace of others less beloved. "Have I not read something like this story in a touching and romantic episode given in the ' Italy' of Rogers?" asked Salina Burroughs. "Yes! Rogers got it from the history. It is one of those incidents which enrich and enliven for romance the early prog- ress of most states and nations that ever arrived at character and civilization. Of course, like the famous legends of infant Rome, it undergoes-the artist touch of successive historians all * v ' THE HSTORIAN AN ARTIST. 165 of whom, in early periods, exercised in some degree the privi- leges of the artist, if not the romancer." ,iThe event occurs in the first periods of Venetian story, somewhere about A. D. 932, the reigning doge being Candiano the Second. It is good material for the dramatist.- I should commend it to Mr. Boker, as the subject of an operatic melo- drama. In the hands of our young friend Marvel, it could be lrouglit into a very pretty and delicate and dreamy work of sentimental fiction." page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] A // C IIAPTER X. A LONG, and to US a comparatively interesting, conversation ' followed, --Virginia., her resources, characteristics, scenery, and gene ral moral, affording the principal subject. In this conversa- tion, which occasionally ran into politics--in which some of the party showed their teeth very decidedly-the whole of our group-was brought out, the ladies excepted. They had retired for the night. Most of us had rambled in Virginia at different periods; and it was in the delivery of recollections and impres- sions that we passed naturally into discussion. I propose to give bits only of this conversation, leaving out the bites-con- fining my report to the innocuous portions of the dialogue, and omitting certain sharp passages which occasionally followed the thoughtless or the wanton shaft. One of our '"Down-East" brethren threw down the ball of provocation, dealing in a whole- saIe, if not wlolesome, diatribe against all Southern agriculture. As his opinions are those of a somewhat numerous class, and as they are working no little mischief at the present day, it may be as well to record, with tolerable fillness, the portion of the dialogue which ensued upon their utterance. "You pass through Virginia," said he, " as through a desert. The towns are few, and these all look old and wretched. The houses need paint, and are frequently in dilapidation. The cul- ture is coarse and clumsy, the implements rude, and the people seem entirely ignorant of all. improvements. They plough, plant, and reap, precisely as their fathers did a hundred years ago, and without doing any justice to their lands. The lands have never been properly worked, and manures are bul little known, and less esteemed. In favorite regions, along water- courses easily accessible, the plantations have been abandoned as entirely exhausted--sold for a song, at an average, perhaps, of a dollar an acre. The same lands, in the hands of New York farmers, have been bought up, improved, made valuable for CITY AND COUNTRY LIFE. 167 wheat-crops, and raised to a value ranging from fifteen to sev. enty-five dollars per acre. Thirty bushels of wheat have been raised to the acre, on tracts which have been thrown out as bar- ren. A like history belongs to North and South Carolina, where sinilar ignorance of farming, and of agricultural implements, similar coarseness and clumsiness in the cultivation of the soil, have led to similar results-the disparaged value of the lands, their abandonment, and the neglect and dilapidation of townns anld houses.!' ("You simply know nothing about the matter," said one of- the party sharply in reply--" or rather, you know just enough of the truth to involve yourself in a monstrous error. I too have trav- elled in the regions of which you speak, and can venture to say something on the subject, which has its bright as well as gloomy aspects. It is not all gloomy, though it is seldom that the hur- rying traveller sees or suspects any other. That you see few or no towns, and that these look desolate, are the natural effects of the life of a people purely agricultural. The southern people do not live in towns if they can avoid them. The culture and command of extensive tracts of land and forest give them a distaste to city life, where they feel restrained by a sense of confinement, and by manners of artificial character-a rigid conventionalisml imposing fetters upon that ease and freedom of bearing which belongs to the forest population. Besides, pub- lic opinion in the South is -unfriendly to the growth of large cities, which many of their leading minds hold to be always of the most mischievous moral tendency-as, indeed, the North begins also to discover. - M1r. Jefferson pronounced 'them the sinks and sewers of the commonwealth, to be tolerated only as among the dirty national necessities; and the instincts of the great body of the agricultural population have led them rightly in the same direction. They have learned to doubt the Whole- someness of the atmosphere of city life. Regarding towns as the mere agencies of the producer, they do not desire to see them absorbing a larger population, than is necessary to the actual business which they have to perform. "You, at the North, on the contrary, look to your flourishing towns, your fine, houses, great masses of brick and stone, with thousands jostling in the thoroughlfares, as proofs of prosperity page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 SOUTHWARD HO! and civilization; though, of these thousands, thousands live by beggary, by theft, chicanery, and the constantly active exer. cise of a thousand evil arts-the inevitable consequence of necessities which could not arise to the community were the unnecessary members driven to an honest, healthy, industrious occupation in neglected fields of agriculture. You judge mostly by externals, which rarely show the truth-the people in cities being chiefly learned in the art of concealig thlei true condi- tion, and making the best show to their neighbors; while the Southern agriculturists know nothing of this art, exhibit tlem- selves precisely as they are; use no white paint to cover old boards-no stucco to make co-imon brick look like stone; and, satisfied with the real comforts of their condition, never busy themselves in the endeavor to impose upon their neighbors withl the splendors of a season which would only lead to bankruptcy. "The dilapidated Virginia farmhouse, for example, wrill re- ceive more guests, at the family table, in one month, than the marble palace in Broad way or Fifth Avenue will entertain in one year. There will be always plenty and a generous wel- come, though the service be of delph and not of silver. "That we have not towns and villages' is the inevitable result of staple cultivation. Every plantation is a village, and where it is a large one, it will be found provided Withll all the essential elements of progress and performance, precisely as they are to be found in a village. Here, for example, is always a blacksmith and a carpenter, possibly a wheelwright, and fre- quently a shoemaker; while, in place of a hotel, for the recep- tion of the stranger, ip the mansion-house of the planter- want in paint, I grant-of ancient fashion, uncouth architec- ture-the floors, perhaps, not carpeted, and the furniture of that dark, massive mahogany which the city of New York would revolt at, but which carries to my mind an idea of the dignity of an ancienitrace, and that reverence for the antique l which is, perhaps, too much wanting in every part of our coun- / try, except the old states of the South. "This ancient mansion will be found usually with its doors thrown wide--in sig'n of welcome. Lest you should doubt, as you approach it, yo6fbeThold the planter himself descending the old brick steps to welcome you. You will be confounded to see . SOUTHERN ECONOMY. '169 that his costume is neither fine nor fashionable--that he wears a great broad-brimmed white hat, exceedingly ample, wiici: may have been mriinufiactfii ed for his granlaiSatiler. His coat may be of white flannel, and out at the elbows .and his panta- loons will be of domestic manufacture, homespun or nankin cotton. If you are wise enough to look below the externals, you will see, perhaps, that he has learned to despise them--at all events, you will- perceive that he has sacrificed for these none, of the essentials of the host, the gentleman, or the patriot. His hospitality is unimpaired by .his antiquity-nay, it forms a part of it--and in the retention of the one, he has retained the other as a matter of necessity. As a gentleman, he is frank and easy of manner, unaffected in his bearing, and always soli- citous of your comfort -and satisfaction. He does not suffer you to perceive that he would have been better pleased that you should have admired his fine house, and passed on without task- ing its hospitality. These are characteristics which must be taken as an offset to those respects whiich you select for censure. These, I have said, are the natural Jconsequence of staple cul- ture. It is the farmintg culture which exhibits and requires much nicety of detail. In the hands of the planter of a staple, lands are held in bodies too large to be handled 'minutely. It is the small ,plat only which you, can put in bandbox condition.. Lands in, staple countries are of less value than labor-in farm- ing countries, of greater value than labor. In proportion as the population becomes dense, they rise in value. But few southern planters desire a dense population. One secret of their hospi- tality is the extensiveness of their ranges. A wealthy planter, hlaving from fifty to five hundred slaves, will have from a hun- dred to a thousand head of cattle. He kills so many beeves per annum, from four to forty, according to his force. That he can order a mutton to be slaughtered, even though but a single guest claims his hospitality, is due to his extensive tracts of field and forest. He seldom sends any of his sheep, cattle, corn, or other provisions to market. These are all retained forbthe wants of the homestead., "It will not do for you, recognising the peculiar characteristics of his mode of life--their elegances, comforts, and- bounties- - to cavil at deficiencies, which could only be remedied by his 8 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 SOUTHWAr D HO! . abandonment of hllabits-which are grateful to the virtues, and which maintain in him the essentials of all high character- dignity and reVerenuce." ' But there must be an end to all this hospitality. The south- ern planter is not prosperous. HlHis fields are failing hinm-his staples are no longer valuable." "Sufficient for the day is the evil thlereof. Give ius time., Let-time answer your prophecy:; for it is prediction-not argu- ment, not fact-which you assert. There is no needc that his hospitality should be at an end. It only needs that it should be more discriminating, and that the southern planter should steadily close his door against those who come to eat his bread only to denounce the mnanner in which it is made, and to sleep securely beneath his roof only to leave curses rather than prayers behind them. He must only be sure that his guest, when a 1 stranger, is a gentleman and an honest man; and hle will prob- ably, with this modification of his hospitality, never be wanting in the necessary means for satisfying it. "But, touching his prosperity, I hold it to be the greatest mistake in the wolrld-exaininDin g things by just and intrinsic laws-to ssuppose that he is not prosperous. The southern planter does not derive from his labors so large a money income' as he formerly did, when the culture of hs great staple was comparatively in few hands. It is something different, certainly, to receive twenty cents instead of one hundred for long cottons, and six cents instead of thirty for short. But, in fact, the dif- ference does hot substantially affect his prosperity, if hLe be not already in debt. In the period of highl prices for hIis staples, lie could readily abandon farming culture to his less prosperous neighbors, leaving it to other states to supply his grain, his for- age, his vegetables, his cattle, mules, and horses, for which lhe - could well afford to pay from the excess of his income. But with his resources reduced, his policy necessarily changes, and is changing hourly, in recognition of new laws and new necessi- ties. This change effected, his property will continue as before, though actually no great amount of money passes through his hands. Hits fields, -that were failing' him when he addressed them wholly to the culture of a- single staple, are recovering, now that he alternates his crops, and economizes, prepares, and STATEc AND JN lIUNVIJVDUALS t 11- ploys his manure. He ceases to buy .grain and provisions. raises his own hogs and cattle, and his ploughs are driven mules and horses foaled in his own pastures. He discovers ,t he is not worse off now, in raising the commodities them- ves, for the purchase of which he simply raised the cash be- e; and hle further discovers that, under the present$system, learnis to economize land and lalbor, to improve the quality tle land, and the excellence of the labor; land rises in value 1i the introduction of thorough tillage; and a cleanlier, more npact method of culture, increases the health of the climate vell as the prosperity of the planters. With thorough tillage can feed lhis stocki, and thus lessen the estent of his ranges; 1 this results in a gradually-increasing denseness of the set- ments, which are all that is necessary to rendering the state prosperous as the individual las been." (What do you mean by this distinction?" It is one that politicians do not often makle, and it consti- es the grand feature in wiclh the southern states are deficient a northern eye. It occasions some of the difficulties in your des of reasoning. The wealth of the state must depend stly upon its numbers. The wealth of the individual will pend chiefly upon himself. The people of a state may be all the enjoyment of cDomfort and affluence, yet the state may be ). - This is the case with all the southern states, the' govern- lnt of which has a sparsely-settled population on which to act. here the population is thinly planted, the roads will be infe- r, the public works infrequent and of mean appearance, and cities (wrhich depend whorlloy upon a contiguous back country suppor't) will stagnate in visible decline, wanting enterprise I energy. The roads, the public buildings, and the cities, by ich the stranger judges of the prosperity of a people, will all pend upon the population of a state. If this be large-if the I is well covered-lthe powers of taxation are necessarily larged, without,.pelihaps, grow'ing burdensome to any; but the ans of life will be correspondingly diminished in the hands the greater number. Want and poverty wil trouble thou ids; afew will gro ric lilia eexpensei Q ;;h rest; with - greater^nliumibe, the struggle will be incessant from morning night, to supply the rmnst limited wants of a painful existence. , . , 1 * 1 \1 . , page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 , OUTHWARD HO! But in the southern states, where the public works are few, the public buildings 1humble, and' the cities of difficult growth or of stagnating condition, the great body of the people--nay, all the people, bonld and free-live in the enjo;yment of plenty always, and, in most cases, of a wo-ftiousd-egee of comfort. i"To illustrate this more completely by pa:alleIls Great Britain and France are, of course. immeasurablyj superior, not onlyf t-6the southern states of the Union0, but to all7 the states, North and South, in the wonders of art, the great tlioroughfares, the noble buildings, and the gigantic cities. These are errone- ously assumed to be the proofs of prosperity in a nation, when it is somewhat donbtful f thley canbe even relgarded as just proofs of its civilization. But, in Great Britain and France, millions rise every morning, in doubt where they shall procure the daily bread which, shall satisfy the hunger of nature through. the next twelve hours: No such apprehension ever troubles the citizen of the rural districts of the South. Rich and poor, black and white, bond and free, are all superior to this tortuiring-anxiety; and the beggar, who in the great cities of Europe 'and AAmerica is as frequent as their posts, is scarcely ever to be seen, even, in a southern city--and then he is chiefly from a northern city, whence he flies to a region, of the hospitality of which (in spite of its failingo fortunes) some vague rumors have reached his ears. He-flies from the proud and prosperous cities of the North, seek- ing his bread at the hands of a people whom you profess to despise for their decline.' "With these convictions, why do you repine and complain ." f" "I do neither. To do either is unmanly. That the southern people do complain, more than is proper and needful, is surely a something to be regretted; since he who pauses to complain will probably never overtake his flying prosperity. But, that there should be gloom and despondency is but natural with a people who, without positively suffering in fortune or comfort, are yet compelled, by large transitions of fortune, to contrast their present with their past. It is not that we are ruined now, but that we remember how fortunate we were before. If we com- pare ourselves with other people, and not with ourselves, we shall probably congratulate ourselves rather than complain." "With your views, you ard then satisfied that your people RESOURCES- OF THE SOUTH. '173 should continue rural occupations exclusively, to the rejection of manufactures." "By no means. I am anxious, on the contrary, that our peo- ple should embark in every department of art and trade for which they themselves or, our climate may be fitted, if onlythat we Xmay b-e perfcetly;depndepnndent of o n orthlerna-bethr-en , We have abundance of water-power, all over the South; we have the operatives on the spot; and we raise all the raw materials necessary for manufactures. Our water-power never congeals with frost; our operatives never work shortort or strike for in- creased wages, for w;ealiways keep, themu well fed-Lndwell clothed;.. .-;we pension their aged ; we protect and provide for their yonung; and, instead of being sickly at the toils we impose.- puny and perishing- they are always fat and frolicsome, and always on the increase; and cotton is every day passing into more general use, as clothing for the -poorer races of mankind. But, in the introduction of manufactures, I do not propose that - we should neglect or abandon any of our staples: I propose. that we should only employ our surplus population and lands for the purpose. There are large tracts of territory, for exam- ple, in the Carolinas, which answer for neither cotton, tobacco, nor the smaller grains. In these very regions, there is water- power in abundance; and where this is not the case, there is fuel in inexhaustible abundance, for the use of steam-power. I propose to increase the wealth of the state by the application of these regions to their proper use." "Btut if your whole country should become manufacturing, why not? The profits of manufactures are vastly greater than those of the cotton culture. I have seen some statistics of South Carolina, where it is estimated that seven hundred opera- tives will realize as large a result, in working up the cotton, as a-whole district of twenty-five thousand people in making the raw material. -They will work up seven thousand bales, triplicating its value, while the twenty-five thousand average but a single bale to each inhabitant.' "This is the sort of statistics which delude the-world. It is perhaps true that a district of South Carolina having twenty-five thousand people will send but twenty-five thousand bags of cot- ton to market. It is also true, perhaps, that eight hundred , page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] SOUTHWARD HO! operatives in a manufactory will, by their labor, increase three- fold the value of eight thousand bales, making a total of market. values equal to the twenty-five thousand bales. But when the operatives have done this, they have done nothing more than feed and clothe themselves, while, in fact, the cotton-planter has sent nothing but his surplus crop into the market. He las lived and fed well, witll all his operatives besides. Of the twenty-five thousand persons in agriculturfv; twelve thousand enjoy luxuries, as well as comforts, whieli are not common to the cities. They have more leisure;. tlhey, ,enjpy more society; most of them ride oii6iorseback, and the greater number of families keep carriage or buggy. Nothing is said of the variety of food which they .ommalid, or may command- the delights of their own homes, in their own grounds, their own gardens and firesides; and thle ease, the independence and elasticity, which belong to him who lives in thle air and siinshine;i in exercises whici are grateful; and retires from his toils at an early hour, to the enjoyments of his homestead and his sleep. But talking of sleep reminds lme of supper. Captain, if my nose does not greatly err, we are in the latitude of the old North State. I have been smelling tar and turpentine for the last half hour." CHAPTER XI. OUR discussion had taken an essayical form, and was fast los- inl its interest. Continued desultorily, it became descriptive. - 'I wais travellingo through North Carolina last season," said one of the Soutl-Carolinians present, " and was assailed upon tlhe route by a hale and rather pursy old farmer, with a long aldl curious examination on the subject of South Carolina politics. It iwras the time of the threatened secession movement. IA Well,' said he,' what are you people gwine to do in South Car'lina! Air you in airnest now ?'-' I think so!'-' And what will you do-cut loose ?'-' It is not improbable.'-' But you're not all for it.'-' No ! by no means. It is yet to be- de- cided Twhether there's a majority for separate state secession; there is very little doubt that a vast majority favors the forma- tion of a Southern Confederacy.'-'And do you reckon that the Federal Government will let you go off quietly.'-' It .is so thought by certain among us.'-' But you?'-'I think otherwise. I think they can hardly suffer us to do so. It would be fatal to their revenue system.'-'Well, and if they try to put you dow n- what are you gwine to do V'-' I suppose we shall have to carry the attack into the enemy's country, and put them down in turn.i'-' That's rigoht, and I'm one of them that stand ready to take a hand whenever you want help. I aint of the way of thinking of Mr. Dockery (it may be Dickery -Dickery, Dickery, Dock-something of the sort it is), who says he's for j'ining the Federal government agin you, and voting men and money to put you down. I reckon there's very few in the Old State to agree with him. He's a native from your country, too, I'm a-thinking. We are a rether slow people in North Carolina, but I reckon we're sure and sound, and true grit, and true South. We don't think you're right, in what you're a-doing, owing, to the;fact that South Carolina's always a leetle too fast, and mighty apt to go off at a half cock; but ef she's page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 SOUTHWARD HO! too quick, we believe it's a quickness pretty much on the right side. I'm a-tlinking there's no chance for us in the eend, unless we cut loose from the whole Yankee consarn. Old Isaac Cop- pidge, one of my neighbors, he said more than twenty ye ars ago, when you was for Nullifying-that you would do right to break up the Union, you South-Carolinians-that the Union was jest a sort of Union between a mighty fat frog and a hungry black- snake--that the fat frog was the South, and the hungry snake the North. And, says he, it's because the frog is so big and so fat, that the snake kaint swallow him all at once. But the snake's got fast ,hold, and the frog's a-gitting weaker every day-and every day a little more of him goes down; when the day comes that the frog gives up and lies quiet, the snake'll finish ]im. That was what old Ike Coppidge used to say, and jest whathlle says now. As I said, my friend, we don't altogether like your doings, but there's a many among us, who didn't like 'em in the Nullification times. But we see that the thing's getting worse, the frog's gitting lower and lower in the snake's swallow, and we've hafe a notion that you're pretty nigh to be light efter all. We'd like you to wait a bit on us; but ef you don't, we'll lhave a turn at the pump-handle, whenever there's a fire in your house. There's mighty few that think with Squire Dickery (or Dockery), and we'll git right side up before we're swallowed. I kin tell you that Clingman will distance his man by three thou- sand votes, or I'm a sinner in mighty great danger.'" The anecdote brought out one of our passengers from North Carolina, who had not before spoken. He showed himself equally jealous of Virginia on one hand, and South Carolina on the other. The Virginian dashed in; and in a little while the conversation became general. But we soon subsided again into description, "Harper's Ferry disappointed me," said one of the party. In fact, the traveller wonders at that extravagance of admira- tion, which, in the case of 1Mr. Jefferson and others, dilated in terms of such wonder and admiration, upon the sublimity and grandeur of a scene, which in no place rises above the pictu- resque. It is impossible for anybody to identify any spot in this neighborhood with the scen9 described by the sage of AMon- ticello. But Jefferson, though a very great man, in certain re- SHENANDOAH VALLEY. 1 7 spects, was, also, no little of a humbug. His superlatives were a pt to be bestowed, even where his imagination was unexcited. It is barely possible that he himself felt the wonders which he described as visible in this region; but to most other persons his description appears to be the superb of hyperbole. The scene is undoubtedly a fine one-pleasing and picturesque. The junction, of two broad rivers, at the feet of double mountain ranl- ges, can not be otherwise. Beauty is here, and dignity, and the eye lingers with gratification upon the sweet pictures which are made of the scene, at the rising and the setting of the sun. Standing upon a jagged peak below the junction, and suffering the eye to sweep over the two broad gorges within its range- groen slopes gradually ascending from, or abrupt rocks sullenly hanging above, the shallow waters glittering in the sunlight, you will naturally choose a hundlred different spots upon which you would fancy the appearance of a Gothic or Grecian cottage. Butano ideas of majesty, grandeur, force, power or sublimity, lift yoU into the regions of enthusiasm. The rivers are shallow-and forceless. There are no impetuous rages, no fierce, impulsive gushings, no fearful strifes with crag, and boulder-no storms, n0 torrents, no agonies of conflict between rock and river. The waters are not only placid, but quiet even to tameness. They seem to have made their way through the rocks insidiously; with the gliding sinuosity of the snake, rather than the wild flight of the eagle, or the mighty rush of the tiger. They have sapped the mountain citadels, not stormed them; and never could have possessed the volume to have done otherwise. The description of Mr. Jefferson would better suit the French Broad inl North Carolina, to which the scene at Harper's Ferry can not for a moment compare, whether as regards beauty, majesty, or sublimity. ' In contrast, the streams are absolutely sluggish. They neither rive, nor rend, nor rage, nor roar among the rocks. They have no wild rapids, no foaming wrath, no headlong plun- ges, no boiling abysses, and to him who goes thither, with his mind full of Mr. Jefferson's description, there is nothing in reserve but disappointment. "But what of the Shenandoah Valley as a whole 2" "The valley of the Shenandoah might'realize to the youthful romancer his most perfect idea of Arcadia. Reposing cosily in 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 SOUTHWARD HO! the bosom of protecting mountains, she unfolds to the embrace of the sun the most prolific beauties. Her charms are of a sort - to inspire the most perfect idylls, and to mature the mind for contemplation, and to enliven the affections for enjoyment. A dream of peace, sheltered by the wings of security, seems to hallow her loveliness in the sight of blue mountains, and the smiling heavens. On every hand spread out favorite places for retreat and pleasure, the most grateful of all, in which life suf- fers no provocations inconsistent with mental revery, and where the daily niecessities harmonize pleasantly with the most nutri- tious fancies. Here the farmer may become the poet; here soli- tude may yield proper occasion for thought: and thought, enli vened by the picturesque, may rise to a constant enjoyment of imagination. There is no scene so uniform as to induce monot. ony or weariness. Green fields terminate in gentle heights, heights are rendered musical with companionable voices, by the perpetual murmur of rills and waterfalls. The eye that rests upon the rock is charmel away by the sunny shadows that chase each other,- in perpetual sport, over valleys -and sloping lawns; and the heart feels that lere, if it be not the case, it should be, that the spirit of man may be as divine as the region in which he finds his abode. That the heart is not here sufficiently sub- dued to appreciate justly its possessions of nature--that the tastes have not here sufficiently refined, in accordance with the sweetness, simplicity, beauty and sincerity of the place--is only due to the fresliness of the scene and thbe newness of society. In proportion as the sense awakens to what it enjoys-as the means of life increase, and as prosperity leads to leisure, will be the improvement, mentally and spiritually, of a region, whilic' only needs to be justly known, in all its charms and treasures. Time will bring' about the necessary improvement. As it is, the scene is one where the heart, already matured, and the tastes already cultivated, may fi:nd a thousand abodes, in whichl life may pass away as a long and grateful sunny day, lapsing sweetly into sleep at last, in a couch hung with purple, and un- der a sky of blue, draped with the loveliest hues and colors- of a peaceful sunset." Somehow, we got back to the Eastern Shore, " which we had already left behind us, both in ship and story. One of the ATLANTIC SHORE SCENERY. 179 party was an advocate for modest scenery, that which required you to seek its beauties in the shade, and never sought to corn- pel -your admiration by its own obtrusiveness. He had found pictures for the eye where few persons seek them. Thus:- The argument depending upon moral, really, and not physical aspects: - "In approaching the 'Eastern Shore' of Virginia," said he, ' passing from ' Old Point' across-the bay, you find yourself gli- (iing toward such scenes of repose, delicacy, and quiet beauty, as always commend themselves to eyes which are studious of de- tail. To value the beautiful, apart' from the sublime, requires the nicely discriminating eye. Here, you pass, in rapid succes- sion, from headland to -harbor.-Gentle promontories shoot forth to welcome you, crowded with foliage, and affording pro- tection to sweet waters, and the most pleasant recesses for timid nymphs. You almost look to see the naiads darting through the rippling waters, in fond pursuit, with shouts and laughter. The ocean arrested by the headlands, which have been mostly upheaved from its own sandy hollows, subsides here into so many lakelets, whose little billows just suffice to break pleas- antly the monotony of their glassy surface. These bays are scooped out from the shore, scooped into it, rather, in the half- moon form, leaving to each a sandy margin, and a hard beach, upon which you see the gentleman's yacht, or the fisherman's boat drawn up, while the children of both are rollicking together, rolling out among the rollers of the deep. Peace and sweetness and lo-e, seem to be the guardian genii of these secluded places; repose and contemplation are natural occupations; one feels that the passions here do not exercise themselves madly and suicidally--that they are economized and employed only under the guidance of the affections--and that it is possible still to realize in fact the fictions of the Golden Age." "You should be a poet." "One can hardly escape such fancies, beholding such a scellne." "And the solitude of the region, though along the Atlantic shore, and contiguous to great marts of civilization, is quite as profouncl as among the gorges of our own Apalachian mount- ains." page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 SOUTHWARD HO! "Yes, indeed; and the proof may be found in the character and manners of the people of the 'Eastern Shore.' These have scarcely undergone any vital change in the last hundred years. They will tell you that here you find the best speci- mens of the old Virginian: one of the ' Lions' of the ' Eastern shore' by the way, is an ancient vault, to which I was condluct- ed with considerable interest. It lies upon an ancient farmstead, looking out upon the 'bay,' and occupies the centre of'an old field, of which, sheltered by some old trees, it is the only prom, inent object. It belonged to a member of the Custis famrily, a branch of the same stock with which Washington intermarried. Its curious feature is to be found in its inscription. The vault, which is now in a state of dilapidation, is of white marble, made in London and curiously carved. Old Custis, the incumbent, was a queer old codger, and rather hard upon the fair sex, if we may judge by his epitapll, which runs literally as follows :- "Under this marble tomb lies the body of the HoN. JOHN CUSTIS, ESQ., of the City of Williamsburg and Parish of Bunrton; formerly of Hungar's Palr- ish, on the Eastern-shore of Virginia, and County of Norlthampton: aged 71 years, and yet lived butt seven years, which was the space of time he kept A BACH- ELOR's HOME at Arlington, on the Eastern shore of Virginia. This inscription, we are told by another, on the opposite side, . "was put on the tomb by his own positive orders." The gist of it, as the ladies will painfully perceive, consists in the line we have italicised; the force of which will be better felt and understood from the additional fact, which does not appear, that this bachelor, who lived only in his bachelor condition, uwas ac- tually married three times. His experience, if we are to believe his epitaph, was greatly adverse to the idea of any happiness in the marriage state; yet how strange that he should have ven- tured thrice upon it! The natural conclusion is that the Hon. John Custis was a singularly just and conscientious man, who, unwilling to do the sex any wrong by a premature judgment, gave them a full and fair trial, at the expense of his own happi- ness, and pronounced judgment only after repeated experiments. Tradition has preserved some anecdotes of the sort of experience lwhich he enjoyed in the marriage state, one of which I will re- late, It appears that he was driving in his ancient coach toward -MATRIMONIAL FELICIT-Y. 181 Cape Charles, with one of his wives-and, to do him justice, we must assure the reader that,-unlike our modern Brighamites, he had but one at a time. A matrimonial discussion ensued between the pair, which warmed as they proceeded. The lord grew angry, the lady vociferous. "It was the diamond," said one--and "I insist," quoth the other, "'tlhat it was the club." "You will drive me md!" cried John Custis. "I should call that admirable driving?" retorted the wife. "By !" he exclaimed, "if you say another word I will drive down into the sea!" They were even then upon the beach! "Another word!" screamed the lady. "Drive where you please," she added-" into the sea-I can go as deep as you dare go any day!" He became furious, took her at her word, and drove the horses and chariot into the ocean. They began to swim. He held in, looked into her face, and she--laughed in lis. "Why do you stop ." she demanded, exultingly-not a whit alarmed. , You are a devil!" he exclaimed flinging the horses about, and making for the shore with all expedition. "Pooh! pooh!" laughed his tormentor. "Learn from this that there is no place where you dare to go, where I dare not accompany you." "Even to h--!" he groaned. "The only exception," she answered with a chuckle--" there my dear, I leave you." She had conquered. He never drove in at Cape Charles again, but groaned with the recollection of the seven years bachelor-life at Arlington. When this little narration had ended, an intelligent German of the party, from whose grave features and silent tongue we lad expected nothing, now pleasantly surprised us by volunteer- ing a legend of his own country--a' domestic legend of dark and gloomy character. We express d our gratification at the offer, drew our chairs into the circle, lighted fresh cigars, and listened to the following tale, which,'as if parodying the title of a previous:story, he called- - i '. page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 SOUTHWARD HO! THE BRIDE OF HATE: OR, THE PASSAGE OF A NIGHT. "Thou and I long since are twain; Nor thjink me so unwary or accursed, To bring my feet again into the snare WYhere once I have been caught ; I know thy trains, Though dearly to my cost; thy gins and toils; Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms, A No more on me have power; their force is nulled; So much of adder's wisdom I have learned, To fence my ear against thy sorceries."--Samson Agonisfes. AT length I was permitted to behold my benefactress. The messenger who brought my quarterly remittance was the bearer of a letter, the first which had ever been addressed by her to myself, in which this grateful permission was accorded. I read and reread it a thousand times. My first emotions were those of pleasure-a pleasure enhanced by the hope of satisfying a curiosity, which, -awakened in my earliest boyhood; had never yet been gratified. Why had I been so kindly treated, so well provided for, so affectionately considered, in all the changes of my brief existence, my sickness and my health, by a lady of such high condition? Why, again, should she, whose care and consideration had been so unvarying and decided, have shown so little desire to behold the object of her bounty? Years ladcl elapsed since I had become her charge ;--years, to me, of con- tinued satisfaction- if one small matter be excepted. Tlhere was one alloy to my enjoyments, which, in its most rapturous nioments, my boyhood did not cease to feel. It was the mystery which overhung my origin. Who am I? was the question, not so natural to the boy, yet natural enough to the sensitive and thoughtful. I was both sensitive and tlioughtful; and my boy- ish associates, contrived on this very subject, to keep me so. Their inquiries disordered me; their surprise at my ignorance alarmed me; their occasional doubts gave me pain, and the sus- picions of their minds readily passed into my own. ' Who am I V was the perpetual inquiry which my mind was making of itself. I could address it nowhere else. -My tutor, with whom I also lodged, declared his ignorance; and I believed him. He THE YOUTHFUL AYSTERY. 183 was too good a man, too kind, and himself betrayed too great an interest in the question, not to have spoken sincerely. He saw my disquiet, and endeavored to allay it; and the endeavor added to the burden, since it sufficiently declared his equal ina- bility and desire. His anxiety, though unequal to, was not unlike, my own.- I know not if his conjectures led him to like conclusions with myself. I only know that mine were suffi- ciently painful to extort my tears and tremors. Vainly, at each quarterly return of the agent of the baron- ess, did I endeavor, by question and insinuation, to gather from him some clue to the facts of which I sought to be possessed. He had been the person wlio brought me to the school--who mnade tfle contract for my education and- support with my tu- tor-and who alone, through each successive period of my life afterward, had been the medium for conveying the benefactions of my fi'iend. To whom, then, could I so naturally apply? whence could I hope to obtain better information? Besides, he always treated me with marked affection. I can remember, when a mere clhild, how frequently he took me upon his knee, how kindly he caressed me, what affectionate words he poured into nay ear:; the gentleness of his tones, the tenderness'of his regards! Nor, as I advanced in years, did his attentions alter, though they assumed different aspects. He was more reserved, though not less considerate. If he no longer brought me toys, he brought me books; if he no longer took me on his knee, he lingered with me long, and seemed to regret the hour that com- manded his departure. There was something too-so I fan- cied-in what he said, did, and looked, that betrayed the fondness of one who had known me with a tender interest from the begin- ning. His arms, perhaps, had dandled me in infancy; he had been my follower, my attendant. But why linger on conjec- tures such as these? My speculations ran wild, as I thought over the circumstances of my condition, and painfully resolved, hour after hour, the secret of my birth. From Bruno, however, I could obtain nothing. When ques- tionede, he affected a stolid simplicity which, even to my boyish understanding, seemed wholly inconsistent with his. I knew that he was no fool-still less was I willing to consider him a churl. Miy conclusion was natural. He knew something, page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184, SOUTHWARMD O! He could tell me much. Could he not tell me all, and where could be the motive for concealment? The answer to this ques- tion inevitably overwhelmed me for a time, until the elasticity of the youthful heart could disencumber itself from the despond- ing tendency of a premature activity of thought. The only motive of concealment must be guilt.' I was the child of sin- I was the foredoomed of suffering. My present anxieties gave a gravity and intensity of expression to my features which did not become one so youthful. I felt this: I felt the seeming un- naturalness of my looks and carriage; but how could I relieve myself? I felt the pain of thought-thought unsatisfied--and could already imagine how natural was the doom which visited the sins of the father to the third and fourth generation. When I failed to extort from the cunning of Bruno the secret which I was persuaded he yet possessed, I turned naturally to the letter of my benefactress. I read and reread it, each time with the hope of making some discoveries--of finding some slight clue to the truthl-which might relieve my anxiety. An ambiguous sentence, the latent signification of a passage (and how many of these did my desire enable me to discover in a billet tf twenty lines?) awakened my hopes and caused my heart to bound with double pulsation. But when I lhad gone through it again and again, until my head ached, and my senses seemed to swim, I was compelled to acknowledge to myself that there was nothing in the epistle that I had not readily compre- hended at the first. It simply expressed the writer's gratifica- tion at the improvement and good conduct of the youth whom she had thought proper to educate and provide for, until man- hood should bring around the period of independence; and expressed--though without emphasis (and how earnestly did I look for this quality in every word, syllable and point!)-a very natural desire to remark, with her own eyes, the personal deportment and carriage of her protege-- subjects which she seemed to regard as equally important with my intellectual im- provement, and. of which neither my letters nor my exercises- which were duly transmitted to her by my tutor--coIld give her much, if, any, satisfaction. Failing to find any occult significa- tion in the language, I next addressed my scrutiny to the style and manner of the letter--the handwriting, the air, the round- MYSTERY AND DOUBT. 185 ings equally of letters and periods. How soon, where the hopes and anxieties are awakened, will the boy learn to think, exam- ine, and become analytical! To trace the mind of the writer in his penmanslip is a frequent employment with the idly curious; but a deep interest led me to the same exercise. The style of the composition was clear and strong, but it struck me as quite too cold for the benevolent tenor which the note conveyed. Wlhy should one speakl the language of reserve whose deeds are the very perfection of generosity? Why should the tones be frigid where the sentiments are as soft as summer and sweet as its own bird-music 1 There was, to my mind, some singular contradiction in this. I could very well understand how one, doing, or about to do, a benevolent or generous action, should speak of it as slightly and indifferently as possible--nay, should avoid to speak -of it at all, if to avoid it be within the nature of the occasion,-but this did not apply to the character of the epistle I examined. Thlle writer spoke freely of her friendly purposes; but her language to the recipient was cold and freez- ing. If she had said nothing of what shee had done and still meditated, and had spoken to me in more elaborate tones, I should have been better satisfied. But there was not an unne- cessary word in the whole epistle -notone which I could fancy put in at the moment when the current of feeling, being at its height, forbade the reserve of prudence, or the cautious consid- crateness of deliberate and calculating purposes. There was evidently considerable pains taken--so my youthful judgment inferred-in the reserved language and manner of this letter; and why should my benefactress, moved only in what she had done by a high but ordinary sentiment of charity, strive to express herself in such language to a boy,? This question led me into newer intricacies, from which, T need scarcely- add, I did not readily extricate myself. The penmanship of the writer did not call for a less earnest examination than the language which she employed. It was evidently feminine in its charac- ter, but how masculine in its tone. The utter absence of orna- ment was a deficiency, which struck me as forming a surprising feature in the handwriting .of a lady. She used capitals con- stantly in beginning words as well as sentences; but these capi- tals exhibited the cold Gothic aspects of the Roman, rather thanl page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 SOUTHWARD HO! the lively ornamented outlines of the Italian letters. The T of her signature, for example, was a simple perpendicular stroke, carried much below the line, with a thick heavy cap upon it, having a dip at each end almost as great as that of an umbrella. The letters were remarkably clear, but how irregular! They seemed to have been written under a determination to write, even against desire and will--dashed spasmodically down upon the paper, not coherent, and leaving wide gaps between the sev. eral words, into which an ingenious hand might readily have introduced other words, such, as I fondly conjectured, mnight have given to the composition that friendly warimth and interest in my fate, which it seemed to me it needed more than anything besides. My grand conclusion, on finishing my study, was this, that the writer had taken some pains to write indifferently; that the studied coldness of the letter was meant to conceal a very active warmth and feeling in the writer;' and (though I may not be able to define the sources of this conjecture so well as the rest) that this feeling, whatever might be its character, was not such as could compel the admiration or secure the sympathy of mine. This conclusion may seem strange enough, when it is recollected that the baroness was my benefactress, who had always carefiully anticipated my wishes; provided for my wants; afforded me the best education which the condition of the palatinate afforded; and, in all respects, had done, thllough charity, those kindly deeds which could not have been exacted by justice. The next moment I reproached myself for ingrati- tude-I prayed for better thoughts and more becoming feel- ings-but my prayer was not vouchsafed me. The conclusion which I have already declared had taken a rooted possession of my mind, atnd I commenced my journey to the castle of T--- with a mixed feeling of equal awe, anxiety, and expectation. II. I NOW remarked some alteration in the looks and bearing of my companion, Bruno, which also surprised me and awakened my curiosity. Hitherto, he had always seemed a person of lit- tle pretension,!aving few objects, and those of an humble class; a mere yeoman; a good retainer, in which capacity he served BRUNO. 187 at T-- castle; modest in his deportment, without arrogance of any kind; and, in all respects, a very worthy personage. I I do not mean to say that he now assumed the appearance of one who had become less so; but he certainly was no longer the quiet, subdued and somewhat melancholy man whom I had heretofore been wont to find him. A certain boyish lightness of manner and gayety of speech distinguished him as we rode together;-and, though these qualities might not be altogether inconsistent with what is becoming in-a man of forty, yet were they, at the same time, very far from corresponding with the usual characteristics which he had borne in our previous inti- macy. Until now I should have called him a dull person, pos- sessed of good, benevolent feelings; rather grave and sombre in his discourse; and, altogether, having no qualities to recom- mend him to a higher destination th'an that which he- filled in the castle of the baroness. Now, he suddenly became the man of spirit; his words were mirthful, his voice musical, his opin- ions playful and even witty; and, not unfrequently, lie would butrst into little catches of song, that sounded unpleasantly in my ears, since I could neither conjure up cause of merriment in my own mind, nor conjecture the sources for so much of it in his. Nor did this conduct seem the result of simple natural feelings-the play of health in an exercise which was agree- able, or of sensations which lie beneath the surface only, and obe- dient to the summons of any cheerful wayfarer, who, having no cares, is susceptible of the most ordinary pleasures. There was an air of positive exultation in his looks, a triumphant conscious- ness in his manner, which he vainly strove to hide, and in the business of which I quickly inferred, from his frequent smile and searching gaze upon me, I myself had no little interest. When I commented upon his gayety and spirit, he would sud- denly control himself, relapse, as it were by an effort, into his ancient gravity, and possibly mutter a few clumsy words of dlenial. But his struggle to contain himself did not long con- tinue, and before we reached the end of our journey, he lhadl fully surrendered himself to the joyous mood which possessed him on our setting out. Having no knowledge of Castle T , I endeavored by a series of direct questions to obtain from lhim as much information page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 SOUTHWARD HO! as possible in respect to it and the lady thereof. He seemed to be surprised at the avowal of my ignorance on the subject of the castle, and surprised me even more by expressing his wonder at the fact; concluding by assuring me that I was born in it--at least he had been told so. His mention of my place of birth necessarily provoked an eager renewal of my old inquiries, but to these I obtained no satisfactory answers. Enough, however, was shown me by what he said, and still more by what he looked, that lie knew much, more than he was willing, or per- mitted, to reveal. His reserve increased the mystery; for if any of my acquaintance had ever convinced-me of their unequiv. ocal regard, it was my old friend Bruno. That he should know, yet withhold, the secret, the desire for which was making imy cheek paler every day, and filling my heart with the gloom thlat seldom afflicts the young, argued, to my understanding, a pain- ful history, which, perhaps, when heard, I should wish for ever buried in oblivion. When I inquired after my benefactress, as I had frequently done before, his brow became clouded, and it was only at such moments that he seemed to part easily withl that gayety of manner:which had striven to cheer our tedious journey. Stern glances shot from beneath his bushy gray eye- brows, and his lips became compressed, as closely as if some resolute purpose of hostility was gathering in his mind. "It seems to me, Bruno, that you love me no longer.. You will not answer my questions-questions which seriously afect my happiness--and yet it is clear to mne that you can do so. Why is this? Why should there be any mystery in the case of one so poor, so humble, such a dependant as myself?" "Love you, Herman! Do I not love you!"Jhe exclaimed; and I could see a big tear gathering within his eye, as he re- plied in reproachful accents-"Ah, my son, you know not how much I love you; you know not now-perhaps you will shortly know-and when you do, you will see thiat what I have with- hleld from you was wisely withheld. There is a season given for truth, Herman, and if Bruno forbears the truth in your ears, it is only that he may wait for a season." "But why should you not tell me of the baroness? I should like to form some idea of, and to love her, before I see her." "Then you do not love her?" he demanded wivth some quick- QUERIES. 189 ness; and I could perceive a smile gleam out upon his counte- nance, in which I fancied there was even an expression of bitter satisfaction. His question confused me--it conveyed a reproach which he certainly never intended. Could it be possible that I did not love my benefactress--one to whom I owed so much--to whom, indeed, I owed everything? I blushed, hesi- tated, stammered, and, before I could reply, he again spoke, and anticipated the feeble excuse which I was preparing. "But how should you love her?" he exclaimed, in tones rather of soliloquy than conversation. "How, indeed! It would have been wonderful, indeed, if you did." Hiere he arrested himself in the manner of one who thinks he has said too much. The true feeling with which he spoke I gathered rather from the tone of his utterance than from what he said. The words, however, might have been made to apply much more innocently than the emphasis permitted me to apply them. "How! what mean you, Bruno?"I demanded, with an pston- ishment which was sufficiently obvious. He endeavored to evade the effects of his error with the adroitness of a politician. "How could you be expected to love a person whom you had never seen--whom you do not know-of whom, indeed, you know nothing '?" "Except by her bounties, Bruno." "True, these demand gratitude, but seldom awaken love, un- less by other associations. -Mere charity, gifts and favors, have but little value unless the donor smiles while he is giving- speaks kind words, and looks affection and regard. The bar- oness has erred, if your affection was an object in her sight, in not personally bestowing her bounty and showing, to your own eyes, the concern which she felt in your success, and the benev- olence she intended. Without these, her bounty could scarce secure your love; and the feeling which dictates it might have no such motive for its exercise--might be dictated by pride," vanity, the ostentation of a virtue; or, indeed, miglit be the con- sequence of a simple sense of duty." "Duty! How should it be the duty of the baroness to pro- vide for my support and education?" "Nay, I say not that such is the case. I simply suggest one page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 SOUTHWARD HO! of the causes of tlat favor which men are very apt, when they name, to confound with benevolence." "But why should you speak as if it were doubtful that the baroness really desires to secure my affection?, Do you know, Bruno, that she does not?" "He or she who aspires to secure the affection of another will scarcely succeed by the mere act of giving in charity. The gift must be accompanied by other acts, other expressions, which shall exhibit the attachment which the giver desires to awaken. It must be shown that there is a pleasure felt in the benevolence, that the heart which bestows enjoys a kindred sat- isfaction with that which receives. As for any knowledge on the subject of the feelings of the baroness, I pretend none. I but state a general truth when I say, that, if her object had been to make you love her, she should have carried her gifts in person, shown herself frequently to you, counselled you from her own lips, exhorted your industry and diligence, prompted your ambition, cheered your labors, and encouraged all your honorable desires." "Ah, if she had done this, Bruno 2" "'Doubtless, you would then have loved her, and then she would have been-" He paused abruptly; the same stern expression of counte- nance denoted the suppression of a sentiment, such as more than once before, during our dialogue, had seemed to fill his mind with bitterness. I eagerly demanded of him the conclusion of the sen- tence, and, with a smile which was half a sneer, he replied:- "( Then she would have been- secure of your love." I smiled also, and, peihlaps, a like sarcastic sneer passed over my own lips, as he came to this lame and impotent conclusion. "Bruno, you deceive me, and possibly wrong my benefac- tress. You know more than you will tell me. There is some strange mystery in this business-" "Which I believe, Herman, but-" "Which you know, Bruno." "Perhaps so; but let me ask you, Herman, my dear Herman, do you believe me to be your friend?" "I do." "( That I have ever shown you kindness, watched over you, COUNSELS OF EXPERIENCE. 191 counselled you, guided you, protected you, done all, in short, that a father could have done for the son he most loved '. , Truly, good Bruno, I believe, I think, I know, that you have been all this to me. 'You have supplied those performan- ces, which, if your thinking be right, the benevolence of the baroness imprudently omitted." "Enough, Herman. Believe then a little more. Believe that he who has been friendly and faithful hitherto, without hesitation, without exception, without going back, and without sign of reluctanee, will still be true, faithful, and affectionate. There is something that I might say, but not wisely, not benefi- cially for you, and therefore I forbear to say it. But the time will come, I think it will come very soon, and all my knowledge shall then be yours. Meanwhile, be patieint and learn the first best lesson of youth -learn to wait! By learning to wait, you learn to endure, and in learning'to endure, you learn one of the principal arts of conquest. I speak to you the lesson of experience, - of my own experience. Never did a young man pass through a more trying term of endurance than myself. -I have sup- pressed my nature, stifled the passions of my lheart, kept down those struggles of my soul which, as tleJy would have vainly 'striven for any release, were premature; and, after twenty years of bondage I am at length free. Your visit to the castle of T , is the epochll of my emancipation." "I. HAVING thus spoken, Bruno became suddenly silent, and no effort that I could make could induce him to resume the conver- sation. Yet, how had this conversation excited me!--what strange commotion did it occasion among the thoughts and fan- cies of my mind. Where had he obtained the power to speak with so much authority, words so full of animation, thoughts so far beyond his Seeming condition? His words seemed to lift and expand himself. His eye glittered with the fire of an eagle's as lie spoke, his lip quivered with equal pride and- en- thusiasm, and his form, it seemed to rise and tower aloft in all the majesty of a tried and familiar superiority. The mystery which enwrapped my own fate, seemed of a sudden to envelop this page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 SOUTHWARD HO! man also. He had dropped words which indicated an alliance of our destinies, and what could lie mean, when, at the close of this speech, he said, that my visit to the castle of T was the epoch of his emancipation. The words rang in my ears with the imposing solemnity of an oracle; but, though I felt, in vain did I strive to find something in them beyond their solitary import. They increased the solemnity and anxiety of those feelings which oppressed me on my nearer approach to the gloomy tow- ers of T castle. As we came in sight of them I could perceive that the countenance of my companion assutmed an ex- pression of anxiety also. A dark cloud, slowly gathering, hung about his brows, and at length spread over and seemed to settle permanently upon his face. He now seldom spoke, and only in answer to my inquiries and in lmonosyllables. Something of this, in the case of eaclh of us; may have been derived from the sombre and gloomy tone of everything in the immediate neigh borhood of this castle. The country was sterile in the last degree. We had travelled the whole day and had scarcely en- countered a human being. But few cottages skirted the cheer- less and little-trodden pathway over which we came, and a general stuntedness of vegetation and an equally general pov- erty of resource in all respects, fully accounted to us for, and justified the absence'of, inhabitants. Bruno, however, informed me that the country on the other side of the lake on which the castle stood, and from which it derived its resources, was as fer- tile and populous as this was the reverse. A succession of little hills, rugged and precipitous, which were strewed thickly over our pathway, added to the difficulties of our approach, and the cheerlessness of the prospect. The castle was gray with years -one portion of it entirely dismantled and deserted--the resi- due in merely habitable condition-the whole presenting suchl a pile as would be esteemed a ruin among a people of roman- tic temperament, but carefully avoided by the superstitious as better calculated for the wanderings of discontented ghosts, than as a dwelling for the living. The wall which was meant to pro- tect it from invasion on the side we came, was in a worse state of dilapidation than even the deserted portions of the castle, and we entered the enclosure through a fissure, and over the over- thrown masses of lime and stohe by which it had been originally THE CASTLE AND THE LADY. 193 filled. There were too many of these openings to render formal ports or gateways necessary. Within the enclosure I had an op- portunity to see how muctl more desolate was the prospect the nearer I approached it. Its desolation increased the feelings of awe with which the mystery of my own fate, the ambiguous words and manner of Bruno, and the vague conjectures I had formed in reference to my benefactress, had necessarily filled my mind; and I wasg conscious, on first standing in the presence of the bar-, oness, of far more apprehension than gratitude--an apprehen- sion not so creditable to my manhood, and only to be excused and accounted for, by the secluded and unworldly manner in which my education had been conducted. The baroness met me with. a smile, and such a smile!-I could not comprehend its language. It was clearly not that of affection; it did not signify hatred--shall I say that it was the desperate effort of one who seeks to look benevolence while feeling scorn; that it was a smile of distrust and bitterness, the expression of a feeling which seemed to find the task of receiving me too offensive and unpleasant even to suffer the momentary disguise of hypocrisy and art. I was confused and stupefied. I turned for explanation to Bruno, who had accompanied me into the presence; and the expression in his face did not less surprise me than that in the face of the baroness. His eyes were fixed upon hers, and his looks wore an air of pride and exultation; not dissimilar to that which I have already described as distin- guishing them while our-dialogue was in progress. There was something also of defiance in his glance, while gazing on the baroness, which puzzled me the more. Her eyes were now turned from me to him. "And this then is the - the youth--t he paused. I could no longer misunderstand those accents. They were those of vexation and annoyance. "The same!" exclaimed Bruno, " the same, my lady, and a noble youth you see lie is ; well ortlhy of your patronage, your love!" There was a taunting asperity in his tones which struck me painfully, and at length stimulated me to utterance and action. I rushed forward, threw nmyself at her feet, and, while I poured forth my incoherent acknowledugments for her benefactions, would 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 SOUTHWARD HO! have seized and carried her hand to my lips. But she shrunk back with an impulse if possible more rapid than my own, her hands uplifted, the palms turned upon me as if beckoning me away, her head averted, and her whole attitude and manner that of one suffering contact with the thing it loathes. "No, no! None of this. Take him away. Take him away." I rose upon my feet and turned to Bruno. His form was erect, his eye was full of a stern severity as he gazed upon the baroness, which seemed to me strangely misplaced when I con- sidered his relative position with the noble lady to whom I owed so much, and, in respect to whom it would seem so unaccountable, so unnatural. Bruno paused and did not regard me as I approach- ed him. His eyes were only fixed upon his mistress. Shere. peated her injunction, with a wild and strange addition:- "Have you not had enough)? Would you drive me mad? Away withh him. Away!" "Come!" he exclaimed, turning to me slowly, but with an eye still fixed upon the baroness, whose face was averted from us. He muttered something further which I did not understand, and we were about to depart, he frowning as if with indignation, and trembling with equal apprehension and surprise. "Stay!" she exclaimed, "where would you take him, Bruno?" "To the hall below, your ladyship." "Right, see to his wants. His chamber is in the northern turret." "There!" was the abrupt exclamation of Bruno. "There! There!" was all the reply; a reply rather shrieked than spoken, and the manner of which, as well as the look of Bruno, when he beheld it, convinced me that there was some- thing occult and mysterious in the purport of her command. Nothing more, however, was spoken by either the baroness or himself, and we left the presence in silence together. IV. WE descended to the salle a manger, where we found a boun- tiful repast prepared. But neither of us seemed disposed to eat, though the long interval of abstinence since the morning. meal, would, at another time, and under different circumstances, have -T O TO TE TOWER. 195 j ,istified a vigorous appetite and an enormous consumption of' the various viands before us. I remarked one thing in the man- agement of the feast which occasioned my astonishment. There was ai regular taster of the several dishes, who went through his office before Bruno invited me to eat. I had heard and read of this officer and the objects of this precaution' in the history of past and barbarous centuries, but that he should be thought necessary in a modern household and in a Christian country was a subject of very natural wonder; and I did not hesitate to say as much to my companion and friend. But my comment only met his smile; he did not answer me, but contented himself with assuring me that I might eat in safety. He even enlarged on the excellence of some of the 'dishes, most of rwhch were new to ime. I did little more in the progress of the repast than follow the example of the taster, who, his office over, had instantly retired, but not before casting a glance, as I fancied, of particular meaning toward Bruno, who returned it with one similarly sig- nificant! I observed that all the retainers exhibited a singular degree of -deference to this man, that his wishes seemed antici- pated, and his commands were instantly obeyed. Yet he spoke to theml rather in the language of an inti'mate companpiion than a master. He was jocose and familiar, malde inquiries into their exclusive concerns, and seemed to have secured their affections entirely. It was not long before I discovered that this was the case. From the salle a naanqger, as neither of us Cared to eat, we retired after a brief delay, and, leaving the castle, emerged by a low postern into an open court which had once been enclosed and covered, but of the enclosure of- which only one section of the wall remained, connecting the main building with a sort of tower, which, as I afterward founcl, contained the apartments assigned me by the baroness. -To; this tower Bruno now conducted me. Crossing the court, we enteried a small door at the foot of the tower, which my conductor carefully bolted' behnd him. We then ascended a narrow and decaying flight of steps, which, being circular, gradually conducted us to an upper chamber of greater height from the ground' than, looking upward from belotw, I had at first esteemed it. This chamber was in very' good repair, and at one time seemed, indeed, to have been very sumptuously furnished. There was, however, page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 SOUTHWARD HO! an air of coldness and damp about the apartment that impressed me with unpleasant sensations. But a single window, and that a snall one, yielded the dayliglt from the eastern sky, while two small narrow doors, that appeared to have been shut ulp for a century and more, occupied opposite sections of the northclern and southern walls. The little apertu're at the head of the stairs was closed by a, falling trap, and fastened or not at the pleasure of the incumbent, by a bolt in the floor above. A massive bedstead, of carved columns and antique pattern, stood almost beside the trap, making flight easy by that means in thle event of such a proceeding seeming 'desirable. A venerable table, of the same style and century as the bedsteadl, stood in the middle of the apartment, sumptuously covered with a rich damask cloth, the massive fringes of which swept the floor around it. The solitary window of the apartment was shaded by a cur- tain of similar hue, but of softer and finer material. But the uphol- stery and decorations of my chamber, or my prison-for such it seemed with all its decaying splendor-called for little of my notice then, and deserves not that of my reader. A casual glance sufficed to show me the things of which I have spoken, and I do not think I bestowed upon them more. There were matters far more serious in my mind and important to my interest. Two stools which the apartment contained, afforded seats to Bruno and myself; and I scarcely allowed myself to be seated before I demanded an explanation of the strange scene through which we had gone with mlly benefactress. "A little longer, dear Herman--be patient a little longer- and then you shall have no cause to complain of me. I shall strive soon to convince you of my wishes for your happiness -and welfare, and, lerhaps, of the continued labors which I have undergone, having your fortunes in view only. Yet, I do not promise you to- unfold the mystery entirely, or even partially, which enwraps this castle and its unhappy mistress. Perhaps I can not. I confess freely there is something beyond my knowledge, though not, I trust, beyond my pdwer. Should I succeed in what I purpose, and this very night may show, then may you expect such a revelation as will satisfy your curiosity and make you better content with your position. Of one thing I may assure yiou; your fortunes are better thmWll you think them, the prospect is WARNINGS OF DANGER. 197 favorablel before you, and the time is not far distant when you may realize my hopes in your behalf, and reap some of the fruits of my toils. But I must leave you now. Nay, do not stay me, and do not seek to question me further. I can not now, I will not, speak more on this subject. It is your interest that calls me from you." I would have detained him for further questions, spite of his aldmonition, but he broke away from me, and was hurrying through the small southern door of the apartment when he sud- denly stopped. ' . "Herman, I had almost forgotten a most' important matter. I must give you some cautions. This door, you perceive, has a bar, which drops within these fissures of the wall and secures it thoroughly. You will close it after me, and keep it fast at all hours. Do not open it to any summons unless it be mine, and even my voice, or what may seem to be my voice, must not per- suade you to violate this caution. When I desire entrance, you will hear these sounds, but no words"-here he breathed, rather than whistled, a slight note, interrupted by a singular quaver, whch seemed the very soul of mystery.-" above all," he con- tinued, " let no woman's voice persuade you to undo the bar." "But suppose the baroness should send?." "Do not you hear. Shle may send--nay, I am sure she will--she may come herself.' "But I must -then open 1" "No, not then! Not for your life." "( Ha, Bruno! What may this mean?" "Inquire not now, my son; but believe me that my precau- tions are not idle, not unnecessary. I live but to serve and save yOU." "Save me! You confound me, Bruno." "Yes, I have saved yolu until now, and require nothing but your obedience to be your preserver still. Do as I ask, as I colmmand you! and all will be well, and we shall be tri- umphant." His words were no less strange to me than had been those of thbe baroness, and what was more strange than all was that sudden air of authority, parental indeed, which he now assumed for the first time. I did not, at the momnent, feel the greater page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 SOUTHWARD HO! singularity of my own tacit obedience, withlout disputation, to the authority of- this man. I acted, all the while, as if under the sway of ani instinct. His eye, in the next moment, gave a hasty glance to the solitary iwindow of my chamber and to the door in the southern wall of the apartment. "That door is almost unapproaclhable," he said, seeing that my eye followed the direction of his; " it leads to an abandoned terrace whichl overhangs the lake. The portion of wall which connected it jwitlh the castle is almost in ruins. Still it may bo I well that you should keep it bolted. The window, which is i grated and inaccessible, will yet afford you a pretty view of the neighboring mountains; these, as there is a lovely moon to- night, you will be able to distinguish readily. Should the hours seem tedious in my absence, you' can amuse yourself by looking forth. But, let me warn you at parting, Herman, open to no summons but mine." V. HE left me at these words, and left me more perplexed, if not more apprehensive, than ever. AMy meditations were neither clear nor pleasant. Indeed, I knew not what to think, and, perhaps -naturally enough, ended by distrusting my counsellor. The change in his deportment and laiguage had been no less marvellou s than was the reception which I had met with froml the baroness. The inference seems usually justified that where there is mystery, there is guilt also; and Bruno had evidently been more mysterious alld inscrutable than the baroness. Slie, indeed, had spoken plainly enough. Looks, words, and actions, had equally denounced and driven me from her presence; and, ignorant and innocent of any wrong, performed or contemplated, I necessarily regarded my benefactress as the victim of sudden lunacy. Still, it was impossible' to reconcile the conduct of Bruno, however strange and unaccountable it might seem, with the idea of his unfaithfulness. He certainly, so far as I knew, had ever been true to my interests. He had been something more. He had shown himself deeply attentive to all my feel- ings. Never blad father bestowed more tender care on a be- loved son, and shown more of parental favor in his attachments, than had been displayed toward me from the first by this per- # - 8 3'5] THE MDNIGHT VISITER. 1 son . It was not easy now to distrust him; and, racked by con- flicting, conjectures, I passed two weary hours before anything happened to divert my thoughts from speculations which brought me no nilgher to the truth. In the meanwhile, I had made sun- dry attempts, by looking around me, to lessen the influence-of my thhoughlts upon lly feelings. I examined my chamber with the appearance, if not the feeling, of curiosity. I mounted to tle windovW, and for a little while was soothed by the soft, sil- very light of the moon, as it seemed to trickle down the brown, discolored sides of the rocks that rose in the distance, hill upon- hill, until the last was swallowed up in the gloomy immensity beyond. The moon herself, in the zenith, was beyond my glance. But this prospect did not relieve the anxiety which it failed to divert. I turned from the pleasing picture, and, rCsumin"g my seat beside the table in my gloomy apartment, again surrendered myself up to those meditations which, how-; ever, were soon to be disturbed. 3Iy attention was called to the door through which Bruno had taken his departure, and which--though I did not then know the fact-led through a long, dismal corridor, to a suite of rooms beyond. -A distinct tap, twice or thrice repeated, was made upon the door. I was on the eve of forgetting the solemn injunctions of my companion, and had nearly risen from my seat for the purpose of opening it. I recollected rmyself, however, before doing so, and maintained an inflexible silence. But I could not stifle the beatings of my heart, which, on a sudden, seemed to lhave acquired fourfold powers of pulsation. I almost tottered under my emotion; and nothing but a resolution of the most stern character, and the feeling of shame that came to my relief and reproached me with mly weakness, enabled me to preserve a tolerable degree of com- posure. I kept silence and my seat; suppressed my breathings as well as I could; and, with ears scarcely less keen than those of the watch-dog when the wolf-drove trots about the enclosure, did I listen to the mysterious summons from without. Again and again, though still in moderate force, as if some caution was necessary to prevent the sounds from reaching other senses than my own, were the taps repeated upon the door; and, after a full quarter of an hour, passed in a condition of suspense the most trying and oppressive, I was at length relieved by hearing page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 SOUTHWARD O! the tread of retiring footsteps, preceded by the murmurs of a voice which I had never heard before, and none of the, wol's of which could I distinguish. I breathed more freely for a while, but for a while only. Per- haps an hour elapsed-it might have been less-it certainly could not have been more; I had fallen into a sort of stupor, akin to sleep, for nature was not to be denied her rights, even though care had begun to insist on' ers; when the summonls was renewed upon the entrance, and, this time, with a considerable increase of'earnestness. Still, I followed the counsel of Bruno, returned no answer, and strove to retain my position in the most perfect silence. The knocking was repeated after a little inter- val, but with the same want of success. Then I heard voices. A whispering dialogue was evidently carried on betweent two persons. How acute will the ears of anxiety become when sharpened by apprehension. I heard whispers, evidently meant to be suppressed, through a, stone wall nearly three feet in thickness. The whispering was succeeded by a third summons, to which I paid as little attention as before, and then the whis- pers were'exchanged for murmurs--sharp, quick murmurs- in the tones of that voice, which, once heard, could never have been forgotten. It was the voice of the baroness. I could now distinguish her words; for, in her passion, she3 lost all her pru- dence. "Said you, not that 3you saw them enter together 2" The reply was not audible, though the whisper which conveyed it was sufficiently so. "And you saw Bruno go forth alone?" Again the whisper, which must have been affirmative. "And he took the way to the convent?" The response was immediate, and, I suppose, affirmative also, though still in a whisper too soft for me to hear. "Then he must be here!" The remark was followed by'a louder knocking, in the inter- vals of which my name was called t!hree several times in the voice of the baroness; each time with increased emphasis, and evidently under the influence of a temper, roused from the first, and growing momently more and more angry, under disappoint- ment. I began to reproach myself with, my conduct. How could I justify this treatmenty of my benefactress? By what MYSTERY INCREASES. 201 rigoht did I exclude her, and what reason could I give to my- self or others for such disrespectful treatment? The discussion of this question in my own mind led to various and conflicting resolves. My reflections all required that I should answer the sum1mons, and open the door to the mistress of the castle; -but my feelings, swayed equally by the mystery of my situation, and the singular influence which Bruno had acquired over me, were opposed to any compliance. While I debated, however, with myself, I heard another voice without-the voice of Bruno -which seemed to produce as much annoyance and fluttering among' my nocturnal visiters, as their summons had occasioned in my own excited heart. His tones were loud, and he seemed to be, under as much excitement as the baroness. The words of his first address were clearly audible. " "All, madam," he exclaimed, "it is as I apprehended; you have then violated your promise-you have dared!"- , Dared--dared!" was the almost fierce exclamation in re- ply. "Ay, madam, dared. You knew- the penalty of faithlessness when you complied with the conditions; can it be that you would defy it. How is it then--" I "Stand from my way, insolent!" cried the/ baroness, inter- rupting him in haughty accents, and evidently moving forward. "Willingly," was the answer; "willingly, but I go with you for awhile. Dismiss the girl." Strange to say, this command, for co'mmand it was, was in- stantly obeyed. I heard the baroness clearly address a third person, of whom I knew nothing, but whom I conceived to be the person meant by Bruno, in terms which despatched her from the presence. The dialorgue between the two was then resumed, but the sounds gradually died away from my ears, as it seemed in consequence of the parties retiring to some more distant spot. My agitation may be fancied all the while. So long as the in- terlocutors were within hearing, I was more composed and quiet. When I ceased to hear them and to be conscious of their neigh- borhood, my anxiety became utterly unrestrainable. I defied the fears which oppressed mne, the warning which had been given me, the nice scruples of propriety and delicacy, which, at another time, I should have insisted upon as paramount to every 9* page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 SOUTHWARD HO! other law. I lifted the bar from the door, which I opened, and emerged ,into the long and gloomy gallery, of which I have' al- ready briefly spoken. I was resolved to pursue the parties, and satisfy that intense curiosity-a curiosity which was strict- ly justified by miy own entire dependence upon the circumstances inl progress-posbly, for life and death, weal and wo, bondage and freedom --which was preying upon me like a fever. With many misgivings, some momentary scruples, and a few fears, all of which I contrived to keep in subjection, I pursued this gallery with the most cautious footstep, resolved to hear the dreadful truth, for such I now esteemed it to be, upon which turned .the mysterious history of my birth and fortunes. I groped my way, almost in entire darkness, along a ruinous part of the castle. The gallery seemed' to be winding, and there were openings in the wall, hllich I felt on either hand at inter- vals, and which seemed to indicate other chambers and apart- ments. Through these a cllill wind passed, confirming me in the belief that they were ruinous and deserted, and satisfying me that the parties I pursued were not to be found in either of them. At the end of the gallery I was stopped by a door, and beyond it the voices were again heard, sometimes low, at other times in angry emphasis, but seemingly with little or no cessa, tion either of one or of the other. The words were seldom suf- ficiently audible to be syllabled clearly, and my curiosity would not suffer me to remain satisfied. I tried the door, which, to iimy great joy,- was unfastened, and advanced with increased caution into a second atnd small apartment which seemed a dressing- room. A faint -light gliding through a chink in the opposite wall, together with the distinct voices of the persons I sought, guided me to a spot where I could see them with tolerable case, and hear all their words distinctly. 'The chamber into. which I looked was similarly furnished with my own. It seemed to have been equally unoccupied. An ancient ottoman received the form of the baroness, who, as she spoke, alternately rose from, or sunk back upon its cushions. She scarcely uttered a sentence without accompanying it with great and corresponding action; now rising from her sea:t and advancing passionately upon her companion with haiqd uplifted as if to strike, her eye flashing fury and resolution while her lips poured forth a tor- r' ' ' . CONFLICT OF PASSIONS. 203 rent of impetuous indignation and rage;-then suddenly rece- ding at the close of her words, she would sink back as if ex- hausted upon the ottoman, burying her face within her hands and sobbing ,with disappointed anger. Bruno, meanwhile, looked the very embodiment of coolness and resolution. ,Ulrica," I heard him sayl, as I approached the aperture, "i these are follies from which you should be now freed. They are frenzies which must only destroy you, while they do no good to your purpose, enfeeble you in my sight and humble you in your own. Of what avail is all this violence-of what avail your further struggles to prevent that consummation which is, at length, at hand: let me implore you to be wise ere it he too late. AVelcome with a smile the necessity which you can baffle no longer." g "Welcome it with a curse-welcome it with death, rather. W1ell do you call it a necessity; it is a necessity like death, and as such, and such only, shall it have my welcome." - "And the wise welcome death with a smile, if only because ,it is a necessity," replied Bruno. "You can not now escape me, you can not longer evade compliance w ith' my wishes. Long, long, and wearisome indeed, have been my labors. I have at length triumphed! I have succeeded in my purpose, and am, at length the master of your fate! I witness your struggles with sorrow, as they only drive you on the more certainly to lhumiliation -perhaps to madness. It is pity, Ulrica, genuine pity, and no other feeling, which would move me to implore of you a willing concession of; that which you can no longer avoid to make. The necessity is now inevitable, and I would spare you those further struggles which tend only to your exhaustion. You are so completely in my power, that your hatred and fury no longer awaken my indignation." "Do you exult, wretch- do you then exult? Beware! You are not yet securepof your triumph." "I am. Let this night pass only without harm to the boy, and all is well, and our triumph is complete. I am then your master." "Master! master! Away, insolent, and leave me. You are still my slave." ( No, Ulrica, you know better than this. The epithet is no n' ' * page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 SOUTHWARD HO! longer applicable. I am your master, and the master of your fate." "Slave! slave! slave!" was the oft-repeated and bitter ex, clanmation. which came forth from her lips in foamed impotence. "If to conquer is to acquire the rights of a master, then are these rights mine. Still I say not ' Wo to the conquered.' No, Ulrica, again and again, I conjure you to seek favor anid to find it. It is still in your powei--it is in your power while this night lasts-to receive indulgence. Be merciful to yourself as well as to him, the youth, who now, for the first time, from that awful hour of storm and leditated crime, the hour of his birth, enters the dwelling of " "Say it not, man-wretcll, fiend! lIell's curses and con- suming' fire be upon that hour, and the vile thing of which you spealk. Slave! Hence! hence and leave me! and hear from my lips--lips which have seldom spoken the language of ven- geance and of hate in vain, that the night is not yet ovei, arnd he who sh sots at the close of one day may howl ere the begin- ning of another." "I do not despise your threats, Ulrica--I fear them;-- but I guard against them also. Did you fancy that you could pene. trate to that chamber undiscovered by the watchful eyes that for the last seventeen years have been busy in penetrating every movement of your mind and soul?" "Accursed period! Fiend, wherefore will you torment me with the recollections of that time?". "Curse not the time, Ulrica, but the deed which it witnessed, and the worse deeds to which it led-your deeds, Ulrica, not mine-your free and voluntary deeds, to which neither the counsels of wisdom, nor of others, but your appetites and evil passions impelled you. You have called me slave repeatedly to-night--it is your favorite epithet when you deign to speak of, and to me. It is now time that I should relieve myself from the epithet, as I am now able to prove myself your master, and the master of your fate. If, seventeen years ago, I was the bondmcan of your father, annexed to the soil, his serf-your slave--I have been emancipated from all such relationships by your crime. You asserted the power which was transmitted you, to command my obedience, You required of me a service, THE VOICE OF THE MASTER. 205 as a slave, which released me from all obligations of that condi- tion; and though I wore the aspect, the demeanor, the burden of the slave, from that moment I resolved to be one no longer. When that boy "Curse him!--Hell's curses be upon him and you!" was the fiendish exclamation, accompanied by looks equally fiendish. "Those curses, Ulrica, will cling to your neck and strangle you for ever!" was the stern and indignant answer of Bruno to this interruption. "Of one thing be certain, they neither vex me nor baffle me in my purpose. They have never hitherto done so, nor shall they now, when my labors are on the eve of successful completion. But I resume: When that boy was born, ,I resolved to secure him from the fate of- the others.! Did it not prove my fitness for freedom when my mind was successful in the struggle with my master? How long has that struggle continued-- what has been its history-what now is its termi- nation? My triumph--my continued triumphs-my perfect mastery over you! I have baffled you in your purposes-pre- vented many--would I could have prevented all--of your evil deeds and desires; protected the innocent from your hate-pre- served the feeble from your malice, and secured, to this mo- ment, the proofs equally of your crime and my superiority. Did these achievements seem like the performances of a slave? Did these betray the imbecility, the ignorance, or the pliability of the slave? No, Ulrica, no! He who can rank with his master has gained a sufficient, perhaps the only sufficient title to his freedom! But that title was -already gained when you de- scended to the level, and contented yourself with sharing the pleasures of the slave; when you were willing " A torrent of the most terrific imprecation, in a voice more like the bursting of a thunderbolt, drowned the narrative of the speaker, and -prevented me from hearing the conclusion of a speech, the tenor of which equally surprised and confused me. What Bruno said was just enough to advance me to a mental eminence whence I could survey only a sea of fog, and haze, and mystery, much deeper than before. lWhen his words again became intelligible, he had discontinued his reminiscences. "Hear me, Ulrica. You know not yet the extent of my knowledge. You dream not that I am familiar with your se- page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 SOUTHWARD HO! crets even beyond the time when I was called to share them. Till now I have kept the knowledge from you, but when I name to you the young but unhappy Siegfried! His fate-" "Ha! Can it be! Speak, man, monster, devil! How know you this? Hath that vile negress betrayed fne ,' "It needs -not that you should learn whence my knowledge comes. Enough that I know the fate of the unhappy. Siegfried --unhappy because of your plreference, and too vain of his ele- vation from the lowly condition of his birth, to anticipate the fearful doom which in the end awaited him; and to which I, too, was destined. But the kind Providence which has pre- served me, did not suffer me to be blinded and deceived by the miserable lures which beguiled him to 1his ruin, and which you vainly fancied should mislead me. You would have released my limbs from fetters to lay them the more effectually upon my soul. You commanded my submission, you enforced it, but you never once deceived me. I saw through you from the first, and prayed for the strenglth to baffle and overcome you. I obtained it through prayer and diligence; and more than once it was my resolution, as it long has been inimy power, to destroy you, and deliver you without time for repentance, to the fearful agent of evil which has so long had possession of your heart. That boy has saved you more than once. The thought of him, and the thought of what he was, and should be, to you, has come be- tween me and my purpose. You have been spared thus long, and it is with'you to declare, in this place, and at this moment, whether you will be wise in season, whether you will forego the insane hatred which has filled your bosom from the hour of his birth, and accept the terms of peace and safety which I now offer you for the last time. Hear me through, Ulrica, and know that I do not heed your curses. I am too strong, too secure in mny position, to be moved by the idle language of wrathful im- potence. This niglit must determine equally for him and your- self.- To-morrow, which witnesses his public triumph, will be too late for you unless to share it. I have already seen his ho- liness, who will be here at noon, armed with plenary powers to search and examine; and it needs only that I should point my finger, and your doom is written, here and eternally. You are not in the, temper to die; and you may escape for repentance. BLOWS AND DEFIANCE. 207- Nor is the condition a hard one. The youth is noble, intelligent, and handsome; he will do honor to any house. It is only to acknowledge " ( Say no more, slave! Base, blackhearted, bitter slave! Say- no more to me on this hlateful subject. You have deceived me long; but you have not yet baffled me, as you insolently boast. Still less are you the master of my fate!-The master of my fate! Ha! ha! ha! That were, indeed, to be humbled to the dust. Awaly, fool, and know that my foot shall yet be upon your neck, while your false tongue licks the ground in which you grovel. Away! I defy you now, and spit upon you with disgust and scorn. Give me way, that I may lose sight of your false and hateful aspect." The words of the man were full of a calm, but bitter sorrow, as he stood before her. "For your own sake and safety, Ulrica, I implore you. Be not rash ; yield to the necessity which must go forward; yield to it with grace, and all may yet be well. There is still time for safety and for repentance. On my knees, Ulrica, I suppli- cate you to be more merciful to yourself, to me, to him!" "Never, never!" she exclaimed, as, with violent hand and sudden blow, she struck the speaker, who had knelt before her, over the yet unclosed lips, and rapidly passed toward an oppo- site entrance. He did not rise, but continued to implore her. "This, too, I forgive, Ulrica. Once more I pray you!" "Slave! Slave! Slave! Do your foulest-base traitor, I defy you!"' She disappeared in the same instant, and Bruno rose slowly and sorrowfully to his feet; while, trembling with equal wonder and apprehension, I stole back with hurried but uncertain foot- steps to my chamber, and hastily fastened the door behind me. VI, I NATURALLY expected that Bruno, in a short time, would fol- low upon my footsteps, and deep indeed was the solicitude with which I waited for his coming. No words copuld convey to the un- derstanding of another the sintgular and oppressive feelings, doubts and anxieties which had been awakened in my mind by the page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 .SOUTHWARD HO! strange and terrible scene which I had witnessed. The curious relation in which the parties stood to each other--the calm as- surance and stubborn resolution which was shown by Bruno, in defiance of one whom I had regarded only in the light of a mis- tress equally without reproach or fear-her fury, which, as it awakened no respect in him, was the sufficient proof of the weak- ness and his power--his mysterious accusations, which I was too young to comprehend and too inexperienced to trace ; --and, not least, the fearful threats to which every sentence which lihe uttered tended--subdued all my strength, and made me weaker in limb and in heart than the infant for the' first time tottering on uncertain footsteps. There was something, also, in the brief space which he allowed the baroness--but the single night on which she had already entered--for repentance before doom, which fearfully increased the terrors with which my imagination invested the whole fearful subject. And what could be the judgment-- what the penalty--for those crimes, of which, as nothing was known to me, all seemed vast, dark, and over- whelming? The more I strove to think, the more involved I became in the meshes of my own wild-weaving fancies; and, failing to fix upon any certain clue which might lead me to a reasonable conclusion, I strove, at length, in leadache and vexa- tion, to dismiss all thought from my mind, patiently awaiting thle approach of Bruno and the morning for the solution of my doubts and conjectures. But Bruno and the morning promised to be equally slow in their approaches. The stillness of death now overspread the castle, and the buzzing of a solitary insect within my chamber, acquired, in the tomb-like silence of the hour, a strange and emphatic signification in my ear. Hopeless of Bru- no's immediate return-as nothing could be more natural than the conclusion that his labors must be great that night in prepa- ration for those morning results of which he had spoken so con- fidently-I determined to yield myself to slumber; and, without undressing, I threw myself upon the massive and richly-decora- ted couch of my chamber. But I might as well have striven for flight to the uppor clouds, as to win the coy and mocking sleep which I desired. My imagination was wrought up to an almost feverish intensity. The breathing of the wind through a crevice startled and distressed me, and in the very silence of , / THE TERRACE BY THE LAKE. 209 the scene and hour I felt a presence which stimulated my fan- cies and increased my anxiety and dread. I no longer strove for sleep. I rose and approached the little window, and looked down upon the court. There the moonlight lay; spread out like a garment, so soft, so spiritual, that thought naturally became mysticism as I surveyed it, and the vague uncertainties of the future crowded upon the arena of the present world. I could fancy shadows-- which were. images rather than shadows --wlhich passed to and fro in the cold, thin, but hazy atmo- sphere; that tossed their wild arms above their marble brows, as,r melting away in the distance, they gave place to wilder and pur- suing aspects.- Sounds seemed, at length, to accompany these movements, lind that acute sense of the marvellous, which all men possess inlproportion to their cultivated acnd moral nature, and which seems a quality of sight and hearing only7-a thing all eyes and ears--conjured syllables from the imperfect sounds, and shrieks of pain from the vague murmurs which now really reached my ears from a distance, and which, probably, were only murmurs of the wind over the little lake tlat lay at the foot of the castle. As this conviction stirred my mind, I remembered the door to which the attention of Bruno had been drawn for a moment while hhe was discussing the securities of my chamber. I remembered that this door, as he described it, led to the ter- race which immediately overlooked the lake. The remem- brance, in my feverish state of mind, led me to desire to survey this scene, and I approached the door, and had already begun to undo the fastenings, which, by the way, I found far less firm and secure than my friend, had imagined. The niches of the wall, into which the bar was dropped, were crumbling, and de- cayed to so great a degree, that the shoulder of a vigorous man, from without, might, without muchl effort, have driven it from the slight fragments which still held it in its pl-ace. iNor was even this degree of violence necessary to effect an1 entrance. From a further examination I discovered that the wall had been tampered with--a fragment of the stone dislodged, though not Iwithdrawin, through the opening of which a hand from without: might readily lift the bar and obtain access. The cement .!aving been carefully scraped away, the stone was suffered to remain, so nicely adjusted to the place, that it was only from one point page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] :210 SOUTHWARD HO! of view that I could discern a faint glimmer of the moonlight through the aperture. The suspicions of Bruno, not to speak of my own, received strong confirmation from this discovery; and my apprehensions being naturally aroused, I now strove for means to secure the door which I had been about to open. It * was apparent to me that I was how threatened with danger from without. I looked about my chamber, and my eye' rested upon the massive table standing, in the midst, I immediately seized upon that, and placed it, though with some difficulty, against the door. While I meditated in what manner to in- crease my defences, my ear, which had acquired. all the keen sensibilities of an Indian scout on the edge of an enemy's encampment, detected a light buzzing sound, wilich drew my attention to the terrace. But I had scarcely stooped to the ap- erture, when a scream--a torrent of screams-rang so suddenly on the late silent atmosphere, that I was staggered, almost stunned, as if a thunderbolt had on the instant fallen at my feet in the deep stillness of the unbroken forests. The sounds came from the terrace; and as soon as I could recover from the en- feebling effect of my first surprise, hearing the screams still repeated as wildly as ever, I obeyed the natural;impulse of my feelings, and prepared to rush out to the scene of clamor. H dashed the table from the door, against which I had taken such pains to bear it, and tearing the slight fastenings away which otherwise secured the entrance, I threw it open and darted out upon the scene. The object that met my eyes, that instant, fas- tened my feet. There stood the baroness, about twenty steps from me, and at nearly the same distance from a door in the opposite wall, which was open, and from which she had evidently emerged. Behind her stood a negress--a dwarf-the black- est, strangest and most -hideous-looking animal I hac6 ever ill my life beheld. The baroness had been approac-ling my apartment-her face was toward me, but her eyes were turned --nay, fixed and frozen, it would seem, as if in the contempla- tion of some object upon the parapet which overlooked the lake. Her attitude exhibited the intense and strained action of in- sanity. One hand--the left--was uplifted, and averted, as if to- hide her eyes from the object which they yet resolutely strained to see. In the other lhand, glistening in the moonlight, TIE GUILTY VISION. 2" was a poinard, bared and borne aloft, as if designed for immedi- ate service. I shuddered with an uncontrollable emotion of sickness -heart-sickness -as I associated the dialogue to which I 1had listened, with this instrument of death. But, though her progress had evidently been toward my chamber, her eyes were not now given to me. Her thoughts-if thought'she had- were all elsewhere. Her fancies were hurrying her to other worlcds, and scenes, and objects, visible to no senses but her own. Wildly she pointed to the parapet overlooking the lake, and gazed and spoke-a speech whose every accent was a scream of agony-as if still in sight lay soine object of hate and fear, which she vainly struggled n6t to see. , There- there--will it never sink--will it never die--will tlose hidleous eyes never turn a'way! Down, down! - Thrust it down when I command ye-the rock is heavy in its garments -the lake is deep, deep, and still and silent -down with it, slaive--for ever from my sight! Or, if ye tremble, set me free and I will do it-I have no fears--none! none!" Ths, fixed and terrible, ghastly and staring wild, with idiot. frenzy, she stood gazing and intent upon the fancied object in her sight--immovable, seemingly, as a statue, and conscious of nothing beside. I lost my fears in the contemplation of hers, ancld approached her, though hardly with any -distinct purpose. Slhe seemed not to notice my approach--not even when the ne- gress wiho followed in her train rushed to her at my appearance and strove, with an excitement of manner only less than her own, . to direct her attention upon me. But the wretched one turned not once aside at the interruption. Her eyes took but the one direction, and could not be averted; and her incoherent language was poured forth in rapid, though 'inconsecutive syllables, to the object of her mind's vision, which so. effectually froze to darkness all her capacities of sight. Never did I behold.-never could I have fancied or believed a spectacle so wild and fearfuil. Ima- gine for yourself a woman, once euminfently beautiful--of a dark and mysterious beauty-tall in form-majestic in carriage-in -little more than the prime of life-wearing the dignity of age, yet, in every look, movement, feature, and gesture, exhibiting tile impulsive force and passionate energy of youthll;--her per- son bendling forward--her eyes straining as if to burst from the page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] SOUTHWARD HO! burning sockets-h er lips slightly parted, but with the teeth gnashing at occasional interval's with a spasmodic motion--her hair, once richly black and voluminously massive, touched with the gray tthat certainly ensues from the premature storms of a winter of the soul, escaping from all confinement, and streaming over her cheeks and neck- the veins of her neck and forehead swelling into thick ridges and cording the features with a tension that amply denoted the difficulty of maintaining any slch restraint upon them!--Imagine such a woman!- the- ferocity of the demon glaring from her eye, in connection with the strangest expression of terror which lthat organ ever wore-the raised dagger in her hand-her hand uplifted--her foot advanced- and so frozen!-so fixed in the rigidity of marble!-the image above the sepulchre! -no unfitting emblem of the dread and en- during marriage, which nothing can ever set. asunder, between unrepented Guilt, and unforgiving Death! I was nearly maddened even to behold this spectacle, and it was a relief to me, when, with a no less terrible and terrifying energy she shook off the torpor which stifled life in all its wont- ed forms of expression, and renewed those fearful tones of mem- ory and crime, which, though revealing nothing, amply testified to a long narrative equal of sLamie, and sin, and suffering. "There! there!" she exclaimed, still addressing herself to some imaginary object which seemed to rest or to rise before her upon the parapet which overhung the lake--"There again!-- its hands-its little hands-will nothing keep them, down! They rise through the water- they implore--but no! no! It were a mistaken mercy now to save!-let me not look--let me not see-will you not fling it over-the lake is deep -the-rock is heavy in its little garments--it will soon sink from sight for ever, and then-then I shall be safe. Ha! it goes-it goes at last!-Do you not hear the plunge!-the water gurgles in its nostrils-closes over it, and-God spare me, what a piercing shriek-Another! another!--Keep me not back-I will look if it be gone!-No! no! its little face smiles upon me through the white water!" And this was followed by a shriek, piercing like that which she described, which penetrated to the very marrow of my bones.. With the cry she bounded toward the parapet, looked wildly THE BITTER' AGONY. down into the lake at the foot of the castle, then recoiled with a scream to which every previous cry from her lips was feeble and inexpressive. The climax of her frenzy had been reached. I was just in time to save her. She fell backward and I re- ceived her in my arms. The shock seemed to bring her back to a more human consciousness. Her eyes were turned upon my own; a new intelligence seemed to rekindle them with their former expression of hate-her hand vainly-strove to use the dagger against my person. In the effort, it fell nerveless at her side, while a sudden discharge from the mouth and nostrils drenched my garments with her blood, VII. Bruno at that instant appeared and received her from my arms. The relief was necessary to me-I could not .have sustained her much longer. I was sick almost to exhaustion. I felt unable to endure a sight to me so strange and terrible, yet I strove in vain to turn nmy eyes away. They were fixed as if by some fearful fascination. Hers, too, were now riveted upon me. At first, when I transferred her to the arms of Bruno, they were turned upon him; but, in the next momoent, as suddenly averted, with an expression of loathsomeness and hate, which suffering had not softened, nor the seeming approach of death diminished of any portion of in- tensity. On me they bestowed a more protracted, but scarcely a more kindly expression. Broken syllables, stifled and overcome by the discharge of blood, stiuggtled feebly from her lips; and, fainting at last, she was borne to the chamber from which she had emerged at the beginning of that scene, the pifposes of which seemed to me so inscrutable, and the progress of which was in truth so terrible. Medical assistance was sent for, and every succor bestowed in the power of skill and humanity. Need I say that a deep interest in her fate affected my bosom. A vague conjecture, dark and strange, which coupled the fate and history of this noble but wretched lady with my own, had natur- ally arisen in my mind, from the dialogue to which I had been a listener. What was she to me I shuddered with an appre- hension and painful terror whenever this question suggested it- page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] SOUTHWARD HO! self to my thoughts. What was she not? What had she not been? and what had been her purposes-her baffled purposes? Let me not fancy them lest I madden. It is no subject of regret, Herman," were the first words of Brtno, when, yieldingtlhe baroness up to her attendants, we re- tired to another apartment. "God has interposed to save us from a greater trial, and to save her from an exposure even more ilunmbling than this. The dawn of another day, the sight of lwhcicl she will now be spared, would have been worse than death to a spirit such as hers." "But, will she die, Bruno? Can she not be saved? is it certain?" ' It is; and I am glad of it for your sake, as well as hers." "For my sake?" "Ay! the moment of her death puts you in possession of this castle and all her estates." "Me!" "You." "And I am" "Her heir-yet not her heir. You are the heir to a power beyond hers, and which proved her destiny. Her death makes atonement at once to the living and to the dead. She now, in- voluntarily, compensates for a long career of injustice. But, in- quire no further; death, which will place you in possession of your rights, will, at the same time, deprive you for ever of a knowledge of certain secrets, wlich, had she lived till to-mor- row's noon, must have been revealed in order to compel that justice which has been too long denied. It is fortunate that she will perish thus-fortunate for her-for you-for " He pauised, and with an impulse which I could not withstand, I desperately concluded the sentence- ' ( And for yourself!" "For me! Ha!-Can it be?-Herman, my son, what have you done?" "Followed you through the corridor, when, this evening, you led the baroness away from my apartment." "And did you trace our footsteps-- did you find us where we wrere-did you hear what was spoken?" "All! All!" ' ' THE MYSTERY QUESTIONED. 215 He covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud in the bitterness of an anguished and disappointed spirit. "This pang, I he exclaimed at length, "I had hoped to spare. you. I have toiled for this at all seasons and hours, by night and day, in crowds and solitudes. Unhappy boy! your curios- ity has won for you that partial knowledge of the truth which must only bring delusion, doubt, and anxiety." "But why should it be partial, Bruno. I know from what you have already said, that you know more, that you know all. You will complete my knowledge, you will terminate my doubts." "Never! Never! If God has spared me, by his act this night, that dire necessity from which he well knows I would have shrunk, shall I now voluntarily seek it No! No! The fearful chronicle of shame is sealed up for ever in her death. Blessed dispensation! Her lips can no longer declare her folly, and mine shall be silent on her shame. You have heard all that you can ever hear of these dreadful mysteries." "Nay, Bruno! Say not this, I implore you. Tell me, at least, tell me, that this most fearful woman is not-" I shrunk from naming the word, the word signifying the rela- tionship which I suspected to exist between us, which, indeed, seemed now to be infinitely more than a doubt, a suspicion. I looked to him to comprehend, to answer, without making neces- sary the expression of my fear. But he was silent, and I forced out the reluctant word:- "Tell me, Bruno, tell me at least, that this fearful woman is not-my mother." "And of what avail if I should tell you this? Would that terminate your doubts-would that satisfy your curiosity?" "It would- it would." "No, Herman, I know your nature better-to know this would only lead to other and more annoying questions, questions which, if answered, would take peace from your mind for ever. You would know next-" He now paused. "Yes!"I exclaimed, "I would then seek to know-and I now do-w!lat was he, Bruno-my father-and what is the stecret of your power over her-and who are you?" "Let it be a matter of thanks with you, Herman, in your page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] SOTUTHWARD HO! nightly prayers, that you can never know these things," was the hoarsely spoken reply. I threw myself at his feet, I clasped his knees, I implored him in tears and supplications, but he was immovable. He pressed me to his heart, he wept with me, but he told me nothing. VIII. AT dawn we were summoned to the chamber of the baroness. A crisis was at hand. His reverence, the cardinal , whose presence had been expected at a late hour in the day, and foir another purpose, had been solicited to attend in haste, and bad complied with Christian punctuality, with the demands of mortal suffering. But his presence effected nothing. The miserable woman clearly enough comprehended his words and exhortations. She listened without look of acknowledgment, or regret, or re- pentance. She heard his prayers for her safety, and a smile of scorn might be seen to mantle upon her lips. The HOST was elevated in her sight, and the scorn deepened upon her counte- nance as she beheld it. Truly was she strong in her weakness. The sacred wafer was presented to her lips, but they were closedc inflexibly against it. The death struggle came on; a terrible conflict between fate on the one hand and fearful passions on the other. The images of horror will never escape from my memory. They are engraven there for ever. She raised herself to a sit- ting posture in the bed without assistance. The effort was mo- mentary only. But, in that moment, her glariee, which was fixed on me, was the very life-picture of a grinning and fiendish malice. The expression horrified the spectators. His eminence once more lifted the sacred emblem of salvation in her sight, and the last effort of her struggling life was to dash it from his hands. In that effort she sank back upon the pillows, a fresh discharge of blood took place from her mouth, and strangulation followed. The sufferings of the mortal had giver place to those of which there can be no mortal record. - * * * * * * ^ * * * And I was the master, undisputed, of all these domains. And Bruno had gone, none knew whither. Nothing more could I fathom of these mysteries, tut there was one search that I insti- THE LITTLE SKET,ETON. tuted, one discovery that I made, which tended to deepen them yet more, in seeming to give them partial solution. That little lake, I had it drained, and, just beneath the wall of the parapet, we found the tiny skeleton of an infant-bleached and broken into fragments, but sufficiently perfect to leave no doubt of its original humanity. A rude fragment of stone such as composed the outer wall enclosing the castle, lay upon its little ribs. Need I say that I gathered up, with the solicitude of,a nameless love, every remnant of this little relic, that it was inurned with the tenderest care, and consigned to sacred keeping, with the feelings of one who knew not well that he might not even then possess, though he had never known, the love of an angel sister. 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] CHAPTER XII. "TO-MORROW, gentlemen," said our captain, as we ascended from the supper-table to the deck, '" is the ever-memorable anni- versary of our national independence. I shall prepare, in my department, that it shall be welcomed with due honors. It will be for you to do your part. A committee, I suppose--eh, gen- tlemen?" Here was a hint; and the excellent Captain Berry never looked more like a stately Spanish Don, in a gracious moment, than when delivering that significant speech. "In plain terms, captain, we are to have a dinner correspond ing with the day. I have pleasant auguries. my mates, of pud. dings and pasties. .There shall be cakes and ale, and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. Nay, because thou art a Wash. ingtonian, shall there be no wine? Shall there not be temnpe. rance-after the manner of Washington--namely, that goodly use, withdut abuse, of all the precious gifts of Heaven? The hint is a good one, captain. We thank you for your benevolent purposes. It will be for us to second your arrangements, and prepare, on our parts, for a proper celebration of the Fourth of July." "I rejoice that'I am understood, gentlemen. It is usual, on board this ship, to show that we duly sympathize with the folks on shore. We are still a part of the same great family. There will be shoutings in the cities to-morrow. The country will shake with the roar of cannon from Passamaquoddy to the Rio Grande. Boston will blaze away; and Gotham will respond, i and Baltimore and Norfolk will cry aloud, I What of the day .' to Charleston and .Savannah; and these in turn will sing out to Mobile and New Orleans, and the whole gulf, to the Rio Grande, will catch up the echoes with a corresponding uproar of rejoicing. \ And shall we say nothing? we who sail under the name of the great partisan -warrior of vlthe Revolution? Gentlemen, those ' . , ' THE ORATOR OF THE DAY. 219 ?retty little brass pieces, that now sleep at your feet, are stuffed to the muzzle with eloquence. They will give tongue at the Irst signs of the dawn, and I trust that all on board this ship will be prepared to echo their sentiments." "In other words, captain, we must have a celebration." , Even so, gentlemen, if it be your pleasure. We shall have a dinner--why not an oration? Why not our toasts and sen- timents, as well as our friends in Charleston and New York. We are here a community to ourselves, and I venture to, say that no community is more unanimous in regard to the dinner at least." "Or the drink." "Or the puddings." "Or the pies." "The pasties." "The ices." "The--the -" There was no end to the enumeration of the creature com- forts which were to prove our unanimity of sentiment, and a feeling of the mock-heroic prompted us to take up with due gravity the hints of our captain. We agreed upon a president, and he was-the captain; a vice, and he was -no matter who. We appointed a committee of arrangements, with instructions to prepare the regular toasts. And--we appointed an orator! This was a little shrivelled-up person in striped breeches, with a mouldy yellow visage, and green spectacles. Nobody knew anything about him, or, in fact, why he came to be chosen. He was at his books all day i but it was observed that whenever he had condescended to open his jaws it was to say something of a dry satirical character. He was accordingly appealed to, and made no scruple about consenting; only remarking, by way of premonitory, that " it was no easy matter to know the opinions of all on board ship; he should therefore simply unfold his own, satisfied that if they were not exactly those of the com- pany, it was only their misfortune, which it should make them highly grateful to enjoy that opportunity of repairing." Some of us tfhought this speech smacked not a little of a de. lightftil self-complacency, but it was said so easily, so naturally, page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 soUTHWARD HO! and so entirely as if the speaker had no consciousness of having delivered himself other than modestly, that we concluded to leave the matter in his hands, and forebore all comment. In this resolution we were confirmed by seeing him begin his prep- arations the next moment by an enormous draught from the bar; the potency of which, judging from the infinite depth of its color, was well calculated to afford to the orator all the inspiration that could ever be drawn from an amalgam of Snake and Tiger. Such was the title which lhe gave to a curious amalgam of the -;,sweet, the sour, the bitter, and the strong-bitters and brandy, lemon and sugar, and, I think, a little sprinkling of red pepper, being the chief elements in the draught. We felt persuadeld, after this specimen of his powers, that his tastes would be suf- ficiently various, and his fancies sufficiently vivid; and we saw him pull off his spectacles, and put off to bed, with full confi- dence that neither sleeping, dreaming, drinking or waking, would lie defraud our honest expectations. His departure did not constitute a pernicious example. It was followed by no other of the party. Soon, the ladies ap- peared on deck, and we grouped ourselves around them, my Gothamite friend planting himself on the right of Selina Bur- roughs, closely, but a little in the rear, as if for more convenient access to her ear. "So squat the serpent by the ear of Eve," I whispered him in passing. "Ali! traitor," 'quoth he, sotto voce also, " would you betray me?" "Do not too soon betray yourself." "Hem! a sensible suggestion." We were not allowed to proceed any farther. The lady be- gan with reproaches. "I am told, gentlemen, that you took advantage of our de- parture last night to say some of your best things-told, ini fact, some of your best stories. tHow was this? But we must not be made to suffer again in like manner, anld I propose thiat we begin early to-night. Signor Myrtalozzi"-turning to an interesting professor of Italian, who formed one of the party- "we should hear from you to-night. If I did hot greatly mis- understand you, there wereY some clurious histories recalled to THE ETRUSCAN SEPULCHRE. 221 you this morning in our conversation touching the 'Tarchun,' and ' Sepulchres of Etruria,' by Mrs. Hamilton Gray?" , You did not err, /senorita. In my own poor fashion, I have gleaned from these and othler picturesque chronicles a story of three thousancd years ago, which may be sufficiently fresh foir our present audience." "In this salt atmosphere ." 4 Precisely. With your permission, senorita, I will narrate the legend thus compiled from the antique chronicle, and which I call- f THE PICTURE OF JUDGMENT; OR, THE GROTTA DEL TIFONE. A TALE OF THE ETRURIAN. Ma se conoscer la prima radice Dcl nostri, amor, tu hai cotanto affetto Faro come colui che piange e dice.-DANTE. CHAPTER I. THE "Grotta del Tifone"--an Etruscan tomb opened by the Chevalier 5Manzi, in 1833-- discovered some, peculiarities at the time of its opening, which greatly mystified the cognoscenti of Italy. It was found, by certatin loman inscriptions tpon two of the sarcophagi, that the inmates belonged to another people, and that the vaults of the noble Tarquinian family of Pompo- nins had, for some unaccountable reasons, been opened for the admission of the stranger. No place was so sacred among the Etruscans as that of burial ; and the tombs of the Lucumones of Tarquinia were held particularly sacred to the immediate connections of the chief. Here he lay in state, and the scions and sloots of his'blood and bosom were grouped around him, being literally, as the old Hebrew phraseology hath it, " gath- ered to their fathers." It was not often--and then only under peculiar, circumstances which rendered the exception to the rule. proper-that the leaves of stone which closed the mausoleum were rolled aside for the admission of foreigners. The "Grotta del Tifone"-so called from the Etruscan Typhon, or Angel of Death, which appears 'conspicuously painted upon the square central pillar-was the last resting-place of the distinguished page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 SOUTHWARD HO! family of Pomponius. It is a chamber eighteen paces long and sixteen broad, and is hewn out in the solid rock. The sarcophi agi were numerous when first discovered. The ledges were full-every place was occupied, and a farther excavation had been made for the reception of other tenants. These tombs were all carefully examined by the explorers with that intense feeling of curiosity which such a discovery was calculated to inspire. The apartment was in good preservation; the paint. ings bright and distinct, though fully twenty-two centuries must have elapsed since the colors were first spread by the hands of the artist. And there were the inscriptions, just declaring enough to heighten and to deepen curiosity. A name, a frag. ment-and that in Latin. That a Roman should sleep in a tomb of the Etruscan, was itself a matter of some surprise; but that this strangeness should be still further distinguished by an inscription, an epitaph, in the language of the detested nation- as if the affront were to be rendered more offensive and more imposing--was calculated still further to provoke astonishment! Why should the hateful and always hostile Roman find repose among the patriarchs of Tarquinia?-the rude, obscure barba- rian, in the mausoleum of a refined and ancient family? W-hy upon an Etruscan tomb should there be other than an Etruscan inscription? One of the strangers was a Ywoman! Who was she, and for what was she thus distinguished? By what fatality came she to find repose among the awful manes of a people, between whom and her own the hatred was so deep and inex- tinguishable-ending not even with the entire overthrow of the superior race? The sarcophagus of the other stranger was with- out an inscription. But he, too, was a Roman! His effigy, betraying all the characteristics of his people, lay at length above his tomb; a noble youth, with features of exquisite deli. cacy and beauty, yet distinguished by that falcon visage which so well marked the imposing features of the great masters of the ancient world. The wonder and delight of our visiters were hardly lessened, while their curiosity was stimulated to a still higher degree of intensity, as their researches led them to another discovery which followed the further examination of the "Grotta." On the right of the entrance ythey happened upon one of those THE' POCESSIOS OF SOULS. 223 exquisite paintings, in which the genius of the Etruscan proves itself to have anticipated, though it may never have rivalled the ultimate excellence- of the Greek. The piece describes a fre- quent subject of art-a procession of souls to judgment, under the charge of good and evil genii. The group is numerous. The grace, freedom and expression of the several figures are beyond description fine; and, with two exceptions, the effect is exquisitely grateful to the spectator, as the progress seems to be one to eternal delights. Two of the souls, however, are not freed, but convict; not escaping, but doomed; not looking hope and bliss, but despair and utter misery. One of these is clearly the noble youth whose efficy, without inscription, appears upon the tomb. He is one of the Roman intruders. Behind him, following close, is the evil genius of the Etruscan-represented as a colossal negro--brutal in all his: features, exulting fiend- ishy in his expression of countenance, and with his claws firmly grasping the shoulders of his victim. His brow is twined with serpents in the manner of a fillet, and his left hand car- ries the huge mallet with which the demon was expected to crush, or bruise and- mangle, the prey which was a'ssigned him. The other unhappy soul, in similar keeping, is that of a young w"oman, whose features declare her to be one of the loveliest of her sex. She is tall and majestic; her carriage haughty even in her wo, and her face equally distinguished by the highest physical beauty, elevated by a majesty and air of sway, which denoted a person accustomed to the habitual exercise of her own will. But, through all her beauty and majesty, there are the proofs of that agony of soul which passeth show and under- standing. Two big drops of sorrow have fallen, and rest upon her cheeks, the only tokens which her large Juno-like eyes seem to have given of the suffering which she endures. They still preserve their fires undlimmed and undaunted, and leave it rather to the brow, the lips, and the general features of the face to declare the keen, unutterable wo that- swells within her soul, triumphant equally over pride and beauty. 'Nothing can exceed in force the touching expression of her agony unutterable, unless in the sympathizing imagination of him who looks for the sources of the painter's pencil into- the very bosom of the artist. Imme- diately behind this beautiful anld suffering creature is seen, close page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 , SOUTHWARD HO! following, as in the case of the Roman youth already described, the gloomy and brutal demon--the devil of Etruscan supersti. tion-a negro somewhat less dark and deformed than the other, and seemingly of the other sex, with- looks less terrible and offensive, but whose office is not less certain, and whose features are not less full of exultation and triumph. She does not actu- ally grasp the shoulders of her victim, but she has her, never. theless, beneath her clutches, and the serpent of her fillet, with extended head, seems momently ready to dart its venomous fangs into the white bosom that shrinks, yet swells, beneath its eye.. Long indeed did this terrible picture fix and fascinate the eyes of the spectators; and when at length they turned away, it was only to look back and to meditate upon the mysterious and significant scene which it described. In proceeding further, however, in their search throughl the "Grotta," they happened upon another discovery. They were already aware that the features of this beautiful woman wero Roman in their type. Indeed, there was no mistaking the inexpressible majesty of that countenance, lwhich could belong to no other people. It was not to be confounded with the Etruscan, which, it must be remembered, was rather Grecian or Phoenician in its character, and indicated grace and beauty rather than strength, subtlety and skill rather than mnajesty and command. - But, that there might be no doubt of the origin'of this lovely woman, examin- ing more closely the effigy upon the sarcophagus first discov- ered-having removed the soil from the features, and brought a strong light to bear upon them--they were found to be those exactly of the victim thus terribly distinguished in the painting. Here, then, was a coincidence involving a very curious mys- tery. About the facts there could be no mistake. Two stran- gers, of remarkable feature, find their burial, against all usage, in the tumulus of an ancient Etruscan family. Both are young, of different sexes, and both are Roman. Their features are carved above their dust, in immortal marble--we may almost call it so, when, after two thousand years, it still preserves its trust; and in an awful procession of souls to judgment, delin- eated by a hand of rare excellence and with rare precision, we find the same persons, drawh to the life, and in the custody, THE DOOMED STRANGERS. 225 as doomed victims, of the terrible fiend of Etruscan mythology. To this condition some terrible tale was evidently attached. Both of these pictures were portraits. For that matter, all were portraits in the numerous collection. With thozse two excep- tions, the rest were of the same family, and their several fates, accordin g to the resolve of the- painter, were all felicitous. 7 They walked erect, triumphant in hope and consciousness, elas- tic in their tread, and joyous in their features. Not so these two: the outcasts of the group--witi but not of them-pain- fuly contrasted by the artist,-terribly so by the doom of the awful Providence whose decree he had ventured thus freely to ieclare. The features of the man had the expression of one womn a just self-esteem moves to submit in dignity, and without complaint. The face of the woman, on the contrary, is fall of anguish, though still distinguished by a degree of loftiness and character to which his offers no pretension. There were the portraits, and there the effigies, and beneath them, in their stone coffins, lay the fragments of their mouldering bones-the relic of two thousand years. What a scene had the artist chosen to transmit to posterity; from real life! and with what motive d. By what terrible sense of justice, or by what strange obliquity of jidgmelt and feeling, did the great Lucumo of the Pomponii suffer the members of his family to be thus offensively perpetu- ated to all time, in the place of family sepultureI Could it have been the inspiration of revenge and hatred, by which this vivid and terrible representation was wrought; and what was the melanclholy history of these two strangers-so young, so beautiful--thus doomed to the inexpiable torments of the end- less ftture, by the bold anticipatory awards of a successor or a coltemporary - To these questions our explorers of the "Grotta del Tifone" did not immediately find an answer. That they have done so since, the reader will ascribe to the keen anxiety with which they have groped though ancient chronicles,in search of an event which, thus wonderfully preserved by art for a period: of more than twenty centuries, could not, as they well conjectured, be wholly obliterated from all other mortal records. 10* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 SOUTHWARD HO! CHAPTER II. THE time had passed when Etruria gave laws to the rest of Italy. Lars Porsenia was already in his grave, and his mem- ory, rather than his genius and spirit, satisfied the Etruscian. The progeny of the She Wolfe had risen into wondrous strength and power, and so far from shrinking within their walls at the approach of the vulture of Volterra, they had succeeded in clip- ping her wings, and shortening, if not wholly arresting her flight. The city of the Seven Hills, looking with triumph from her emi- nences, began to claim all within her scope of vision as her own. Paralyzed at her audacity, her success, and her wonderful genius for all the arts of war, the neighboring cities began to tremble at the assertion of her claims. But the braver and less prudent spirits of young Etruria revolted at this assumption, and new wars followed, whichlwere too fierce and bloody to continue long. It needs not that we should describe the varying fortunes of the parties. Enough for our purposes that, after one well- fought field, in which the Romans triumphed, they bore away, as a prisoner, with many others, Ccelius, the youthful Lucumo of the Pomponian family. This young man, not yet nineteen, was destined by- nature rather for an artist than a soldier. Ite possessed, in remarkable degree, that talent for -painting and statuary, which was largely the possession of the Etrurians; and, though belonging to one of the noblest families in his native city, he did not think it dishonorable to exercise his talent with industry and devotion. In the invasion of his country by the fierce barbarians of Rome, he had thrown aside the pencil for the sword, in the use of which latter weapon he had shown him- self not a whit less skilful and excellent, because of his prefer- ence for a less dangerous implement. His captivity was irk- some, rather than painful and oppressive. He was treated with indulgence by his captors, and quartered for a season in the fam- ily of the fierce chief by whose superior prowess he had been overthrown. Here, if denied his freedom, and the- use of the sword, he was not denied a resumption of those more agreeable exercises of art to:which he had devoted himself before his cap- Ronee, THE ETRUSCAN WINS A ROMAN BRIDE. .227 tivity. He consoled himself in this condition by his favorite studies. He framed the vase into grace and beauty, adorned its sides with groups from poetry and history, and by his-labors de- lighted the uninitiated eyes of all around him. The fierce war- rior in whose custody he was, looked on with a grim sort of sat- isfaction at the development of arts, for which his appreciative faculties were small; and it somewhat lessened our young Etruscan in his esteem, that he should take pleasure in such employments. At all events, the effects, however disparaging, were so far favorable that they tended to the increase of his indulgences.. His restraints were fewer; the old Roman not apprehending much danger of escape, or much of enterprise, from one whose tastes were so feminine; and the more gentle regards of the family, in which he was a guest perforce, contr-b- uited still more to sweeten and soften the asperities of captivity. As a Lucumo of the first rank in Etruria, he also claimed peculiar indulgencies from a people who, conscious of their own inferior origin, were not by any means insensible to the merits of aris- tocracy. Our captive was accordingly treated with a deference which was as grateful to his condition as it was the proper trib- ute to his rank. The wife of the chief whose captive he was, herself a noble matron of Rome, was as little insensible to the rank of the Etrurian, as she was to the equal modesty and man- liness of his deportment. INor was she alone thus made aware of his claims and virtues. She had a son and daughter, the lat- ter named Aurelia, a creature of the most imposing beauty, of a lofty spirit and carriage, and of a high and, .generous atmbition. The brother, Lucius, was younger than herself, a lad of fifteen; but he, like his sister, became rapidly and warmly impressed with the grace of manner and goodness of heart which distin- guished the young Etrurian. They both learned to love him; the youth, probably, with quite as unreckoning a warmth as his sister. Nor was the heart of Ccelius long untouched. He soon perceived the exquisite beauties of the Roman damsel, and, by the usual unfailing symptoms, revealed the truth as well to the family of the maiden as to herself. The mother discovered the secret- with delight, was soon aware of the condition of her daughter's heart, and, the relations of the several parties being this understood, it was not long before tihey came to an expla- k page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 SOUTHWARD EO! nation, which ended to their mutual satisfaction. Coelius was soon released from his captivity, and, to the astonishment of all his family, returned home, bearing with him the beautiful crea- ture by whom his affections had been so suddenly enslaved. CHAPTER III. His return to Tarquinia was hailed with delight by every member of his family but one. This was a younger brotler, whose position had been greatly improved by the absence and supposed death of Ccelius. He cursed in the bitterness of his heart the fate which had thus restored, as from the grave, the shadow which had darkened his own prospects; and, thoutghl he concealed his mortification under the guise of a joy as lively as that of any other member of the household, he was torn with . secret hate and the most fiendisli jealousy. At first, however, as these feelings were quite aimless, he strove naturally to subdue them. There was no profitable object in their indulgence, and he was one of those, cunning beyond his years, who entertain no moods, and commit no crime, unless with the distinct hope of acquisition. It required but a little time, however, to ripen other feelings inll his soul, by which the former were rather strengthened than diminished, and by which all his first, and perhaps feeble, efforts to subdue them were rendered fruitless. In the first bitter mood in which he beheld the return of his : brother, the deep disappointment which he felt, with the neces- sity of concealing his chagrin from every eye, prevented him from bestowing that attention upon the wife of Ccelius which her beauty, had his thoughts been free, must inevitably have com- manded. With his return to composure, however, he soon made the discovery of her charms, and learned to love 'them with ,aI passion scarcely less warm than that which was felt by her hus- band. Hence followed a -double motive for hating the latter, and denouncing his better fortune. Aruns-the name of the younger brother-was, like Coelius, a man of great talent and ingenuity; but his talent, informed rather by his passions than by his tastes, was addressed to much humbler objects. While the one was creative and gentle in his character, -the other was violent and destructive; while the one worshipped beauty for its THE- SERPENT IN THE NEST. MZ own I sake, the other regarded it only as subserving selfish pur- poses. (celius was frank and generous in his temper, Aruns reserved, suspicious and contracted. The one had no disguises, the other dwelt within them, even as a spider girdled by his velb, and lying secret in the crevice at its bottom. Hitherto, his cunning had been chiefly exercised in concealing itself, in assuming the port of frankness, in appearing, so far as he might the thing that he was not. It was now to be exercised for his more certain profit, in schemes hostile to the peace of others- To cloak these designs he betrayed more than usual joy at the restoration of his brother. His, indeed, seemed the most elated spirit of the household, and the confiding and unsuspecting coins at once took him to his heart, with all the warmth and sincerity of boyhood. It gave him pleasure to perceive that Aurelia, his wife, received him as a brother, and he regarded with delight the appearance of affection that subsisted between them. Thie three soon became more and more united in their sympa- thies and objects, and the devotion of Aruns to the Roman wife of Ccelius was productive of a gratification to the latter, which he did not endeavor to conceal. It was gratefdl to him that his brother did not leave his wife to that solitude in her foreign home, which might sometimes have followed his own too intense devotion to the arts which he so passionately loved; and, with- out a fear that his faith might be misplaced, he left to Aluns the duty which no husband might prudently devolve upon any man, of ministering to those tastes and affections, the most delicate and sacred, which make of every family circle a temple in which the father, and the husband, and the master, should alone be the officiating priest. Some time had passed in this manner, and at length it struck our Lucumo that there was less cordiality between his brother and his wife thal hadn pleased him so much at first. Aurelia now no longer spoke of Aruns-his name never escaped her lips, unless when she was unavoidably forced to speak it in reply. His approaches to her were marked by a timidity not usual with him, and by a hauteur in her countenance which was shown to no other person. It was a proof of the superior love of Coelius for his wife that le reproached her for this seeming dis- like. She baffled his inquiry, met Ilis reproaches with renewed \ page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 SOUTHWARD HO!! shows of tenderness, and the fond, confiding husband resumed his labors on the beautiful, with perhaps too little regard to what was going on around him. Meanwhile, the expression in the face of Aurelia had been gradually deepening into gravity. Care was clouding her brow, and an air of anxiety manifested itself upon her cheek-a look of apprehension- as if some danger were impending--some great fear threatening in her heart. Tliis continued for some time, when she became conscious that the-eye of her husband began to be fixed inquiringly upon her, and with the look of one dissatisfied, if not doubtful--disturbed if not suspicious--and with certain sensibilities rendered acute and watchful, which had been equally confiding and affectionate before. These signs increased her disquiet, deepened her anxi. ety. But she was silent. The glances of her husband were full of appeal, but she gave them no response. She could but re- tire from his presence, and sigh to herself in solitude. There was evidently a mystery in this conduct, and the daily increas- ing anxieties of the husband betrayed his doubts lest it migllht prove a humiliating one at the solution. But he, too, wlas silent. His pride forbade that he. should declare himself when he could only speak of vague surmises and perhaps degrading suspicions. He was silent, but not at ease. His pleasant labors of the studio were abandoned. Was it for relief from his own thoughts that he was now so frequently in company with Aruns, or did lihe hope to obtain from the latter any clue to the mystery which disturbed his household? It was not in the art of Aurelia so to mould the expression of her countenance as to hide from others the anxiety which she felt in the increasing and secret commun- ion of the brothers. She watched their departure with dread, and witnessed their return together with agitation. She saw, or fancied she saw, in, the looks of the younger, a malignant exul- tation which even his habitual cunning did not suffer him en- tirely to conceal., CHAPTER IV. AT length the clouud seemed to clear away from the brow of her husband. He once more resumed his labors, and with an avidity which he had not betrayed before. His passion now 9 THE SECRET LABOR. 231 amounted to intensity. He gave himself no respite from his toils. Late and early he was at his task-morning and night -without intermission, and with thle'enthusiasm of one who re- joices in the completion of a favorite and long-cherished study. Aurelia was not unhappy at this second change; to go back to his old engagements and tastes seemed to her to indicate a re- turn to his former equanimity and waveless happiness. It was with some surprise, however, and not a little concern, that she was not now permitted to watch his progress. He wrought in secret--his studio was closed against her, as, indeed, it was against all persons. Hitherto it had not been so in her instance. She pleasantly reproached him for this seclusion, but he an- swered her--"Fear not, you shall see all when it is, done." There was something in this reply to disquiet her, but she was in a state of mind easily to be disquieted. She was conscious also of a secret withheld from her husband -and her reproaches sunk back upon her heart, unuttered, from her lips. She could not, because of what she felt, declare to him what she thought; and she beheld his progress, from day to day, with an apprehension that increased momently, and made her appearance, in one respect, not unlike his own. She was not aware that he was the victim of a strange excitement, in which his present artist labors had a considerable share. He seemed to hurry to their prosecution with an eager impatience that looked like frenzy-and to return from his daily task with a frame exhausted, but with an eye that seemed to burn with the subtlest fires. His words were few, but there was a strange intel- ligence in his looks. His cheeks had grown very pale, his frame was thinned,l his voice made holwlow, in the prosecution of these secret labors; and yet there was a something of exultation in his glance, which fully declared that, however exhausting to his frame might be the task he was pursuing, its results were yet looked to -with a wild and eager satisfaction. At length the work was done. One day he stood before her in an attitude of utter exhaustion. "It is finished!" he exclaimed. "You shall see it to-morrow." "What is it?" she asked. "Nay, to-morrow! to-morrow!" He then retired to sleep, and rested several hours. She looked page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] I232 SOUTHWARD HO! on him while lle slept. He had never rested so profoundly since he had begun the labor from which he was now freed, The slumber of an infant was never more calm, was never soft- er, sweeter, or purer. The beauty of Ccelius was that of the, most peaceful purity. She bent over him as lie slept, and kissed his forehead with lips of the truest devotion, while two big tears gathered in her large eyes, and slowly felt their way along her cheeks. She turned away lest the warm drops falling upon his face might awake lhim. She turned away, and in her own apart- ment gave free vent to the feelings which his pure and placid slumbers seemed rather to subdue than encourage. Why, with such a husband-her first love-and with so many motives to happiness, was she not happy? Alas! who shall declare for' the secret yearnings of the heart, and say, as idly as Canute to the sea, "thus far shalt thou go, and no farther-here shall thy proud waves be stayed." Aurelia was a creature of fears and anxieties, and many a secret and sad presentiment. She was very far from happy-ill at ease-and-but why anticipate? We shall soon enough arrive at the issue of our melancholy-nar- rative! That night, while she slept-for grief and apprehension have their periods of exhaustion which we misname repose-her hus- band rose from his couch, and with cautious footsteps departed from his dwelling. He was absent all the night and returned only with the dawn. He re-entered his home with the same stealthy caution with which he had quitted it,-and it might have, been remarked that he dismissed his brother, -with two other persons, at the threshold. They were all masked, and oth'er- wise disguised with cloaks. Why this mystery? Where had they been - on what mission of miscllief or of shame? To Ccelius, such a necessity was new, and scarcely had he entered- lls dwelling than he cast aside his disguises with the air of one who loathes their uses. He was very pale and haggard, with a fixed but glistening expression of the eye, a brow of settled Dloom, from which hope and faith, and every interest in life seemed utterly to be banished. A single groan escaped him when he stood alone, and then, he raised himself erect, as if ( lithlerto he had leaned upon the arms of others. He carried limself firmly and loftily, his lips compressed, his eye eagerly THE DRAUGHT. ' 233 )oking forward; and thus, after the interval of a few seconds, e passed to the chamber of his wife. And still she slept. He ent over her, earnestly and intently gazing upon those beauties hiclh grief seemed only to sadden into superior sweetness. He ooked upon her with those earnest eyes of love, the expression ,f which can never be misunderstood. Still he loved her, though etween her heart and his, a high, impassable barrier had been aised up by the machinations of a guilty spirit. Tenderness ,as the prevailing character of his glance until she spoke. Her ,leop, though deep, was not wholly undisturbed. Fearful images wrossed her fancy. :She started and sobbed, and cried, "Save, ) save and spare him-Flavius, my dear Flavius!" and her breathing again became free, and her lips sunk once more into repose. But fearful was the change, from a saddened tender- Less-to agony and despair, which passed over the features of DColius as lie listened to her cry. Suddenly, striking his clenched hands against his forehead, he shook them terribly at the sleep- ing woman, and rushed wildly out of the apartment. CHAPTER V. IT was noon of the same: day-a warm and sunny noon, in which the birds and the breeze equally counselled pleasure and repose. The viands stood before our Ccelius and his wife, the choicest fruits of Italy, and cates which might not, in later days, flave misbescemed the favorite chambers of Lucullus. The gob- let was lifted in the hands of both, and the heart of Aurelia felt almost as cheerful as the expression on her face. It was the reflection in the face of her husband. His brow was .gloomy no longer. The tones of his voice were neither cold, nor angry, nor desponding. A change-she knew not why-had come over his spirit, and he smiled, nay, laughed out, in the very ex- ultation of a new life. Aurelia conjectured, nothing of this so sudden change. Enough that it was grateful to her soul. She was too happy in its influence to inquire into its cause. What heart that is happy does inquire ' She quaffed the goblet at his bidding - quaffed it to the dregs and her eye gleamed delighted and delightfully upon his, even as in the first hours of their union. She had no apprehensions-dreaded nothing sinister-and did page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 - SOUTHWARPD HO! not perceive that ever, at the close of hiis laughter, there was a coil. vulsive quiver in nIris tones, a sort of hysterical sobbing, that lhe seemed to try to subdue in vain. She noticed not this, nor the' glittering, almost spectral brightness of his glance, as, laughing tumultuously, he still kept his gaze intently fixed upon her. Slhe was blind to all things but the gratefil signs of his returning lappiness and attachment. Once more the goblet was lifted, "T To Trmes [Mercury] the conductor,"' cried the husband. The wife drank unwittingly-for still her companion smliled upon her, and spoke joyfully, and she was as little able as willing to perceive that anytlhing occult occurred in his expression. "Have you drank?" he asked. She smiled, and laid the empty goblet before him. "Come, then, you shall now behold the picture. You will now be prepared to understand it." f They rose together, but another change lhad overspread his features. The gayety had disappeared from his face. It was- covered with a calm that was frightful. The eye still main- tained all its eager intensity, but the lips were fixed in the icy mould of resolution. They declared a deep, inflexible purpose - There was a corresponding change in his manner and deport- ment. But a moment before he was all life, grace, gayety and great flexibility; he was now erect, majestic and commanding in aspect, with a lordly dignity in his movement, that declared a sense of a highl duty to be done. Aurelia was suddenly im- pressed with misgivings. The change was too sudden not to star- tle her. Her doubts and apprehensions were not lessened when, instead of conducting her to the studio, where she expected to see the picture, hle led the way through the vestibule and into ^ the open court of the palace. They lingered but for a moment at the entrance, and she then beheld his brother Aruns appronch- ing. To him she gave notI a look. "1ll is right," said the latter. It Enter!" was the reply of Ccelius; and as the -brother disap- peared within the vestibule, the two moved forward through the outer gate. They passed through a lovely wood, shady and silent, through which, subdlued by intervening leaves, gleamed only faintly the bright, clear sun of Italy. From under the, huge chestnuts, on either hand, the majestic gods of Etrurlia ex- THE ENTRANCE TO THE HALLS OF SILENCE. O0 ended their guiding and endowing hands. Tina, or Jupiter, Lplu, or Apollo, Elrkle, Turmes, and the rest, all conducting hemn along the via sacra, whichl led from the palaces to the orubs of every proud Etruscan family. They entered the sol. 1mn grove whichh was dedicated to night and silence, and were thout to ascend the gradual slopes by which the tumulus was pproached. Then it was that- the misgivings of Aurelia took a norce serious form. She felt a vague-but oppressive fear. She ilesitated. 4My Ccelils," she exclaimed, "whither do we go i Is not his the passage to the house of silence" . "Do you not kInow it?" lhe demanded quickly, and-fixing ipon hler a keen inquiring glance. "Come!" he continued, "it is there that I have fixed the picture!" "Alas! my Ccelius, wherefore? It is upon this picture that you have been so deeply engaged. It has made you sad-it has left us both unhappy. Let us not go- let me not see it!" Her agitation was greatly increased. He saw it, and his face ptt on a look of desperate exultation. "Ay, but thou must see it-thou shalt loolk upon it and be- hold my triumph, my greatest triumpli in art, and perhaps my - last. I shall never touch pencil more, and wilt thou refuse to look upon my last and noblest worlk. Fie! this were a wrong to me, and a great, shame in thee, Aurelia. Come! the toil of which thou think'st but coldly, has brought me peace rather than sadness. It has made of death a thing rather familiar than of- fensive. If it lias deprived me of hopes, it has left me without terrors!" "Deprived you of hopes, my Caoelius," said the wife, still liLn- gering, and -in mortal terror. "Even so!" "And, wherefore, O, my husband, wherefore?" "Speak not, woman!, See you not that we are within the shadow of the tombP" "Let us not approach-let us go hence!" she exclaimed en- treatingly, with increasing agitation. "Ay, shrink'st thou!" hle answered; " well thou may'st. The fathlers of the Pomponuii, for - two thousand years, are now float- ing around us on their si hless .villgs. They wonder that a page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 , SOUTHWARD HO! Roman woman should draw nigh to the dwellings of our ancient Lucumones." "A Roman womanl!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "My Ccelius, wherefore this?" "Art thou not '" "I am thy wife." "Art sure of that?"- As the gods live and look upon us, I am thine, this hour and for ever!" "May the gods judge thee, woman," he responded slowly, as lie paused at the gate of the mausoleum, and fixed his eyes in- tently upon her. Hers were raised to heaven,. with her uplifted hands. She did not weep, and her grief was still mixed with a fearfull agitation. "( Let us now return, my Ccelius!" "What, wilt thou not behold the picture?" "Not now - at another season. I could not look upon it now!" "Alas! woman, but this can not be. Thou must behold it now or never. Hope not to escape. Enter! I have a tale to tell thee, and a sight to show thee within, which thou canst not hear or see hereafter. Enter!" As he spoke, he applied the key to the stone leaf, and the door slowly revolved upon the massy pivots. She turned and would have fled, but he grasped her by the wrist, and moved toward the entrance. She carried her freed hand to her forehead-'parted the hair from her eyes, and raised them pleadingly to heaven. Resistance she saw was vain. Her secret was discovered. She prepared to enter, bunt slowly. "Enter! Dost thou fear now," cried her husband, 4"4when commanded? Hast thou not, thou, a Roman, ventured already to penetrate these awful walls, given to silence and the dead--and on what mission? -Enter, as I bid thee!" CHAPTER -' , SHE obeyed him, shuddering and silent. He followed her, closed the entrancel and fastened it within. They were alone among the dead of a thousand years-alone, but not in dark- ness, The hand of preparation had been, there, and cressets were burning upon the walts; their lights, reflected from the ACCUSATION. r 237 numerous shields of bronze within the apartment, shedding a strange and fantastic splendor upon the scene. The eyes of Aurelia rapidly explored the' chamber as if in search of some ex- pected object. Those of Ccelius watched them with an expres- sion of scornful triumph, which did not escape her glance. She firmly met his gaze, almost inquiringly, while her hands were involuntarily and convulsively clasped together. "Whom dost thou seek, Aurelia?" "Thou know'st! thou know'st! --where is he? Tell me, my Celius, that he is safe, that thou hast sped him hence- that I may bless thee." He smiled significantly as he replied, "He is safe--I have sped him hence!" "Tinai Adonail, my husband, keep thee in the hollow of his hand."' "How! shameless i! dost thou dare so much 2" , What mean'st thou, my Ccelius ." "Sit thou there," he answered, " till I show thee my picture." He pointed her, as he spoke, to a new sarcophagus, upon which she-placed herself submissively. Then, with a wand in his hand, he, himself, seated upon another coffin of stone, pointed her to a curtain which covered one of the sides of the chamber. "Be- hind that curtain, Aurelia, is the last work of- my hands; but before I unveil it to thine eyes, let me tell thee its melancholy history. It will not need many words for this. Much of it is known to thee already. How I found thee in Rome, when I was there a captive--how I loved thee, and how I believed in thy assurances of love; all these things thou know'st. We- wedded, and I brought thee, a Roman woman, held a barbarian' by my people, into the palace of one of the proudest families of all Etruria. Shall I tell thee that I loved thee still-that I love thee even now, when I have most reason to hate thee, when I know thy perjury, thy cold heart, thy hot lust, thy base, degrading passions!" "Hold, my lord-say not these things to my grief and thy dishonor. They wrong me not less thlln thy own name. These things, poured into thne ear by some secret enemry, are, false!" Thou wilt not S'wear it ." page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 SOUTHWARD HO! r ' ' "By all the gods of Rome-" "And of what avail, and how binding the oath taken in the names of the barbarian deities of Rome." "By the Etrurian-" "Peljure not thyself, woman, but hear me." - "Go on, my lord, I will hear thee, though I suffer death with every word thou speak'st." "It is well, Aurelia, that thou art prepared for this." "Thy dagger, my Coelius, were less painful than thy words and looks unkind." "Never was I unkind, until I found thee false.'" "Never was I false, my lord, even when thou wast ulnkind." "Woman! lie not! thou wert discovered with thy paramour, here, in this tomb; thou wert followed, day by day, and all thy secret practices betrayed. This thou ow'st to the better vigi- lance of my dear brother Aruns- he, more watchlful of my hon- or than myself-" ;Ah! well I know from what hand came the cruel shaft! Coelius, my Ccelius, thy brother is a wretch, doomed to infamy and black with crime. I have had no paramour. I might havo had, and thou might'st have been dishonored, had I lhearkened to thy brothers pleadings. I spurned him from my feet with loatlhing, and he requites me witlh hate. Oh, my husband, be- lieve me, and place this man, whom thou too fondly callest thy brother, before thine eyes and mine!" "Alas! Aurelia, this boldness becomes thee not. I myself traced thee to this tomb-these eyes but too frequently beheld thee with thy paramour." "Caelius, as I livre, he was no paramour-but where is he, what hast thou done with him?? "Sent him before thee to prepare thy couch in Hades!" "Oh, brother! but thou hast not! tell me, my lord, that thy hand is free from this bloody crime 1" "He sleeps beneath thee. It is upon his sarcophagus thou sittest." She started with a piercing shriek from the coffin wrhee she sat, knelt beside it, and strove to remove the heavy stone lid, which had been already sec'rely. fastened. While thulls engaged THE PICTURE UNVEILED. 239 ' the Lncumo drew aside with his hand the curtain which con- cealed the picture. "Look," said he, " woman, behold the fate which thou and thy paramour have received-behold the task which I had set mle when first I had been shown thy perjuries. Look!" She arose in silence from her knees, and turned-her eyes upon the picture. As the curtain was slowly-unrolled from before it, and she conceived the awful subject, and distinguished, under the care of the good and guardian genii, the shades of well-known members of the Pomponian family, her interest was greatly ex- cited; but when, following in the train and under the grasp of the Etrurian demon, she beheld the features of the young Roman- who was doomed, she bounded forward with a cry of agony. "My brother, my Flavius, my own, my only brother!" and sunk down with outstretched arms before the melancholy shade. 'Her brother!" exclaimed the husband. She heard the words and rose rapidly to her feet. "Ay, Flavius, my brother, banished from Rome, and con- cealed here in thy lhouse of silence, concealed even from thee, my husband, as I would not vex thee with the anxieties-of an Etrurian noble, lest Rome should hear and punish the people by whom her outlaw was protected. Thou know'st my crime. This paramour was the brother of my heart-child of the same sire and dame-a noble heart, a pure spirit, whose very virtues have been the cause of his disgrace at Rome. Slay me, if thot wilt, but tell me not, O0, Celius, that thou hast put the hands of hate upon mny brother-!" - "Thy tale is false, woman-well-planned, but false. Know I not thy brother? Did I not know thy brother well in Rome? Went weA not together oft? I tell thee, I should know him among a line of ten thousand Romans!" "Alas! alas! my husband, if ever I had brother, then is this he. I tell thee nothing but the truth. Of a surety, when thou wert in Rome, my brother was known to theeybuttlthe boy has now become a man. Seven years have wrought a change upon him of which thou hast not thoughlt. Believe me, what I tell thlee -the youth whom I sheltered inthis vault, and to whom I * broughllt food nightly, was, indeed, my brother-my Flavius, the, only son of my mother, who sent him to me, with fond words of page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 SOUTHWARD HO!0 entreaty, when the consuls of the city bade him depart in ban- ishment.". "I can not believe thee, woman. It were a mortal agony, far beyond what I feel in the conviction of thy guilt, were I to yield faith to thy story. It is thy paramour whom I have slain, and who sleeps in that tomb. His portrait and his judgment are before thee, -and now look on thine own!" The picture, fully displayed, showed to the wretched womani hler own person, in similar custody with him who was her sup- posed paramour. The terrible felicity of the execution struck t her to the soul. It was a picture to live as a work of art, and to this she was not insensible. She clasped her hands before it, and exclaimed, "Oh! my Coell0us, what a life hast thou givento-a lie. Yet may I bear the terrors of such a doom, if he whom thou hlast painted there in a fate fall of dreadful fellowship with mine, was ? other than my brother Flavius-he with whom thou didst love to play, and to whom thou didlst impart the first lessons in the i art which he learned to love from thee. Dost hear me, my Coe- lius, as my soul lives, this man was none other than my brother." '( False! false! I will not, dare not believe thee!" he answered in husky accents. His frame was trembling, yet he busied him- self in putting on a rich armor, clothing himself in military garb, firom head to foot, as if going into action., "What dost thou, my lord?" demanded Aurelia, curious as sAeC beheld him in this occupation. "This," said he, " is the armor in which I fought with Rome - when I was made the captive of thy people, and thine. It is' fit that I should wear it now, when I am once more going into captivity." "My husband, what mean'st thou--of what captivity dost f thou speakl?". The captivity of death! Hear me, Aurelia, dost thou feel nothing at thy heart which tells thee of the coming struggle, whlen the soul shakes off the reluctant flesh, and strives, as it were, for freedom. Is there no chill in thy veins, no sudden pang, ias of fire in thy breast? Thellse speak in me. They warn me- of death. We are both summoned. But a little whle is left of life to eitlher!" y TOO LATE! 241 Have mercy, Jove! I feel these pains, this chill, this fire zt thou speak'st of." ^ "It is death! the goblet which I gave thee, and of which I ilk the first and largest draught, was drugged with death." "Then-it is all true! Thou hast in truth slain my brother. Ilon hast-thou hast !' NTay, le was, not thy brother, Aurelin. Why wilt thou for- rear thyself at this terrible moment? It-is vain. Wouldst ou lie to death -wouldst thou carry an impure face of perjury fore the seat of the Triune God! Beware! Confess thy crime, d justify the vengeance of thy lord!" "As I believe thee, my Ccellus- as I believe that thou hast ost rashy and unjustly murdered my brother, and put death tile cup wich, delivered by thy hands, was sweet and pre- 1sS to my lips, so must I now declare, in sight of Heaven, in e presence of the awful dead, that whlat I hLave said and sworn thee is truth. He whom I sheltered within the tombs of thy thers, was the son of mine -theonly, the last, best brother of y heart. I bore him in mine arms when I was a child myself. loved him ever! Oh, how I loved him! next to thee, my CG- is-next to thee! Couldst thou but have spared me this ve-this brother!" How knewi Hhow knowr I now-that le was thly brother?" as the choking inquiry. "4 To save thee the cruel agony that thou must feel, at knowing is, I could even be moved to tell thee falsely, and say that he as not my brother; but, indeed, some paramour, such as the ise and evil thouglt of thy brother has grafted upon thine; it I may not; thy love is too precious to me at this last moment ren if death llwere not too terrible to the false speaker. He as, indeed, my Flavius, dear son of a dear mother, best beloved 'brothers; hle whom thou didst play with as a boy; to whomin thou Iv'st lessons in thy own lovely art; who loved thee, my Cae- is, but too fondly, and only forbore telling thlee of his evil plight r fear that thou shouldst incur danger from the sharp and an- y hostility of Rome. Seek my chamber, and in my cabinet ol wilt find his letters, and the letters of mynmother, borne ith lim in his flight. Nay, - oh! mother, what is this agony?2" "Too late! too late! If it be truth thou speakest, Aurelia, " page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 SOUTHWARD HO! it is a truth that can not save. Death is upon us-I see it il thy face--I feel it in my heart. Oh! would that I could doubt thy story!" "Doubt not-doubt not-believe and take me to thy heart. I fear not death if thou wilt believe me. My Ccelius, let me come to thee and die upon thy bosom." Ah! shouldst thou betray me--shouldst thou still practise upon me with thy woman art!" "And wherefore? It is death, thou say'st, that is upon us now. What shall I gain, in this hour, by speaking to thee fal se- ly? Thou hast done thy worst. Thou hast doomed me to death, and to the scornful eyes of the confiding future!" She threw her arms around him as she spoke, and sunk, sunk sobbing upon his breast. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "that dreadful picture! I feel, my Aurelia, that thou hast spoken truly-that I have been rash and cruel in my judgment. Thy brother lies before thee, and yonder tomb is prepared for thee. I did not yield without a struggle, and I prepared me for a terrible sacrifice. Upon this bier, habited as I am, I yield myself to death. There is no help-no succor. Yet that picture! Shall the falsehood over- come the truth. Shall that lie survive thy virtues, thy beauty, and thy life! No! my Aurelia, this crime shall be spared at least." He unwound her arms from about his neck, and strove to rise. She sunk in the same moment at- his feet. "Oh, death!" she cried, "thou art, indeed, a god! I feel thee, terrible in thy strength, with an agony never felt before. Leave me not, my Coelius -forgive -- and leave me not!" "I lose thee, Aurelia! Where,-" "Here! before the couch- I faint -all!" "I would destroy," he cried, " but can not! This blindness. tHo! without there! Aruns! It is thy step I hear! Undo, undo I forgive thee all, if thou wilt but help. Here - hither!" The acute senses of the dying man had, indeed, heard foot- steps without. They were those of the perfidious brother. But, at the call from within, he retreated hastily. There was no an- swer--there was no help. But there was still some consciousness. Death was not yet triumphant. There was a pang yet to be felt SILENCE! 243 a-and a pleasure. It was still in the power of the dying man to lift to his embrace his innocent victim. A moment's return of con- sciousness enabled her to feel his embrace, his warm tears upon her cheek, and to hear his words of entreaty and tenderness im- ploring forgiveness. And speed was vouchsafed her to' ac- cord it. "I forgive thee, my Ccelius--I forgive thee, and bless thee, and love thee to the last. I know that thou wouldst never do me hurt of thy own will; I know that thou wert deceived to tis--yet how, oh, how, when my head lay upon thy breast at night, and I slept in peace, couldst thou think that I should do thee wrong!" "Why," murmured the-miserable man, " why, oh, why ." "Had I but told thee, and trusted in thee, my Ccelius!" "Why didst thou not?" "It was because of my brother's persuasion that I did not- he wished not that thou shouldst come to evil." "And thou forgiv'st me, Aurelia-from thy very heart thou forgiv'st me?" 4 All, all--from my heart and soul, my husband." "It will not, then, be so very hard to die!" An hour after and the chamber was silent. The wife had yielded first. She breathed her last sigh upon his bosom, and with the last effort of his strength he lifted her gently and laid her in the sarcophagus, composing with affectionate care the dra- pery around her. Then, remembering the picture, he looked around him for his sword with which to obliterate-the portraits which his genius had assigned to so lamentable an eternity; but his efforts were feeble, and the paralysis of death seized him while he was yet making them. He sunk back with palsied limbs upon the bier, and the lights, and the picture, faded from before his eyes, with the last pulses of his life. The calumny which had destroyed his hopes, survived its own detection. The recorded falsehood was triumphant over the-truth; yet may you see, to this day, where the random strokes of the weapon were aimed for its obliteration. Of himself there is no monument in the tomb, though one touching memorial has reached us. The vaulted chamber buried in the earth was discovered by accident. A fracture was made in its top by an Italian gentleman in com- page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 SOUTHWARD HO! pany with a Scottish nobleman. As they gazed eagerly through the aperture, they beheld an ancient warrior in full armor, and bearing a coronet of gold. The vision lasted but a moment. The decomposing effects of the air were soon perceptible. Even while they gazed, the body seemed agitated with a trembling, heaving motion, which lasted a few minutes, and then it subsi- ded into dust. When they penetrated the sepulchre, they found the decaying armor in fragments, the sword and the helmet, or crown of gold. The dust was but a handful, and this was all that remained of the wretched Lucumo. The terrible picture is all that survives-the false witness, still repeating its cruel lie, at the expense of all that is noble in youth and manhood, and all that is pure and lovely in the soul of woman."' We all agreed that our professor, who delivered his narrative with due modesty, had made a very interesting legend from the chronicles-had certainly shown a due regard for the purity of the sex, in thus vindicating the virtuous sufferer from the mali- cious accusation which had been preserved by art, through the capricious progress of more than twenty centuries. : Several stories followed, short, sketchy, and more or less spir- ited, of which I could procure no copies. The ladies gave us sundry pleasant lyrics to the accompaniment of the guitar, and one or two male flute players contributed to our musical joys until we began to verge toward the shorter hours, when the fair- er portion of the party bowed us good night--Dtiyckman nearly breaking his own and Selina Burroughs's neck, in helping her down the cabin-steps. CHAPTER XIII. "THE GLORIOUS FOURTH"AT SEA. "ET US skip over the small hours which were consumed by our little community--we may suppose-after a very common fashion on shore. There was silence in the ship for a space. But a good strong corps was ready, at the peep of day, to respond, with a general shout, to that salutation to the morn which our worthy captain had assigned to the throats of his pet brass pieces. We were not missing at the moment of uproar, and, as the bellowing voices roared -along the deep, we echoed the clamor with a hurrah scarcely less audible in the courts 'of Neptune. I need not dwell upon the exhibition of deshabilles, as we sev- erally appeared on deck in nightgown and wrapper, with other- wise scant costume. But, as our few lady-passengers made no appearance at this hour, there was no need for much precaution. We took they opportunity afforded by their absence to procure a good sousing from the sea, administered, through capacious buckets, by the hands of a courteous co-alheaver, who received his shilling a-head for our ablutions. By the way, why should not these admirable vessels, so distinguished by their various comforts, be provided with half-a-dozen bathing-rooms? We commend the suggestion to future builders. A bath is even more necessary at sea than on shore, and, lacking his bath, there is many a pretty fellow who resorts to his bottle. Frequent ablution is no small agent of a proper morality. Outraging no propriety by our garden-like innocence of cos- tume, we began the day merrily, and contrivedl to continue it cheerily. At the hour of twelve, the awning spread above us, a smooth sea below, a fine breeze streaming around us, we were all-assembled upon the quarter-deck, a small but select congre- gation, to hear the man in a saffron skin and green spectacles. page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 SOUITHWARD HO! : We dispensed with the whole reading of the Declaration of Independence; our reader graciously abridging it to doggrel dimensions, after some such form as the following, which lhe delivered, as far as permitted, twith admirable grace and most senatorial dignity:- "When iii the course of human events, A people have clravings for eloquence, A decent regard for common-sense Requires---' ' He was here broken in upon by a sharp shriek, 4rather than a ; voice, which we found to proceed from a Texan, who had worn his Mexican blanket during the whole voyage, and wlhom some of the passengers were inclined to think was no other thani Sam Houston himself. His interruption furnished a sufficiently appropriate finishing line to the doggrel of our reader:- - ( Oh, go ahead, and d-n the expense." st The very plrinciple of the Revolution,' said the orator. "Particularly as they never redeemed the continental moneys My grandmother has papered her kitchen withl the 'I 1. O. U'S' of our fathers of Independence.'! -T'h is remark led to others, and there was a general Ibuzz, when the orator put in, first calling attention, and silencing all, voices, by a thundering slap with the flat of his hand upon the cover of a huge volume whichlh hle carried in his-grasp. "Look you, gentlemen, said lLe, with the air of a person w]io was not disposed to submit to wrong --"you asked me to be your orator, and hang me if I am to be choused out of the per- formance, now that I have gone through all my preparations. Scarcely had I received your appointment before I proceeded to put myself in training. I went below and got myself a close of I snake and tiger'- a beverage I had not tasted before for the last five monthls-and I commended myself, during -a twenty minutes' immersion in the boatswain's bath at the fore while you were all sleeping, I suppose-to the profound and philosophical thoughts which were proper to this great occasion. With the dawn, and before the cannon gave counsel to the day, I was again immersed in meditation and salt-water; followed by a severe friction -at the hands of one of the stewards, and another touch of 'snake and tiger' at the hands of the butler. I hlave -- THE JKA ttN. iv .a, Lus prepared myself for the occasion, and I'll let you know I l, nsot the man to prepare myself for nothing. Either you must hear me, or you must fight me. Let me know your reso- lution. If I do not begin upon you a l, I shall certainly begin pon isome one of you, and I don't know but that Texan shall be mny first customer, as being the first to disturb the business of the day. An audible snort fromt the blanket was the only- answer from that quarter; lwhile the cry of-"An orator! an orator!" from all parts of the ship, pacified our belT-Brent Demosthenes. He began accordingly. THE ORATION OF THE GRVEN-SPECTACLED ALABAMAN. "Shipmnates or Fellowc- Citizens: We are told by good author- ity that no man is to be pronounced fortunate so long as he lives, since every moment of life is subject to caprices which may reverse his condition, and render your congratulations fraudulent and offensive. The same rules, for the same reason, should be adopted in regard to nations, and no eulogy should be spoken upon their institutions, until they have ceased to exist. It would accordingly be much easier for me to dilate upon the good fortune of Copan and Palenque than upon any other countries, since they will never nibre suffer from invasion, and the scandalous chronicle of their private lives is totally lost to a prying posterity. "In regard to our country, what would you have me say . Am I summoned to the tribune to deal in the miserable follies and falsehoods which now pervade; the land? At this moment, from every city, and state, and village, and town and hamlet in the Union, ascends one common voice of self-delusion and deception. You hlear, on all hands, a general congratulation of themselves and one anotlher, about our peace, and prosperity and harmony. About our prosperity a great deal may be said honestly, if not about its honesty. Never did a people so easily and excellently clothe and feed themselves. Our ancestors were very poor devils, compared to ourselves, in respect to their acquisitions Their very best luxuries are not now to be enumerated, except among our meanest and commonest possessions; and, without page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 SOUTHWARD HO! being better men, our humblest citizens enjoy a domestic con. dition which would have made the mouths to water, with equal delight and envy, of the proudest barons of the days of Queen Bess and Harry the Eighth. What would either of these princes have given to enjoy ices such as Captain Berry gave ns yesterday, and the more various luxuries which (I see it in his face) he proposes to give us to-day! What would the best potentates, peers and princes of Europe, even at this day, give to be always sure of such oysters as expose themselves,with all their wealth of fat, buried to the chin, about the entrances of our harbors, from Sandy Hook to Savannah, in preference to the contracted fibres and coppery-flavored substitutes which they are forced to swallow, instead of the same admirable and benevolent ocean vegetable, as we commonly enjoy it here. And what-0 Americans!-can they offer in exchange for the pear, the peach, the apple and the melon, such as I already taste, in anticipation of events which shall take place in this very vessel some two hours hence? It is enough, without enu- merating more of our possessions-possessions in the common enjoyment of our people - that I insist on the national prosperity. "But this is our misfortune. We are too prosperous. We are like Jeshuran, of whom-we read in the blessed volume, who, waxing too fat, finally kicked. Fatal kicking! Foolish Jeshu. ran! In our fatness-&in our excess of good fortune-we are kicking ungraciously, like him; and we shall most likely, after the fashion of the ungracious cow of which the Book of Fables tells us, kick over the bucket after we have fairly filled it. "We admit the prosperity: but where's the peace? It is in the very midst of this prosperity that we hear terrible cries from portions of our country, where they have not yet well succeeded in casting off the skins of their original savage condition. There's Bully Benton,- and Big-Bone Allen, and Humbug Houtston, and Little Lion Douglass, and Snaky-Stealing Seward, and Copper-' Captain Cass, and a dozen others, of bigger treeches than brains, and mightier maws than muscles-hear how they sev- erally roar and squeak!' One would cut the carotid of corpn- "Of course we are not responsible for the complimentary estimates hlere made of our men of mark, by our Alabama orator. We are simply acting as reporters, and taking down his language, verbatim et literatim. BOOBYDOM AND ITS ORACLES. 249 lent John Bull; another would swallow the mines of Mexico; a third would foul the South, a fourth the North; and they are all for kicking up a pretty d-- fuss generally, expecting the people to foot the bill. ," And now, with such an infernal hubbub in our ears, on every side, from these bomb-bladders, should there be peace among us We cry ' peace' when there is no peace! Their cry is 6 war,' even in the midst of prosperity, and when short-cotton is thirteen cents a pound! And war for what? As if we had not prosperity enough, and a great deal too much, shipmates, since, we do not know what to do with it, and employ such blather- siites as these to take it into their ridiculous keeping. In so many words, shipmates, these Beasts of Babylon, representing us poor boobies of America, are each of them, professedly on our part, playing the part of Jeshuran the Fat! Theyare kicking lustily, and will, I trust, be kicked over in the end, and before the end, and kicked out of sight, by that always-avenging des- tiny, which interposes, at the right moment, to settle accounts with blockhead statesmen and blockhead nations. "Now, how are we to escape our own share of this judgment of Jeshuran? Who shall say how long it will be before we set our heels against the bucket, and see the green fields of our liberties watered with the waste of our prosperities! (I'm not sure of the legitimacy of this figure, but can't stop now to ana- lyze it. We'll discuss it hereafter before the Literary Club of Charleston, which is said to be equally famous for its facts and figures.) But, so long as it is doubtful if we shall escape this disaster--so long as the future is still in nubibus, and these clouds are so full of- growl and blackness--we may reasonably doubt if our prosperity is either secure or perfect. Certainly, it is not yet time either for its history or eulogy. "But for our peace, our harmony, if not our prosperity? "Believing ourselves prosperous, as we all do and loudly tasseverate, and there should be no good reason why harmony shouild not be ours, But this harmony is of difficult acquisition, and we must first ask, my brethren, what is harmony? "When we sit down to dinner to-day, it is in the confident expectation that harmony will preside over the banquet, There is no good reason why it should be otherwise, There will be l0* page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 SOUTHWARD HO! ample at the feast for all the parties. Each will get enough, and probably of the very commodity he desires. If he does not, it is only because there is not quite enough for all, and the dish happens to be nearer me than him! Nevertheless, we take for granted that harmony will furnish the atmosphere of the feast to-day. It will render grateful the various dishes of which we partake. It will assist us in their digestion. Wee will eat and drink in good humor, and rise in good spirits. Each one will entertain and express his proper sentiments, and, as our mutual comfort will depend upon a gentlemanly conduct, so no one will say or do anything to make his neighbor feel uncomfortable. If you know that the person next to you has a corn upon his toe, you will not tread on it in order to compel his attention to your wants; and, should you see another about to swallow a moderate -mouthful of cauliflower, it will not be your care to whisper a doubt if the disquiet of the person in the adjoining cabin was not clearly the result of cabbage and chol. era. This forbearance is the secret of harmony, and I trust we shall this day enjoy it as the best salad to our banquet. "And now, how much of this harmony is possessed among our people in the states? Are you satisfied -that there iiany such feeling prevailing in the nation, when, in all ijates, it assembles in celebration of this common anniversary? Hearken to the commentary. Do you hear that mighty h7ellabaloo in the East? It comes fromn Massachusetts Bay. It is just such an uproar as we have heard from that'quarter for a liundred years. First, it fell upon the ears of the people of Mohegan, and Nar- aganset, aind Coneaughtehoke--the breechless Indians--and it meant massacre. The Indians perished by sword-cut and arquebus-shot and traffic--scalps being bought at five shillings per head, till the commodity grew too scarce for even cupidity to make capital with. Very brief, however, was the interval that followed. Our Yankee brethren are not the people to suffer their neighbors to be long at peace, or to be themselves pacific. Very soon, and there was another hellaibaloo! The victims this time were the Quakers; and they had to fly from a region of so much prosperity, using their best legs, in order to keep their simple scalps segure under their broad brims. What was to be done to find food for the devouring appetite of these HETTIABALOOING. i J. rabid wretches, who so well discriminated always as to seek their victims in the feeble, and rarely suffered their virtues to peril their own skins. They turned next, full-mouthed, upon the old women, and occasionally upon the, -young. At the new 1ellabaloo of these saints, these poor devils--and, unluckily, the devils whom they were alleged to serve were too poor to bring them any succor--were voted to be witches; they were cut off by cord and fire, until the land was purged of all but its privileged sinners. "Short again was the rest which these godly savages gave themselves or their neighbors. The poor Gothamites next fell beneatlh tihe ban, and the simple Dutchmen of Manhattan were fain to succumb under the just wrath of the God-appointed race. And now, all the neighboring peoples being properly subjected, the idelabaloo was raised against the cavaliers who dwelt south of the Potomac. , These were ancient enemies of the saints in the mother- country. But there had been reasons hitherto for leaving them undisturbed. Thcy had been good customers. They had been the receivers of the stolen goods brought them by these wise men of the East, and did not then know that the seller could give no good title to the property he sold. As long as our cav- alier continued to buy the African, the saints hinted not a word about the imperfectness of the title. It was only when he refused to buy any more of the commodity that he was told it was stolen. , And now the hellabaloo is raised against all those having the stolen goods in possession. Does this hellabaloo sound like harmony, my brethren? and don't you think there will be an answering hellabaloo to this, which will tend still more to dis- turb the harmonies? And, with these wild clamors in our ear, rocking the nation from side to side, who is it that cries 'peace! peace! peace!' when there is no peace - Am I to be made the echo of a falsehood? Shall my lips repeat the silly com- monplace which cheats nobody, and persuades nobody, and makes nobody repent? No, my brethren! Let us speak the truth. There is no peace, no harmony, no union among us. As a people, we are already sundered. We now hate and strive against each other; and, until we come back to justice--to the * page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 SOUTHWARD HO! recognition of all those first principles which led our ancestors into a league, offensive and defensive, for a common object and with a common necessity,-the breach will widen and widen, until a great gulf shall spread between us, above which Death will hang ever with his black banner ; and across which terror, and strife, and vengeance, shall send their unremitting bolts of storm and fire! Let us pray, my brethren, that, in regard to our harmony, we arrest our prosperity, lest we grow too fat, and kick like Jeshuran!" Here a pause. -Our orator was covered with perspiration. He hemmed thrice with emphasis. He had reached a climax. The Texan was sleeping audibly, giving forth sounds like an old alligator at the opening of the spring. Our few Yankee voyagers had arisen some time'before, not liking the atmosphere, and were now to be seen with the telescope, looking out into the East for dry land. The orator himself seemed satisfied with the prospect. He saw that his audience were in the right mood to be awakened. H-e wiped his fae, accordingly, put on [( his green spectacles, and in a theatrical aside to the steward- \--. '...Hem! steward! another touch of the snake and tiger." I do not know that I need give any more of this curious ora- tion, which was continued to much greater length, and discussed a most amusing variety of subjects, not omitting that of Com- munism, and Woman's Rigahts. Know-Nothingism had not then become a fixed fact in the political atmosphere, or it would, probably, have found consideration also. Very mixed were the feelings with which the performance was greeted. Our secessionists from South Carolina and other states, of whom there -were several on board, were quite satis- fied with our orator's view of the case; but our Yankees, reap- pearing when it was fairly over, were not in the mood to suffer it to escape without sharp censure. The orator was supposed to have made a very unfair, use of the occasion and of his own appointment. But the orator was not a customer with whom it was politic to trifle; and as he seemed disposed to show his teeth, more than once, the discussion was seasonably arrested by the call to dinner. They live well on the steamers between New York and Charleston. Both cities know something of good living, and in CHEERING EFFECTS OF WINE. 253 neither is the taste for turtle likely to die out. Why is the breed of aldermen so little honored in either? Our captain is proverbially a person who call sympathize duly with the exigen- cies of appetite, and his experience in providing against them has made him an authority at the table. Ordinarily admirable, our dinner on the glorious Fourth was worthy of the occasion. The committee of arrangements had duly attended to their duties. The time at length arrived for that interchange of mortal and mental felicities which the literary stereotypists describe as the feast of reason and the flow of soul; and sentiment was to be in- dulged. Our excellent captain, sweetness in all his looks, hom- age in his eye, in every action dignity and grace, filling his glass, bowed to a stately matron, one of our few lady passenj gers- ,'"The pleasure of a glass of wine with you, madam." it Thank you, captain, but I never take wine," was the reply. "Perfectly right, madam,"' put in the orator of the day; "Though written that wine clheereth the heart of man it is no- where said that it will have any such effect on the heart of woman." There was a little by-play after this, between the orator and the lady, the latter looking and speaking as if half disposed now to take the wine, if only to prove that its effects might be as cheering to the one sex as to the other, But the captain rising, interrupted the episode. "Fill your glasses, gentlemen." :: All charged,"- cried the vice. 1. The day we celebrate!--Dear to us only as the memorial of an alliance between nations, which was to guaranty protection, justice, and equal rights, to all. The batteries being opened, the play went on without inter. ruption: I shall go on with the toasts, seriatim. 2. The Constitztion.--Either a bond for all, or a bond for none, Not surely such a web as will bind fast the feeble, and through which the strong may break away without restraint. 3. The Union.--The perfection of harmony, if, as it was de- signed to be, in the language of Shakspeare,--the " unity and married calm of States,"9 page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 - SOUTHWARD HO! 4. The Slave States of the South.--The conservators of the peace, where faction never rears its head, where mobs tear not down, nor burn, nor destroy the hopes and habitations of the peaceful and the weak, and where reverence in the people is still the guarantee for a gentleman in the politician. 5. The Agriculture of tMe South.-The source of peace, hos- pitality, and those household virtues, which never find in business a plea against society. 6. Cotton and Corn.- The grand pacificators, which in cover- ing and lining the poor of Europe, bind their hands with peace, and fill their hearts with gratitude. 7. Washington.--A Southron and a slaveholder-pious with- out cant; noble without arrogance; brave without boast; and generous without ostentation!--When the Free-Soilers shall be able to boast of such a citizen and son, it may be possible to be- lieve them honest in their declarations, and unselfish in their ob.- jects - but not till then. 8. The President of the United States.-We holnor authority and place; but let authority see that it do honor to itself. Let no man suppose that he shall play the puppet in his neighbors' hands, and not only escape the shame thereof, but win the good name of skilful play for himself. He who would wield authority, must show himself capable of rule; and he who has famously borne the sword, must beware lest other men should use his truncheon. [Par Parenthese.-Brave old Zachary Taylor was the reign- ing president when this toast was given.] 9. TDie Native State.-Yours or mine, no anatter. We are all linked indissolubly, by a strange and more than mortal tie, to a special soil. To that soil does the true soul always hold itself firmly bound in a fidelity that loves to toil in its improvement, and will gladly die in its defence. 10. T;Womanz.--Whether as the virgin she wins our fancies, as the wife our hearts, as the mother our loyalty, still, in all, the appointed angel to minister to our cares, to inspirit our hopes, to train our sensibilities, and to lift our sympathies, to the pure, the gentle, the delicate, and the true. ". Our Slaves.- Like our children, minors in the hands of the guardian, to be protectdd and trained to usefulness and virtue FLOW OF SENTIMENT. 255 - to be taught service and obedience -love and loyalty to be nurtured with a care that never wrongs, and governed by a rule that simply restrains the excesses of humanity. 12. Our Captain and his Ship.-- A good husband for such a wife,- he lets her steam it, but keeps her in stays; - she may boil up, but never keeps the house in hot water--and all the helabaloo finally ends in smoke. If she keeps up a racket be- low, he at least, trumpet in hand, walks the decks, and is still the master. May he always keep her to her bearings, and never suffer her to grow so old, as, like some other old woman, to be- come past bearing. Here, the captain, overcome with emotion, his face covered with blushes, rose, and after the fierce plaudits of the table liad subsided, replied in the most eloquent. language to the compli- ment, concluding thus- "And wlile I remain the master of this goodly creature, gen- tlemen, let me assure you, she will never discredit her breeding; certainly never while she continues to -bear such children as I have the honor to see before me. Gentlemen, I give you- "Tihe Fair- Equally precious as fair weather, fair play, and fair women. While deriving from these the best welfare of the heart, may we be called upon to bid them farewell only when it is decreed that we shallfare better." The regular toasts were resumed and concluded with the thir- teenth :- 13. The Orator of the Day.- He hath put the chisel to the seam, the wedge to the split, the hammer to the head, the saddle on the horse. He -has spoken well and wisely, and decently, without the hellabaloo which usually marks a fourth of July oration. Let him be honored with the mark of greatness, and if there be a place in senate and assembly which it would not discredit a wise man and a gentleman to occupy, send him thither. Our orator was again on his feet. His green spectacles under them at the same moment and, such a speech in reply:- there is no reporting it, but if Alabama does not yet ring with the voice of that nondescript, then hath- she lost the taste for racy matters. It will be seen that, thus far, the secessionists have pretty page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256, SOUTHWARD HO! much had the affair in their own hands: and our brethren north of the Hudson were not in the best of humors-were somewhat riled, indeed, by the character of the oration and the toasts that followed. They attempted to reply, in the volunteer toasts which they offered, quoting Daniel Webster and others very freely, but without much visible effect. For once, the majority was against them. Our space will not suffice to report their toasts, the answers, or the discussions which ensued; but it is doing them justice only to give one of the several volunteer songs which were sung in honor of the Union. The secession. ists had a poet on board, but his muse was suffering from sea- sickness or some other malady. She was certainly reluctant and made no sign. The lay that I give might have issued from the mint of Joel Barlow for aught I know :--- UNION AND LIBERTY. [Sitting by a tall person in nankin pantaloons.] Oh, dear was the hour when Liberty rose, And gallant the freemen who came at her call Sublime was the vengeance she took on her foes, And mighty the blow which released her from thrall; Down from its realm of blue, Proudly our Eagle flew, Perched on our banner and guided us on; While from afar they came, Brave souls with noble aim, Where at the price of blood, freedom was wooed and won, Ours was no trophy, the conquest of power, Heedless if triumph were sanctioned by right; We took not up arms in infuriate hour, Nor thirsting for spoil hurried forth to- the fighte Led by the noblest cause, Fighting for rights and laws, Panting for freedom our fathers went forth; Nor for themselves alone, Struck they the tyrant down, They fought and they bled for the nations of earth., And dear be the freedom they won for our nation, And firm be the Union that freedom secures; Let no parricide hand seek to pluck from its station, The flag that streams forth in its pride from our shores , May no son ofyour soil, In inglorious toil, THE iBRIDE OF THE BATTLE. 257 Assail the bright emblem that floats on our view; Let not that standard quail, Let not those stripes grow pale, Take not one star from our banner of blue. Pretty sharp were the criticisms of this ode on the part of our secessionists. "It halts and hobbles like the Union itself," was the sneer of one. "In truth," said another, "it is ominous, lacking, here and there, some very necessary feet." "Its measures, like those of government are admirably un- equal." In short, politically, poetically, morally, and musically, the poor ode was declared, by a punster present, to be certainly within poetic rule;,as it was decidedly odeous. At this-un- kindest cut of all--the unhappy singer-author, too, perhaps -was suddenly seized with sea-sickness, and disappeared on deck. The day was at its close as we left the table. We came forth to enjoy a delicious sunset, and I was then officially noti- fled that a story was expected from me that night. My turn had come. The ladies were graciously pleased to command that I should give them a tale of the Revolution, as appropriate to the day, and, after a fine display of fireworks, we composed ourselves in the usual circle, and I delivered myself of the fol- lowing narrative, which I need not say to those who know me was. founded on fact:- THE BRIDE OF THE BATTLE. A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION. CHAPTER I. To the reader who, in the pursuit of the facts in our national history, shall confine himself only to those records which are to be found in the ordinary narrative, much that he reads will be found obscure, and a great deal absolutely untruthful. Our early historians gave themselves but little trouble in searching after details. A general outline was all that they desired, and, satisfied with this, they neither sought after the particular events which should give rise to the narrative, nor into the latent causes page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] J 258 SOUTHWARD HO! rhich gave birth to many of its actions. In the history of South Carolina, for example, (whichh was one brimming with details and teeming with incidents,) there is little to be found - as the history is at present written-which shall afford to the reader even a tolerably correct idea of the domestic character of the struggle. We know well enough that the people of the colony were of a singularly heterogeneous character; that the settlers of .the lower country were chiefly Cavaliers and Huguenots, or French Prot. estants, and that the interior was divided into groups, or settle. ments, of Scotch, Irish, and German. But there is little in the record to show that, of these, the sentiment was mixed and va. rious without degree; and that, with the exception of the par. ishes of the lower country, which belonged almost wholly, thougll. with slight modifications, to the English church, it was scarcely possible to find any neighborhood, in which there was not some. thing like a civil war. The interior and mountain settlements were most usually divided, and nearly equally, between their at- tachments to, the crown and the colony. A Scotch settlement would make an almost uniform showing in behalf of the English authority--one, two, or three persons, at the utmost, being of the revolutionary party. An Irish settlement (wholly Protest- ant, be it remembered) would be as unanimous for the colonial movements; while the Germans were but too frequently for the monarchical side, that being represented by a prince of Hanover. The Gernman settlements mostly lay in the Porks of Edisto, and along the Congarees. The business of the present narrative will be confined chiefly to this people. They had settled in ra- ther large families in Carolina, and this only a short period be- fore the Revolution. They had been sent out, in frequent in- stances, at the expense of the crown, and this contributed to secure their allegiance. They were ignorant of the nature of the struggle, and, being wholly agricultural, could not well be taught the nature of grievances which fell chiefly upon commerce and the sea-board. Now, in Carolina, and perhaps throughout the whole south, the Revolution not only originated with the natives of the country, but with the educated portions of the natives. It was what may be termed the gentlemen of the col- ony-its wealth and aristocracy-with whom and which the movement began; and though it is not our purpose here to go A GOOD GIRL WAS FREDERICA. 259 into this inquiry, we may add that the motives to the revolution- ary movement originated with them, in causes totally different from those which stimulated the patriotism of the people of Massachusetts Bay. The pride of place, of character and of intellect, and not any considerations of interest, provoked the agricultural gentry of the south into the field. It was the earnest desire of these gentry, at the dawning of the Revolution, to conciliate the various people of the interior. At the first signs of the struggle, therefore, an attempt was made to influence the German population along the Edisto and Conga- ree, by sending among them two influential men of their own country, whose fidelity to the mou;vemcnt party was beyond dis- pute., But these men were unsuccessful. They probably made few converts. It is enough, if we give a glimpse at the course of their proceedings in a single household in the Forks of Edisto.* ,George Ifagner and Felix Long arrived at the habitation of Frederick Sabb, on the 7th day of July, 1775. Frederick was an honest Dtitchman of good character, but not the man for rev- olution. He was not at home on the arrival of the commissioners, but his good vrow,- Minnicker Sabb, gave them a gracious recep- tion. She was a good housekeeper, with but one daughter; a tall, silent girl,- with whom the commissioners had no discourse. But Minnicker Sabb, had shZe been applied to, might have proved a better revolutionist than her spouse. It is very certain,as the results will show, that Frederica Sabb, the daughter, was of the right material. She was a calm, and sweetly-minded damsel, not much skilled in. society or books-for precious little was the degree of learning in the settlement at this early period; but the native mind was good and solid, and her natural tastes, if unsophisticated, were pure and elevated. She knew, by precious instincts, a thousand things which other minds scarcely ever reach through the best education. She was what we call, a good girl, loyal, with a warm heart, a sound judgment, and a modest, sensible behavior. We are not seeking, be it remembered, a heroile, but a pure, true-hearted woman. She was young too- only seventeen at this period-but just at the season when the g So called from the branching of the river at a cerlain point-t he country ' between the two arms being called the Forks, and settled chiefly 1by Get- mans. page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 SOUTHWARD HO! woman instincts are most lively, and her susceptibilities most quick to all that is generous and noble. She made the cakes and prepared the supper for the guests that evening, and they saw but little of her till the evening feast had been adjusted, and was about to be discussed. By tills time old Frederick Sabb had made his appearance. He came, bringing with him three of his neighbors, who were eager to hear the news. They were fol- lowed, after a little space, and in season for supper, by another guest-perhaps the most welcome of all to the old couple-in the person of a favorite preacher of the methodist persuasion, Elijah Fields, was a man of middle age, of a vigorous mind and body, earnest and impetuous, and represented, with considerable efficiency, in his primitive province, the usefulness of a church which, perhaps, more than any other, has modelled itself after that of the Primitive Fathers. We shall see more of Elijah Fields hereafter. In the course of the evening, three other neighbors made their appearance at the farmhouse of Frederick Sabb; making a goodly congregation upon which to exercise the political abilities of Messrs. Wagner and Long. They were all filled with a more or less lively curiosity in regard to the events which were in progress, and the objects which the com- missioners had in,view. Four of these neighbors were of the same good old German stock with Frederick Sabb, but two of them were natives of the country, from- the east bank of the north branch of the Edisto, who happened to be on a visit to an adjoining farmstead. The seventh of these was a young Scotch- man, from Cross Creek, North Carolina, who had already declar- ed himself very freely against the revolutionary movement. He, had, indeed, gone so far as to designate the patriots as traitors, deserving a short cord and a sudden shrift; and this opinion was expressed with a degree of temper which did not leave it doubt- ful that he would gladly seek an opportunity to declare himself offensively in the presence of the commissioners. As we shall see more of this person hereafter, it is only right that we should introduce him formally to the reader as Matthew or Mat Dunbar. He went much more frequently by the name of Mat than Mat- thew. We may also mention that he was not entirely a politi- cian. A feeling of a tender nature brought him to the dwelling of old Sabb, upon whose daughter,- Frederica, our young Scotch- ) * 261 THE RIVALS. mall was supposed to look witl hungry eyes. And pubic con- jecture did not err in its suspicions. But j at Dunbar was not without a rival. Richard Coulter was the only native of the country present, Parson Fieds ex- cepted. le was a tall, manly youth, about the same age with Dunbar. But he possessed many advantages over the latter, particularly in respect to person. Tall, while Dunbar was short, with t handsome face, fine eye, and a luxuriant shock of hair, aul a massive beard of the same color, which gave quite a mar- tial appearance to his features, otherwise effeminate-the spec- tator inevitably contrasted him with his rival, whose features, indeed, were fair, but inexpressive; and whose hair- and beard were of the most burning and unmitigated red. Though stout of limb, vigorous and athletic, Mat Dunbar was awkward in his movement, and wanl ting in dignity of bearing. Mentally, the, superiority of Coulter was not so manifest. He was- more diffi dent and gentle than the other, who, experienced by travel, bold and confident, never exhibited himself at less than his real worth. These preliminaries must suffice. It is perlhaps scarcely neces- sary to say that Frederica Sabb made her comparisons between the two, and very soon arrived at one conclusion. A girl of com- moll instincts rarely fails to discover whether she is sought or not; and the same instincts leads her generally to determine be- tween rivals long in advance of the moment when they propose. Richard Coulter was certainly her favorite-though her prudence was of that becoming kind which enabled her easily to keep to herself the secret of her preference. Old Sabb treated his guests with good Dutch hospitality. His wife and daughter were excellent housekeepers, and the table was soon spread with good things for supper. Butter, milk, and cream-cheeses, were not wanting; pones and hoe-cakes made and ample showing, and a few broiled chickens, and a large plat- ter of broiled ham, in the centre of the table, were as much a matter of course in that early day, in this favorite region, as we find them among its- good livers now. Of course, supper was allowed to be discussed before the commissioners opened their budget. Then the g ood vrow took her place, knitting in hand, and a huge ball of cotton in her lap, at the door, while the guests enlerged front the hall into the piazza, and sweet Frederica Sabb, page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 SOUTHWARD HO! quietly, as was her habit, proceeded to put away the debris of the feast, and to restore the apartment to its former order. In this she was undisturbed by either of her lovers; the custom of the country requiring that she should be left to these occupa. tions without being embarrassed by any obtrusive sentiments, or even civilities. But it might be observed that Richard Coulter had taken his seat in the piazza, at a window looking into the. hall, while Mat Dunbar had, placed himself nearly at the en- trance, and in -close neighborhood with the industrious dame. tere he divided himself between attentions to her, and an occa- sional dip into the conversation on politics, which was now fully in progress. It is not our purpose to pursue this conversation. The arguments of the commissioners can be readily conjectured. But they were fruitless to- persuade our worthy Du'tchiman into any change, or any self-committals, the issue of which might en. danger present comforts and securities. He had still the same answer to every argument, delivered in broken English which we need not imitate. "The king, George, has been a good king to me, my friends. I was poor, but-I am not poor now. I had not a finger of land before I came hither. Now, I have good grants, and many acres. I am doing well. For what should I desire to do better? The good king will not take away my grants; but if I should hear to you, I should be rebel, and then he would be angry, and he might make me poor again as I never was before. No, no, my friends; I will sign no association that shall make me lose my lands." "You're right!" vociferated Mat Dunbar. "It's treason, I say, to sign any association, and all these rangers here, in arms, are in open rebellion, and should be hung for it; and let the time come, and I'm one to help in the hanging them!" This was only one of many such offensive speeches which Dun- bar had contrived to make during the evening. The commission- ers contented themselves with marking the-individual, but with- out answering him. But his rudely-expressed opinions were not pleasing to old Sabb himself, and still less so to his worthy vrow, who withdrew at this into the hall; while the stern voice of Elijah Fields descended in rebuke upon the offender. "And who art thou,"' stid he abruptly, "to sit in judgment SUGGESTIONS OF HCKORY. 263 upon thy brethren? And who has commissioned thee to lend thyself to the taking of human life? Life is a sacred thing, young man-the most precious of human possessions, since it depends on the time which is allowed us whether we shall ever be fit for eternity. To one so young as thyself, scarcely yet entered on thy career as a man, it might be well to remember that modesty is the jewel of youth, and that when so many of the great and good of the land have raised their voices against the oppressions of the mother-country, there may be good rea- son why we, who know but little, should respect them, and listen till we learn. If thou wilt be counselled by me, thou wilt hearken patiently to these worthy gentlemen, that we may know all the merits of their argument." Dunbar answered this rebuke with a few muttered sentences, which were hardly intelligible, making no concessions to the preacher or the commissioners, yet without being positively offensive. Richard Coulter was more prudent. He preserved a profound silence. But he was neither unobservant nor indif- ferent. As yet he had takpen no side in the controversy, and was totally uncommitted among the people. But he had been a listener, and was quietly chewing the cud of self-reflection. After a little while, leaving the venerable seniors still en- gaged in the discussion-for Wagner and Long, the commis- sioners, were not willing to forego the hope of bringing over a man of Sabb's influence-the young men- strolled out into the grounds where their horses had been fastened. ItNvas almost time to ride. As they walked, the Scotchman broke out ab- raptly:- "These fellows ought to be hung; every scoundrel of them; stirring up the country to insurrection and treason; but a good lesson of hickories, boys, might put a stop to it quite as well as the halter! What say youl They ride over to old Carter's after they leave Daddy Sabb's, and it's a lonesome track! If you agree, we'll stop 'em at Friday's flats, and trice 'em up to a swinging limb. We're men enough for it, and who's afraid?" - The proposition was received with great glee by all the young tellows, with one exception. It was a proposition invoking sport rather than patriotism. When the more eager responses were all received, Richard Coulter quietly remarked:- / page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 SOUTHWARD HO! "No, no, boys; you must do nothing of the kind. These are good men, and old enough to be the fathers of any of us. Be. sides, they're strangers, and think they're doing right. Let'e alone." ' "Well, if you wont," said Dunbar, "we can do without you, There are four of us, and they're but two."- "You mistake," replied Coulter, still quietly, , they are three!, "Wagner, Long, and Richard Coulter!" "What, you! Will you put yourself against us? YOU go with the rebels, then?" "I go with-the strangers. I don't know much about the re- bellion, but I think there's good sense in what they say. At all events, I'll not stand by and see them hurt, if I can help it." "Two or three, boys," continued Dunbar, " will make no dif. ference!" This was said with a significant toss of the head toward Coul- ter. The instincts of these young men were true. They al. ready knew one another as rivals. This discovery may have determined the future course of Coulter. He did not reply to Dunbar; but, addressinghis three companions, hle said, calling each by his Christian name, ', You, boys, had better not mix in this matter before it's necessary. I suppose the time will come, when there can be no skulking, But it's no use to hurry into trouble. As for four of you managing three, that's not impossi- -ble; but I reckon there will be a fight first. These strangers may have weapons; but whether they have or not, they look like men: and I reckon, you that know me, know that before my back tastes of any man's hickory, my knife will be likely to taste his blood." Dunbar replied rudely for the rest; and, but that Coulter quietly withdrew at this moment, seemingly unruffled, and witlh- out making any answer, there mighlt have been a struggle be- tween the two rivals even tlen. But the companions of Dunbar had no such moods or motives as prompted him. They were impressed by what Coulter had said, and were, perhaps, quite as much under his influence as under that of Dunbar. They ac- cordingly turned a'cold shoulder upon all his exhortations, and the c6mmissioners, accordingly, left the louse of old Salb in "GET YOU DE PIPLE." 265 safety, attended by young Coulter. They little knew his object in escorting them to the dwelling of Bennett Carter, where they stayed that night, and never knew the danger from which his prompt and manly courage had saved them. But the events of that night brought out Richard Coulter for the cause of the patriots; tni d a few- months found him a second lieutenant in a gallant corps of Thompson's rangers, raised for the defence of the colony. But the commissioners parted from Frederick Sabb without making any impression on his mind. He professed to desire to preserve a perfect neutrality--this being the sugges- tion of his selfishness; but his heart really inclined him to the support of the " goot King Jorge," from whom his grants of land had been derived. t"And what dost thou think, brotler Fields?" said he to the parson, after the commissioners had retired. "Brother Sabb," was the answer, "I do not see that we need any king any more than the people of Israel, when they called upon Samuel for one; and if we are to have one, I do not see why we should not choose one from out our own tribes." "4 Brother PFields, I hope thou dost not mean to go with these rebels." "Brother Sabb, I desire always to go with my own people." "And whom callest thou our own people?" "Those who dwell upon the soil and nurse it, and make it flourish; who rear! their flocks and children upon it, in the fear of God, and have no fear of man in doing so." "Brother Fields, I fear thou thinkst hardly of 'goot King Jorge,"' said our Dutchman, with a sigh. "Minnicker, my vrow, get you de Piple." CHAPTER II. WE pass over a long interval of quite three years. The vicissitudes of the Revolution had, not materially affected the relations of the several parties to our narrative. During this period the patriots of South Carolina had been uniformly suc- cessful. They had beaten away the British from their chief city, and had invariably chastized the loyalists in all their at- tempts to make a diversion in favor of the foreign enemy. But 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 SOUTHWARD HO! events were changing. These performances had not been effected but at great sacrifice of blood and treasure, and a for. midable British invasion found the state no longer equal to its defence. Charleston, the capital city, after frequent escapes, and a stout and protracted defence, had succutmbed to the be- siegers, who had now penetrated the1 interior, covering it with their strongholds, and coercing it with their arms. For a brief interval, all opposition to their progress seemed to be at an end within the state. She had no force in the field, stunned by re. peated blows, and waiting, though almost hopeless of her oppor- tunity. In the meantime, where was Richard Coulterl A fugitive, lying perdu either in the swamps of Edisto or Conga- ree, with few companions, all similarly reduced in fortune, and pursued with a hate and fury the most unscrupulous and unre. lenting, by no less a person than Matthew Dunbar, now- a captain of loyalists in the service of George the Third. The position of Coulter was in truth very pitiable;. but he was not without his consolations. The interval which had elapsed since our first meeting with him, had ripened his intimacy with Frederica Sabb. His affections had not been so unfortunate as his patri. otism. With the frank impulse of a fond and feeling heart, he had appealed to hers, in laying bare the secret of his own; and he had done so successfully. She, with as frank a nature, freely gave him her affections, while she did not venture to bestow on him her hand. His situation was not such as to justify their union, and her father, positively forbade the idea of such a con- nection. Though not active among the loyalists, he was now known to approve of their sentiments; and while giving them all the aid and comfort in his power, without actually showing himself in armor, he as steadily turned a cold and unwilling front to the patriots, and all those who went against the monarch. The visits of Richard Coulter to Frederica- were all stolen ones, perhaps not the less sweet for being so. A. storm some- times brought him forth at nightfall from the shelter of the neigh- 'boring swamp, venturing abroad at a time when loyalty was sup- posed to keep its shelter. But these visits were always accom- panied by considerable peril. The eye of Matthew Dunblar was frequently drawn in the direction of the fugitive, while his pas- MAT DUNBAR'S VISIT. 267 sions were always eager in the desire which led him to seek for this particular victim. The contest was a well-known issue of life and death. The fugitive patriot was predoomed always to t le halter, by those, who desired to pacify old revenges, or ac- quire new estates. Dunbar did not actually know that Coulter and Frederica Sabb were in the habit of meeting; but that they lad met, he knew, and he had sworn their detection. He- had become a declared suitor of that maiden, and the fears of old Sabb would not suffer him to decline his attentions. to his daugh- ter, or to declare against them. Dunbar had become notoriously an unmitigated ruffian. His insolence disgusted the old Dutch- man, who, nevertheless, feared his violence and influence. Still, sustained by good old Minnicker Sabb, his vrow, the father had the firmness to tell Dunbar freely, that his daughter's affections should remain unforced; while the daughter herself, seeing the strait of her parents, was equally careful to avoid the final ne- cessity of repulsing her repulsive suitor. -She continued, by a happy assertion of maidenly dignity, to keep him at bay, with- out vexing his self-esteem; and to receive him with civil ity, with- out affording him positive encouragement. Such was the con- dition of things among our several parties, when the partisan war began; when the favorite native leaders in the south -the first panic of their people having passed--had rallied their little squads, in swamp and thicket, and were making those first de- monstrations which began to disquiet the British authorities, ren- dering them doubtful of the conquests which they had so lately deemed secure. This, be it remembered, was after the defeat of Gates at Caimden, when there was no sign of a Continental army within the state. o It was at the close of a clody afternoon, late in October, 1780, when Mat Dunbar, with a small command of eighteen mounted men, approached the well-known farmstead of Fred- erick Sabb. The road lay along the west bank of the eastern branch of the Edisto, inclining to or receding from the liver, in correspondence with the width of the swamp, or the sinuosities of the stream. The farm of Sabb was bounded on one side by the river, and his cottage stood within a mile of it. Between, however, the lands -vere entirely uncleared. The woods offered a physical barrier to the malaria of the swamp; while the ground, page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 SOUTHWARD -HO! though rich, was liable to freshet, and required a degree of labor in the drainage which it was not in the power of our good Dutcllman to bestow. A single wagon-track led tlrough the wood to the -river from his house; and there may have bee, some half dozen irregular foot-paths tending in the same direc: tion. When within half a mile from the house, Mat Dunbar pricked up his ears. "That was surely the gallop of a horse," he said to his liel. tenant - a coarse, uffianly fellow like himself, named Clymes. "Where away?" demanded the other. "aTo the left. Put in with a fel of the boys, and see what can be found." Clymes did as he was bidden.; but the moment he liad dis- appeared, Dunbar suddenly wheeled into thei forest also, putting spurs to Ihis horse, and commanding his men to follow and scat. ter themselves in the wood. A keen suspicion was-at the bottom of his sudden 'impulse; and, with his pistol in his grasp, and his teeth set firmly, he darted away at a rate that showed the eager- ness of the blood-hound, on a warm scent. In a few moments the wood was covered With his people, and their cries and' lalloes answering to each other, turned the whole solitude into a scene of the most animated life. Accustomed to dr'ive the woods for deer, his party pursued the same habit in their present Quest, enclosing the largest extent of territory, anc gradually contract- ing their cordon at a given point. It was not long before a cer- tain degree of success seemed to justify tleir prsuit. A loud shout from Clymes, his lieutenant, drew the impetuous Dunbar to the place, and there he found the trooper, with two others of the party, firmly confronted by no less a person than Frederica Sabb. Thhe maiden was very pale, but her lips were closely compressed together, and her eyes lightened with an expression which was not so much indicative of anger as of courage and re- solve. As Dunbar rode up, she addressed him. "You are bravely employed, Captain Dunbar, in hunting with your soldiers a feeble woman." "In faith, my dear Miss Sabb, we looked for very different game," replied the leader, while a sardonic smile playedl over his visage. ' But perhllps you can put us in the way of finding it. You are surely not here alone?" -? -'TEN GUINEAS FOR HS EARS." -269 ("And why not? You are within hail of my father's dwelling." "But yours, surely, are not the tastes for lonely walks." "Alas! sir, these are scarcely the times for any other." , , Well, you must permit me to see that your walks are in- no danger from intrusion and insult. You will, no doubt, be con- founded to hear that scattered bands of the rebels are supposed to be, even now, closely harbored ini these swamps. That vil- lain, Coulter, is known to be among them. It is to hunt up these outlyers- to protect you from their annoyances, that I am here now." " We can readily dispense with these services, Captain Dunbar. I do not think that we are in any danger from such enemies, and in this neighborhood." It was some effort to say this calmly. "Nay, nay, you are quite too confident, my dear Miss Sabb. You know not the audacity of these rebels, and of this Richard Coulter in particular. But let me lay hands on him! You will hardly believe that he is scarce ten minutes gone from this spot. Did you not hear his horse?" "I heard no horses but your own." ("There it is! You walk the woods in such abstraction -that you hear not the danger, though immediately at your ears. But disperse yourselves in pursuit, my merry men; and whoso brings me the ears of this outlaw, shall have ten guineas, in the yellow gold itself. No continental sham! Remember, his ears, boys! We do not want any prisoners. The troublq of hanging them out of the way is ,always wisely saved by a sabre-cut or pistol- bullet. There, away!" The countenance of Frederica Sabb instantly assumed the keenest expression of alarm and anxiety. Her whole frame began to be agitated. She advanced to the side of the ruffianly soldier, and put her hand up appealingly. "Oh! Captain Dunbar, will you not please go home with me, you and your men? It is now our supper-hour, and the sun is near his setting. I pray you, do not think of scouring the woods at this late hour. ,Some of your people may be hurt." "No danger, my dear--all of them are famous fox-hunters." "There is no danger to us, believe me. There is nobody in the woods that we fear. Give yourself no trouble, nor your men." page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 27.0'. SOUTHWARD HO! "Oh, you mistake! there is surely some one in this wood who is either in your way or mine-though you heard no horse."', "Oh! now I recollect, sir, I did hear a horse, and it seemed to be going in that direction." Here the girl pointed below. The tory leader laughed out- right. "And so he went thither, did he? Well, my dear Miss Sabb, to please you, I will take up the hunt in the quarter directly opposite, since it is evident that your hearing just now is exceed- ingly deceptive. Boys, away! The back-track, hark you! , the old fox aims to double." "Oh, go not--go not!" she urged, passionately. "Will I not?" exclaimed the loyalist, gathering up his reins and backing his steed from her-" will I not? Away, Clymes, --away, boys; and remember, ten guineas for that hand which brings down the outlaw, Richard Coulter." Away they dashed into the forest, scattering themselves in the direction indicated by their leader. Frederica watched their departure with an anxious gaze, which disappeared from her eves the moment they were out of sight. In an instant all her agitation ceased. ( Now--thank Heaven for the thought!" she cried-" it will be quite dark before they find themselves at fault; and when they' think to begin the search below, he will be wholly beyond their reach. But how to warn him against the meeting, as agreed on. The coming of this man forbids that. I must see--I must con- trive it." And with these muttered words of half-meaning, she quietly made her way toward her father's dwelling, secure of the present safety of her lover from pursuit. She had very success- fully practised a very simple ruse for his escape. Her apprehen- sions were only but admirably simulated; and, in telling Dunbar that the fugitive had taken one direction, she naturally relied on his doubts of her truth, to make him seek the opposite. She had told him nothing but the truth, but she had told it as awfalse- hood; and it had all the effect which she desired. The chase of the toiy-captain proved unsuccessful. * * f * . SECRET PRACTICE. 271 CHAPTER - III. IT was quite dark before Captain Dunbar reached the cottage of Frederick Sabb, and he did so in no good humor. Disap- pointed of his prey, he now suspected the simple ruse by which he had been deluded, and his first salutation of Frederica Sabb, as he entered the cottage, was in no friendly humor. I There are certain birds, Miss Sabb," said he, '-who fly far from their young ones at the approach of the hunter, yet make such a fuss and outcry, as if the nest were close at hand and in danger. I see you have learned to practise after their'lessons." The girl involuntarily replied: "But, indeed, Captain Dun- bar, I heard the horse go below." "I see youunderstand me," was the answer. I feel assured that you told me only the truth, but you had first put me in the humor not to believe it. Another time I shall know how to understand you." Fredleica smiled, but did not seek to excuse herself, proceed- ing all the while in the preparations for supper. This had been got in readiness especially for the arrival of Dunbar and his party. He, with Clymes, his first officer, had become inmates of the dwelling; but his troopers had encamped without, under instructions of particular vigilance. Meanwhile, supper pro- ceeded, Sabb and his vrow being very heedful of all the ex- pressed or conjectured wants of their arbitrary guests. It was while the repast was in progress that Dunbar fancied that he beheld a considerable degree of uneasiness in the manner and countenance of Frederica. She ate nothing, and her mind and eyes seemed equally to wander. He suddenly addressed her, and she started as from a dream, at the sound of her own name, and answered confusedly. "Something's going wrong," said Dunbar, in a- whisper, to Clymes; " we can put all right, however, if we try." A significant look accompanied the whisper, and made the second officer observant. When supper was concluded, the captain of the loyalists showed signs of great weariness. He yawned and stretched himself amazingly, and without much regard to propriety. A like weariness soon after exhibited itself 9 page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 SOUTHWARD HO! in the second offieer. At length Dunbar said to Old Sabb, using a style of address to which the old man was familiar, "Well, Uncle, Fred, whenever my bed's ready, say the word. I'm monstrous like slaeep. I've ridden a matter of fifty miles to-day. In the saddle since four o'clock-and a hard saddle at that. I'm for sleep after supper." The old man, anxious to please his guest, whom he now began rather to fear than favor, gave him soon the intimation which he desired, and he was conducted to the small chambei, in a shed-room adjoining the main hall, which had been assigned him on all previous occasions. Old Sabb himself attended lis guest, while Lieutenant Clymes remained, for a while longer, the companion of the old lady and her daughter. Dunbar soon released his host from further attendance by closing the door upon him, after bowing him out with thanks. He had scarcely done- so, before he approached one of the two windows in the chamber. He knew the secrets of the room, and his plan of operations had been already determined upon. Concealing his light, so that his Shadow might riot appear against the window, he quietly unclosed the shutter so as to rouse no attention by the sound. A great fig-tree grew near it, the branches, in some degree, preventing the shutter from going quite back against the wall. This afforded him additional cover to his proceedings, and he cautiously passed through the opening, and lightly de- scended to the ground. The height was inconsiderable, and he was enabled, with a small stick, to close the window after him. In another moment he passed under the house, which stood on logs four or five feet high, after the manner of the country, and took a crouching attitude immediately behind the steps in the rear of the building. From these steps to the kitchen was an interval of fifteen or eighteen yards, while the barn and other outhouses lay at convenient distances beyond. Shade-trees were scattered about, and fruit-trees, chiefly peach, rendering the space between something like a covered way. We need not inquire how long our captain of loyalists continued his watch in this unpleasant position. Patience, however, is quite as nat- ural as necessary a quality to a temper at once passionate and vindictive. While he waited here, his lieutenant had left the house, scattered his men privily about the grounds, and lhad OLD BEOUGH. 273 himself stolen to a perch, which enabled him to command the front entrance to the cottage. The only two means of egress were thus effectually guarded. In a little time the household was completely quiet. Dunbar had heard the mutterings, from above, of the family prayers, in which it was no part of his profession to partake; and had heard the footsteps of the old couple as they passed through the passage-way to the chamber opposite the dining-hall A chamber adjoining theirs was occupied by Frederica Sabb; but he listened in vain for her footsteps in that quarter. His watch was one calculated to try his patience, but it was finally re- warded. He heard the movement of a light foot over head, and soon the door opened in the rear of the dwelling, and he distinguished Frederica as she descended, step by step, to the ground. She paused, looked up and around-her, and then, dart- ing from tree to tree,/she made her way to the kitchen, which opened at her touch. Here, in a whisper, she summoned to her side a negro- an old African who, we may at the same time mention, had been her frequent emissary before, on missions such as she now designed. Brough, as he was called,- was a faithful Ebo, who loved his young mistress, and had shown himself par- ticularly friendly to her afaires de caeur. She put a paper into his hands, and her directions employed few words. "Brough, you must set off for Mass Richard, and give him this. You must keep close, or the soldiers will catch you. I don't know where they've gone, but no doubt they're scattered in the woods. I have told him, in this paper, not to come, as he promised; but should, you lose the paper--" "I no guine lose'em," said Brough seemingly rather displeas- ed at the doubt, tacitly conveyed, of his carefulness. "Such -a thing might happen, Brough; nay, if you were to see any of the tories, you ought to destroy it. Hide it, tear it up, or swallow it, so that they won't be able to read it," "I yerry, misses," "Very good! And now, when you see Mrass Richard, tell him not to come. Tell him better go farther off, across the fork, and across the other river; for that Mat Dunbar means to push after him to-morrow, and has sworn to hunt him up before he stops. Tell him, I beg him, for my sake, though he may not z ^ 12^ page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] SOUTHWARD HO! be afraid of that bad man, to keep out of his way, at least until he gathers men enough to meet him on his own ground." The startling voice of Dunbar himself broke in upon the whis. pered conference. "Mat Dunbar is exceedingly obliged to you, Miss Sabb." "Ah!" shrieked the damsel-"Brough--fly, fly, Brough." But Brough had no chance for flight. "His wings are not sufficiently grown," cried the loyalist, with a brutal yell, as he grappled the old negro by the throat, and hurled him to the ground. In the next moment he possessed himself of the paper, wlich he read with evident disappoint- ment. By this time the sound of his bugle had summoned his lieutenant, with half a dozen of, his followers, and the kitchel was completely surrounded. "Miss Sabb, you had best retire to the dwelling. I owe you no favors, and will remember your avowed opinion, this night, of Mat Dunbar. You have spoken. It will be for me yet to speak. Lieutenant Clymes, see the young lady home." "But, sir, you will not maltreat the negro?" "Oh! no! I mean only that he shall obey your commands. He shall carry this note to your favorite, just as you designed, with this difference only, that I shall furnish him with an escort." "Ah!" Poor Frederica could say no more. Clymes was about to hurry her away, when a sense of her lover's danger gave her strength. "Brough," she cried to the negro; "you won't show where Mass Richard keeps?" "Never show dem tory not'in', missis." The close gripe of Dunbar's finger upon the throat of the ne- gro stifled his further speech. But Frederica was permitted to see no more. The hand of Clymes was laid upon her arm, and she went forward promptly to save herself from indignity. She little knew the scene that was to follow. CHAPTER IV. THE moment she had disappeared from the kitchen, the ne gro was taken forth by the captain of loyalists, who by this time had surrounded himself with nearly all his band. A single sol- dier had been stationed by Clymes between the house aid kitchen, in order to arrest the approach of any of the whites from the former to the scene where Brough was about to undergo a cer- tain ai nful ordeal. The stout old African, doggedly, with a single shake of his head, obeyed his captors, as they ordered him to a neighboring wood- a small copse of scrubby oaks, that lay between the settlement and the swamp forest along the river. Here, without delay, Brough was commanded, on pain of rope and hickory, to deliver up the secret of Richard Coulter's hiding- place. But the old fellow had promised to be faithful. He stubbornly refused to know or to reveal anything. The scene which followed is one that we do not care to describe in detail. The reader must imagine its particulars. Let it suffice that the poor old creature was haltered by the neck, and drawn up re- peatedly to the swinging limb of a tree, until the moral nature, feeble at least, and overawed by the terrors of the last mortal agony, surrendered in despair. Brough consented to conduct the party to the hiding-place of Richard Coulter. The savage nature of Matthew Dunbar was now in full exer- cise. "Boot and saddle!" was the cry; and, with the negro, both arms pinioned, and running at the head of one of the dragoon's horses, leashed to the stirrup-leather, and in constant danger, should he be found tripping, of a sudden sabre cut, the whole party, with two exceptions, made their way down the country, and under the guidance ththe African. Two of the soldiers had :$ been placed in watch upon the premises, with instructions, how- ever, to keep from sight, and not suffer their- proximity to be suspected. But the suspicion of such an arrangement in exist- ence was now natural enough to a mind, like that of Frederica Sabb, made wary by her recent misfortune. She was soon ap- prized of the departure of the loyalist troop. She was soon taught' to fear from the weakness of poor Brough. What was page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] SOUTIWARD H1O! to be done? Was her lover to be caught in the toils? Was she to become indirectly the agent of his destruction? She de- termined at all events to forego no effort by which to effect his escape. She was a girl of quick wit and prompt expedients. No longer exposing herself in her white cotton garments, she wrapped herself closely up in the great brown overcoat of her father, which buried her person from head to foot. She stole forth from the front entrance with cautious footsteps, employing tree and shrub for her shelter whenever they offered. -In tilis way she moved forward to a spot inclining to the river, but taking an upward route, one which she naturally concluded had been left without a guard. - But her objects required finally that she should change her course, and take the downward path, as soon as she could persuade herself that her progress was fairly under cover. Still she knew not but that she was seen, and perhaps followed, as well as watched. The spy might arrest her at the very moment when she was most hopeful of her object. How to guard against this danger? How to attain the necessary security? The question was no sooner formed than answered. Her way lay through a wilderness of leaves. The silent droppings from the trees for many years had accumulated around her, and their constant crinkling beneath her tread, drawing her notice to this source of fear, suggested to her the means of safety. There had not been a rain for many weeks. The earth was parched with thirst. The drought had driven the sap from shrub and plant; and just below, on the very route taken by the pursuing party, a natural meadow, a long, thin strip, the seat of a bayou or lake long since dried up, was cov- ered with a rank forest of broom-grass, parched and dried by the sun. The wind was fresh, and driving right below. To one familiar with the effect of firing the woods in a southern country under such circumstances, the idea which possessed the mind of our heroine was almost intuitive. She immediately stole back to the house, her eagerness finding wings, which, however, did not betray her caution. The sentinels of Dunbar kept easy watch, but she had not been unseen. The cool, deliberate tory had more than once fitted his finger to the trigger of his horse- man's pistol, as he beheld'the approach toward him of the shroud- ed figure. But he was not disposed tQ shbQw imself or to give the alarm before he could detect the objects of his unknown vis- iter. Her return to the house was not beheld. He had lost sight of her in the woods, and fancied her still to be in the neigh- borhood. Unable to recover his clue, he still maintained his position waiting events. It was not long before she reappeared upon the scene. He did not see the figure, until it crossed an open space, on his right, in the direction of the river. He saw it stoop to the earth, and he then bounded forward. His haste was injurious to his ob- jects. He fell over the prostrate trunk of a pine, which had f been thrown down for ranging timber only a few days before, and lay dark, with all its bark upon it, in the thick cover of the grass. His pistol went off in his fall, and before he could recov- er his feet, he was confounded to find himself threatened by a rapid rushing forest of flame, setting directly toward him. For a moment, the sudden blaze blinded him, and when he opened his eyes fully upon surrounding objects, he saw nothing human -nothing but the great dark shafts of pine, beneath which the fire was rushing with the roar and volume of swollen billows of the sea, breaking upon the shore which they promise to engulf. To save himself, to oppose fire to fire, or pass boldly through the flame where it burned most feebly, was now a first necessity; and we leave him to extricate himself as he may, while we fol- low the progress of Frederica Sabb. The flame which she had kindled in the dry grass and leaves, from the little old stable- lantern of the cottage, concealed beneath the great-coat of her father, had sufficed as a perfect cover to her movements. The i fire swept below, and in the direction of the tory sentinels. The advance of the one, she had perceived, in the moment when she - was communicating the blazing candle to the furze. She fan- cied she was shot when she heard the report of the pistol; but pressing her hand to her heart, the lantern still in her grasp, she darted headlong forward by one of the paths leading directly to the river. The fire was now raging over all the tract between her and the tory sentries. Soon, she descended from the pine ridge, and passed into the low flat land, strewed with gray cy- presses, with their thousand knees, or abutments. The swamp was nearly dry. She found her way along a well-known path to the river, and from beneath a clump of shrouding willows, page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278P SOUTHWARD HO! drew forth a little dug-out, the well-known cypress canoe of the country. This was a small egg shell-like structure, scarcely capable of holding two persons, which she was well accustomed to manage. At once she pushed boldly out into the broad stream, whose sweet rippling flow, a continuous and gentle murmur, was strangely broken by the intense roar and crackling of the fire as it swept the broad track of stubble, dry grass and leaves, which lay in its path. The lurid shadows sometimes passed over the surface of the stream, but naturally contributed to in- crease her shelter. With a prayer that was inaudible to herself, she invoked Heaven's mercy on her enterprise, as, with a strong arm, familiar in this exercise, she plied from side to side the lit- tle paddle which, with the favoring currents of the river, soon carried her down toward the bit of swamp forest where her lover found his refuge. The spot was well known to the maiden, though we must do her the justice to say she would never have sought for Richard Coulter in its depthS, but in an emergency like the present. It was known as "Bear Castle," a close thick- et covering a sort of promontory, three fourths of which was en- circled by the river, while the remaining quarter was a deep swamp, through which, at high water, a streamlet forced its way, converting the promontory into an islet. It was unfortunate for Coulter and his party that, at this season the river was much lower than usual, and the swamp offered no security on the land side, unless from the denseness of the forest vegetation. It might now be passed dry shod. The distance from "Bear Castle" to the farmstead of old Frederick Sabb, was, by land, but four or five miles. By water it was fully ten. If, therefore, the stream favored the progress of our heroine, the difference against Dunbar and his tories was more than equalled by the shorter route before him, and the start which he had made in advance of Frederica. But Broughl was no willing guide. He opposed frequent difficulties to the distasteful progress, and, as they neared the spot, Dunbar found it necessary to make a second application of the halter before the good old negro could be got forward. The love of life, the fear of death, proved superior to his loyalty. Brough could have borne any quantity of flogging-nay, he could, perhaps, have perishhed under the scourge without confes- ' BEAR CASTLE. 279 sing, but his courage failed, when the danger was that of being launched into eternity. A shorter process than the cord or swinging limb would not have found hirn so pliant. With a choking groan he promised to submit, and, with heartswollen almost to bursting, he led the route, off from the main road now, and through the sinuous little foot-paths which conducted to the place of refuge of out patriots. I It was -at this- point, having ascertained what space, lay be- tween him and his enemy, that Dunbar dismounted his troopers. The horses were left with a guard, while the rest of his men, under his personal lead, made their further progress on foot. His object was a surprise. Hle designed that the negro should give the " usual" signal with which he had been taught to ap- proach the camp of the fugitive; and this signal-a shrill whis- tle, three times sounded, with a certain measured pause between each utterance-was to be given when the swamp was entered over which the river;, in high stages of the water, made its breach. These instructions were all rigidly followed. -Poor Brough, with the rope about his neck, and the provost ready to fling the other end of the cord over the convenient arm of a huge sycamore under which they stood, was incapable- of resistance. But his strength was not equal to his submission. His whistle was but feebly sounded. His heart failed him and his voice; and a re- peated contraction of the cord, in the hands of the provost, was found essential to make him repeat the effort, and give more volume to his voice. In the meanwhile, Dunbar cautiously pushed his men forward. They passed through great hollows, where, at full water, the alligator wallowed; where the whoop- ing crane sought his prey at nightfall-; where the fox slept in safety, and the wild-cat in a favorite domain. "Bear Castle" was the fortress of many fugitives. Aged cypresses lay like the foundations of ancient walls along' the path, and great thorny vines, and flaming, flowery creepers flaunted their broad stream- ers in the faces of the midnight gropers through their solitudes. The route would have been almost impassable during the day for men on horseback; it was a tedious and toilsome progress by night for men on foot. But Dunbar, nothing doubting of the proximity of his enemy, went forward with an eagerness which only did not forget its caution. page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 SOUTHWARD HO!, CHAPTER V. THE little party of Richard Coulter consisted of four persons besides himself. It was, perhaps, an hour before this that he sat apart from the rest conversing with one of his companions. This was no other than Elijah Fields, the methodist preacher. He had become a volunteer chaplain among the patriots of his own precinct, and one who, like the bishop of Beauvais, did not scru. ple to wield the weapons of mortal warfare as well as those of the church. It is true he was not ostentatious in the manner of the performance; and this, perhaps, somewhat increases its mer- it. He was the man for an emergency, forgetting his prayers when the necessity for blows was pressing, and duly remember- ing his prayers when the strugge was no longer doubtful. Yet Elijah Fields was no hypocrite He was a true, strong souled man, with blood, will, energies tnd courage, as well as devotion, and a strong passion for the soilwhich gave him birth. In plain terms, he was the patriot as well as the preacher, and his man. hood was required for both vocations. To him, Richard Coulter, now a captain among the partisans of Sumter, had unfolded the narrative of his escape from Dun' bar. They had taken their evening meal; their three compan- ions were busy with their arms and horses, grouped together in the centre of the camp. Our two principal persons occupied a little headland on the edge of the river, looking up the stream. They were engaged in certain estimates with regard to the num- ber of recruits expected daily, by means of which Coulter was in hopes to turn the tables on his rival; becoming the hunter instead of the fugitive. We need not go over the grounds of their discussion, and refer to the general progress of events throughout the state. Enough to say that the Continental army. defeated under Gates, was in course of reorganization, and re- approaching under Greene; that Marion had been receltly ac- tive and successful below; and that Sumter, defeated by Tarle- ton at Fishing creek, was rapidly recruiting his force at the foot of the mountains. Richard Coulter had not been utterly unsuc- cessful in the same business along the Edisto. A rendezvous of his recruits was appointed to take place on the ensuing Satur- BROUGH'S SIGNIAL. 281 day; and, at this ren ezvous, it was hoped that he would find at least thirty stout fellows in attendance. But we anticipate. It was while in the discussion of these subjects that the eyes of Coulter, still looking in the direction of his heart, were attracted by the sudden blaze which swept the forests, and dyed in lurid splendor the very face of heaven. It had been the purpose of Frederica Sabb, in setting fire to the undergrowth, not only to shelter her own progress, but in this way to warn her lover of his danger. But the effect was to alarm him for her safety rath- er than his own. "That fire is at Sabb's place," was his first remark. i"It looks like it," was the reply of the preacher. "Can it be that Dunbar has burnt the old man's dwelling ." "1 Hardly!" "He is not too good for it, or for anything monstrous. He has burnt others--old Rumph's-Fergusonl's, and many more." "Yes! but he prefers to own, and not destroy old Sabb's. As long as he has a hope of getting Frederica, le ewill scarcely com- mit such an outrage." "But if she has refused him-if she answers him as she feels, scornfully--" "Even then he will prefer to punish in a different way. He will rather choose to take the place by confiscation than burn it. He has never put that fire, or it is not at Sabb's, but this side of it, or beyond it." "It may be the act of some drunken trooper. At all events, it requires that we should be on the look-out. I will scout it for a while and see what the mischief is. Do you, meanwhile, keep everything ready for a start." "That fire will never reach us." "A Not with this wind, perhaps; but the enemy may. He evi- dently beat the woods after my heels this evening, and may be here to-norrow, on my track. We must be prepared. Keep the horses saddled and bitted, and your ears open for any sum- mons. Ha! by heavens, that is Brough's signal-now." "Is it Brough's? If so, it is scarcely from Brough in a healthy state. The old fellow must have caught cold going to and fro at all hours in the se"rvice of Cupid." page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 SOUT'HWARD HO! Our preacher was disposed to be merry at-the expense of our lover. "Yes, it is Brough's signal, but feeble, as if the old fellow was really sick. He has probably passed through this fire, and has been choked with the smoke. But he must have an answer." And, eager to hear from his beloved one, our hero gave his whistle in reply, and moved forward in the direction of the isth- mus. The preacher, meanwhile, went toward the camp, quite prompt in the performance of the duties assigned him. "He answers," muttered the tory captain; "the rebels are delivered to our hands!" And his preparations were sternly prosecuted to make a satisfactory finish to the adventure of the night. He, too, it must be remarked, though somewhat wonder- ing at the blazing forest behind him, never for a moment divined the real origin of the conflagration. He ascribed it to acci- dent, and, possibly, to the carelessness of one of the troopers whom he left as sentinels. With an internal resolution to make the fellow, if offending, familiar with the halberds, he pushed forward, as we have seen, till reachlling the swamp; while the fire, obeying the course of the wind, swept away to the right of the path kept by the pursuing party, leaving them entirely with- out cause of apprehension from this quarter. The plans of Dunbar, for penetrating the place of Coulter's refuge, were as judicious as they could be made under the cir- cumstances. Having brought the troopers to the verge of the encampment, the negro was fastened to a tree by the same rope which had so frequently threatened his neck. The tories pushed forward, each with pistol cocked and ready in the grasp. They had scattered themselves abroad, so as to form a front suffiicint to cover, at moderate intervals, the space across the isthmus. But, with the withdrawal of the immediate danger, Broug!h'S courage returned to him; and, to the furious rage and discomfi- ture of Dunbar, the old negro set up on a sudden a most bois- terous African howl--such a song as the Ebo cheers himself with when in the doubtful neighborhood of a jungle which may hide the lion or the tiger. The sound re-echoed through the swamp, and startled, with a keen suspicion, not only our captain of patriots, but -the preacher and his associates. Brough's voice THE RANDOM BULLET. 283 was well known to them all; but that Brough should use it after' such a fashion was quite as unexpected to them as to Dunbar and his tories. One of the latter immediately dropped back, in- tending to knock the negro regularly on the head; and, doubt- less, such would have been the fate of the fellow, had it not been for the progress of events which called him elsewhere. Richard Coulter had pressed"'forward at double quick time as he heard the wild chant of the African, and, being familiar with the re- gion, it occupied but little space to enable him to reach the line across which the party of Dunbar was slowly making its way. Hearing but a single footfall, and obtaining a glimpse of a single figure only, Coulter repeated his whistle. He was answered with a pistol shot--another and another followed; and he had time only to wind his bugle, giving the 'signal of flight to his comrades, when he felt a sudden sickness at his heart, and a faintness which only did not affect his judgment. He could still feel his danger, and his strength sufficed to enable him to roll himself close beside the massive trunk of the cypress, upon which he had unhappily been perched when his whistle drew the fire upon him of several of the approaching party. Scarcely had he thus covered himself from a random search when he sunk into insensibility. Meanwhile, "Bear Castle," rang with the signals of alarm and assault. At the first sound of danger, Elijah Fields dashed for- ward in the direction which Coulter had taken. But the pri- vate signal whichl he sounded for the other was unanswered, and the assailants were now breaking through the swamp, and were to be heard onif every hand. To retreat, to rally his comrades, to mount their steeds, dash into the river and take the stream, was all the work of an instant. From the middle of tibe sweep- ing current the shouts of hate and defiance came to the ears of the tories as they broke from the copse and appeared on the banks of the river. A momentary glimpse of the dark bulk of one or more steeds as they whirled round an interposing head- land, drew from them the remaining -bullets in their- pistols, but without success; and, ignorant of the effect of a random bullet upon the very person whom, of all, he most desired to destroy, Mat Dunbar felt himself once more foiled in a pursuit whichl he had this time undertaken with every earnest of success. page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 SOUTHWARD HO! "( That d-- d African!" was his exclamation, "But he shall hang for it now, though he never hung before." With this pious resolution, having, with torches, made such an exploration of Bear Castle as left him in no doubt that all the fugitives had escaped, our tory captain' called his squad together, and commenced the return. The fatigue of passing through the dry swamp on their backward route was mlchl greater than when they entered it. They were then full of excitement--full of that rapture of the strife which needs not even the feeling of hate and revenge to make it grateful to an eager and impulsive temper. Now, they were baffled; the ex- citement was at an end; and, with the feeling of perfect disap. pointment came the full appreciation of all the toils and exertions they had undergone. They had but one immediate consolation in reserve, and--that was the hanging of Brough, which Dunbar promised them. The howl of the African had defeated their enterprise. The African must howl no longer. Bent on mnr- der, they hastened to the tree where they had left him bound, only to meet with a new disappointment. The African was there no longer. CHAPTER VI. IT would be difficult to describe the rage and fury of our cap- tain of loyalists when he made this discovery. The reader will imagine it all. But what was to be done?. Was the prey to be entirely lost? And by what-agency had Brough made his escape? He had been securely fastened, it was thought, and in such a way as seemed to render it impossible that he should have been extricated from his bonds without the assistance of another. This conjecture led to a renewal of the search. The rope which fastenedl the negro lay on the ground, severed, as by a knife, in several places. Now, Brough could not use his hands. If he could, there would have been no sort of necessity for using his knife. Clearly, he had found succor from another agency than his own. Once more our loyalists darted into thle recesses of Bear Castle; their torches were to be seen flaring in every part of that dense patch of swamp-forest; as -they waved them over every spot which seemed to promise conceal- ment to the fugitive. THE NIGHT-VOYAGE. 285 "Hark.!" cried Dunbar, whose ears were quickened by eager and baffled passions. "Hark! I hear the dip of a paddle." He was right. They darted forth from the woods, and when they reached the river's edge, they had a glimpse of a small dark object, which they readily conceived to be a canoe, just rounding one of the projections of the shore and going out of sight, full a hundred yards below. Here was another mystery. The ramifications of Bear Castle seemed numerous; and, mys- tified as well as mortified, Dunbar, after a tedious delay and a search fruitlessly renewed, took up the line of march back for old Sabb's cottage, inly resolved to bring the fair Frederica to terms, or, in some way, to make her pay the penalty for his disappoint- ments of the night. - He little dreamed how much she had to do with them, or that her hand had fired the forest-grasses, whose wild and terrific blaze had first excited the apprehensions and compelled the caution of the fugitives. It is for us to show what further agency she exercised in this nocturnal- history. We left her alone, in her little dug-out, paddling or drifting down the river with the stream. She pursued this progress with proper caution. In approaching the headlands around which the river swept, on that side which was occupied by Dun- bar, she suspended the strokes of her paddle, leaving her silent boat to the direction of the currents. The night was clear and beautiful and the river undefaced by shadow, except when the current bore her beneath the overhanging willows which grew numerously along the margin, or when the winds flung great masses of smoke from the burning woods across its bright, smooth surface. With these exceptions, the stream shone in a light not less clear and beautiful because vague and capricious. Moonlight and starlight seem to make a special atmosphere for youth, and the heart which' loves, even when most troubled with anxieties for the beloved one, never, at such a season, proves- wholly insensible to the soft, seductive influences of such an atmosphere. Our Frederica was not the heroine of convention. She had never imbibed' romance from books; but she had affections out of which books might be written, filled with all those qualities; at once strong and tender, which make the heroine in the mo- ment of emergency. Her heart softened as, seated in the cen- tre of her little vessel, she watched the soft light upon ,the page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 SO UTHWARD HO! wave, or beheld it dripping, in bright, light'droplets, like fairy glimpses, through the overhanging foliage. Of fear-fear for herself--she had no feeling. Her apprehensions were all for Richard Coulter, and her anxieties increased as she approached the celebrated promontory and swamp-forest, known to this day upon the river as "Bear Castle." She might be too late. The captain of the loyalists had the start of her, and her only ?hope lay in the difficulties by which he must be delayed, going through a blind forest and under imperfect guidance--for she still had large hopes of Brough's fidelity. She was too late- too late for her purpose; which had been to forewarn her lover in season for his escape. She was drifting toward the spot where the river, at full seasons, made across the low neck by which the promontory of "Bear Castle" was united with the main land. Her paddle no longer dipped the water, but was employed solely to protect her from the overhanging branches beneath which she now prepared to steer. It was at her ap- proach to this point that she was suddenly roused to apprehen- sion by the ominous warning chant set up by the African. "Poor Brough! what can they be doing with him?" was her question to herself. But the next moment she discovered that this howl was meant to be a hymn; and the peculiar volume which the negro gave to his utterance, led her to divine its im- port. There was little time allowed her for reflection. A moment after, and just when her boat was abreast of the bayou which Dunbar and his men were required to cross in penetrating the place of refuge, she heard the sudden pistol shooting under which Coulter had fallen. With a heart full of terror, trembling with anxiety and fear, Frederica had the strength of will to remain quiet for the present. Seizing upon an overhanging bough, she lay concealed within the shadow of the copse until the loyalists had rushed across the bayou, and were busy, with lighted torches, exploring the thickets.- She had heard the bugle of Coulter sounded as le was about to fall, after being wounded, and her quick consciousness readily enabled her to recognise it as her lover's. But she had heard no movement afterward in the quar- ter from which came the blast, and could not conceive that he should have made his way to join his comrades in the space of time allowed between that and the moment when she heard \ - o 'THE BRAVE, GIRL. 287 them taking to the river with their horses. This difficulty led to new fears, which were agonizing enough, but not of a sort to make her forgetful of what was due to the person whom she came to save. She waited only until the torrent had passed the straits-until the bayou was silent-when she fastened her little boat to the willows which completely enveloped her, and boldly stepped upon the land. With a rare instinct which proved how deeply her heart had, interested itself in the operations of her senses, she moved directly to the spot whence she had heard the bugle-note of her lover. The-place was not far distant from the point where she had been in lurking. Her progress was ar- rested by the prostrate trunk of a great cypress, which the hur- ricane might have cast down some fifty years before. It was with some difficulty that she scrambled over it ; but while cros- sing it she heard a faint murmur, like the voice of one in pain, laboring to speak or cry aloud. Her heart misgave her. She hurried to the spot. Again the murmur - now certainly a moan. It is at her feet, but on the opposite side of the cypress, which she again crosses. The place was very dark, and in the moment when, from loss of blood, he was losing consciousness, Richard Coulter had carefully crawled close to the cypress, whose bulk, in this way, effectually covered him from passing footsteps. She found him, still warm, the flow of blood arrested, and his con- sciousness returning. "Richard! it is me- Frederica!" He only sighed. It required but an instant for reflection on . the part of the damsel; and rising from the place where she had crouched beside him, she darted away to the upper grounds where Brough still continued to pour out his dismal ejaculations-now of psalms, and song, and now of mere whoop, halloo and im- precation. A full heart and a light foot make quick-progress wlen they go together. It was necessary that Frederica should lose no time. She had every reason to suppose that, failing to secure their prey, the tories would suffer no delay in the thicket. Fortunately, the continued cries of Brough left her at no time doubtful of his where-abouts. She soon found him, fastened to his tree, in a state sufficiently uncomfortable for one whose am- bition did not at allincline him to martyrdom of any sort. Yet martyrdom was now his fear. His first impulses, which had given page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 SOUTHWARD HO! the alarm to the patriots, were succeeded by feelings of no pleas. ant character. He had alreadylhad a taste of Dunbar's punish. ments, and he dreaded still worse at his hands. The feeling which had changed his howl of warning into one of lament- his whoop into a psalm--was one accordingly of preparation. He was preparing himself, as well as he could, after his African fashion, for the short cord and the sudden shrift, from which he had already so narrowly escaped. Nothing could exceed the fellow's rejoicing as he became aware of the character of his new visiter. "Oh, Missis! Da's you? Loose 'em! Cut you' nigger loose! Le"erm run! Sich a run! you nebber see de like! I take dese woods, dis yer night, Mat Dunbar nebber see. me 'gen long as he lib! Ha! ha! Cut! cut, missis! cut quick! de rope is work into my berry bones!" "But- I have no knife, [Brough." "No knife! Da's wha' woman good for! No hab knife! Take you teet', misses-gnaw de rope. Psho! wha' I tell you? Stop! Put you' han' in dis yer pocket-you fin' knife, if I no loss em in de run." The knife was found, the rope cut, the negro free, all in much less time than we have taken for the narration; and, hlurrying the African with her, Frederica was soon again beside the person of her lover., To assist Brough in taking him upon his back, to help sustain the still partially insensible man in this position in- til he could be carried to the boat, was a work of quick resolve, which required, however, considerable time for performance. But patience and courage, when sustained by love, become wonder- ful powers; and Richard Coulter, whose moans increased with his increasing sensibility, was finally laid down in the bottom of the dug-out, his head resting in the lap of Frederica. The boat could hold no more. The faithful Brough, pushing her out into the stream, with his hand still resting on stern or gunwale, swaim along with her, as she quietly floated with the currents. We have seen the narrow escape which the little vessel had, as she rounded- the headland below, just as Dunbar came down upon the beach. Iad lhe been there when the canoe first began to round the point, it would lhave been easy to lhave captured the whole party; since the stream, somewhat narrow at this place, "OVE IN THE SWAMP. 289 set in for the shore which the tories occupied, and a stout swim- mer might have easily drawn the little argosy upon the banks. CHAPTER VII. To one familar with the dense swamps that skirt the rivers through the alluvial bottom lands of the South, there will be no difficulty in com prehending the fact that a fugitive may find temporary security within half a mile of his enemy, even where 1his pursuers hunt for him in numbers. Thus it happened that, in taking to the river, our little corporal's guard of patriots, un- der the direction of Elijah Fields, the worthy preacher, swim- ming their horses round a point of land on the opposite shore, sought shelter but a little distance below "Bear island," in a similar tract of swamp and forest, and almost within rifleshot of their late retreat. They had no fear that their enemy would attempt, at that late hour, and after the long fatigue of their recent march and search, to cross the river in pursuit of them; and had they been wild enough to do so, it was equally easy to hide from search, or to fly from pursuit. Dunbar felt all this as sensibly as the fugitives; and, with the conviction of his entire failure at- Bear Castle," he gave up the game for the present. Meanwhile, the little bark of Frederica Sabb made its way down the river. She made her calculations on a just estimate of the probabilities in the situation of Coulter's party, and was not de- ceived. As the boat swept over to the opposite shore, after rounding the point of land that lay between it and 'Bear Cas- tle," it was hailed by Fields, for whom Brough had ready answer. Some delay, the fruit of a proper caution, took place before our fugitives were properly sensible of the character of the stranger; but the result was, that, with returning consciousness, Richard Coultei found himself once more in safety with his friends; and, a still more precious satisfaction,' attended by the woman of his heart. It wa's not long before all: the adventures of Frederica were in his possession, anmi his spirit became newly strengthened. for conflict and endurance by such proofs of a more than feminine attachment which: the brave young girl had shown. Let us leave the little party for a season, while we retun with the captain of loyalists to the farmstead of old Frederick Sabb. 13 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 SOUTHWARD HO! Here Mat Dunbar had again taken up his quarters as before, but with a difference. Thoroughly enraged at his disappointment, and at the discovery that Frederica had disappeared-a fact which produced as much disquiet in the minds of her parents, as vexation to her tory lover; and easily guessing at all of the steps which she had taken, and of her object; he no longer imposed any restraints upon his native brutality of temper, which, while he had any hope of winning her affections, he had been at some pains to do. 'His present policy seemed to be to influence her fears. To reach her heart, or force- her inclinations, through the dangers of her parents, was now his object. Unfortunately, the lax discipline of the British authority, in Carolina particularly, in behalf of their own followers, enabled him to do much toward this object, and without peril to himself. He had anticipated the position in which he now found himself, and had provided against it. He had obtained from Col. Nesbitt Balfour, the mil. itary commandant of Charleston, a grant of the entire farmstead of old: Sabb-the non-committalism of the old Dutchman never having enabled him to satisfy the British authorities that he was a person deserving their protection. Of the services and loyalty of Dunbar, on the contrary, they were in possession of daily evi- dence. It was with indescribable consternation that old Sabb looked upon the massive parchment - sealed, signed, and made authoritative by stately phrases and mysterious words, of the pur- port of which he could only conjecture- with which the fierce Dunbar denounced him as a traitor" to the king, and expelled him from his own freehold. "Oh! mein Gott!" was his exclamation. "And did the goot. king Tshorge make dat baber? And has de goot king Tshorge take away my grants 2" The only answer to this pitiful appeal, vouchsafel him by the captain of loyalists, was a brutal oath, as he smote the document fiercely with his hand and forbade all further inquiry. It may ' have been with some regard to the probability of his future mar- riage-in spite of all-with the old Dutchman's daughter, that he permitted him, with his wife, to occupy an old log-house which stood upon the estate. He established himself within the 'dwelling-house, which he Occupied as a garrisoned post with all his soldiers. Here he ruled as a sovereign. The proceeds of AFFAIRS AT THE FARMSTEAD. 291 tile farm were yielded to him, the miserable pittance excepted which he suffered to go to the support of the old couple. Sabb had a few slaves, who were now taught to recognise Dunbar as their master. They did not serve him long. Three of them cscaped to the woods the night succeeding the tory's usurpation, and but two remained in lhis keeping, rather, perhaps, through the vigilance of his sentinels, and their own fears, than because of any love whichl they entertained for their new custodian. Both of these were women, and one of them no less a person, than the consort of Broughl, the African. Mrs. Brough or, as we had better call her--she will understand us better - Minzy (the diminutive of Jemima), was particularly watched, as through her it was hoped to get some clue to her husband, whose treachery, it was the bitter resolution of our tory captain to punish, as soon as he had the power, with exemplary tortures. Brough'had some suspicions of his design, which it was no part of his policy to assist; but this did not discourage him from an adventure which brought him again very nearly into contact with his enemy. He determined to visit his wife by stealth, relying upon his knowl- edge of the woods, his own caution, and the thousand little arts with vllich his race usually takes advantage of the carelessness, the indifference, or the ignorance of its superior. His wife, he well knew, conscious of his straits, would afford him assistance in various ways. He succeeded in seeing her just before the dawn of day one morning, and from her discovered the whole situation of affairs at the farmstead. This came to him with many exaggerations; particularly when rfVimy described the treatment to which old Sabb and his wife had been subjected. His tale did not lose any of its facts or dimensions, when carried by Brough to the fugitives in the swamp forests' of Edisto. The news was of a character to overwhelm the affectionate and dutiful heart of Frederica Sabb. She instantly felt the necessity before her, and prepared herself to encounter it. Nine days and nights had she spent in the forest retreats of her lover. ,Every tender- ness and forbearance had been shown her. Nothing had taken place to outrage the delicacy of the female heart; and pure thoughts in her mind hadc kept her free from any annoying doubts about the propriety of her situation. A leafy screen from the sun, a sylvan bower, of broad branches and thickly-thatched page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 SOUTHWARD, HO! leaves, had been prepared for her couch at night; and, in one contiguous, lay her wounded lover. His situation had amply reconciled her to her own. His wound was neither deep nor dangerous. He had bled copiously, and swooned rather in con. sequence of loss of blood than from the severity of his pains. But the hands of Elijah Field-a rough but not wholly ineXpe- rienced surgeon--had bound up his liurts; which were thus per- mitted to heal from the first intention. The patient was not slow to improve, though so precious sweet had been his attendance- Frederica herself, like the damsels of the feudal ages, assisting to dress his wound, and so tender him with sweetest nurslng, that he felt almost sorry at the improvement which, while lessening his cares, lessened her anxieties. Our space will not suffer us to dwell upon the delicious scenes of peace and love which the twro enjoyed together in these few brief days of mutual dependence. They comprised an age of immeasurable felicity, and brought the two together in bonds of sympathy, which, however large had been their love before, now rendered the passion more than ever at home and triumphant in their mutual hearts. But, with the tidings of the situation in whh -her parents suffered, and the evident improvement of her lover, the maiden found it necessary to depart from her place of hiding--that sweet security of shade, such as the fancy of youth always dreams of, but which it is the lot of very few to realize. She took her resolution promptly. "I must leave you, Richard. -I must go home to my poor mother, now that she is homeless." He would, if lie could, have dissuaded her from venturing lher- self within the reach of one so reckless and brutal as Mat Dunl bar. But his sense of right seconded her resolution, and though he expressed doubts and misgivings, and betrayed his uneasiness and anxiety, he had no arguments to offer against her purpose. She heard him with a sweet smile, and when he had finished, she said: "But I will give you one security, dear Richard, before we part, if you will suffer me. You- would have married me more than a year ago; but as I knew my father's situation, his pref- erences, and his dangers, T refused to do so until the war was over. It has not helped him that I refused you then. I don't P , . MARRIAGE AND CAPTIVITY. 293 see that it will hurt him if I marry you now; and there is some- thing in the life we have spent together the last few days, that tells me we ought to be married, Richard." This was spoken with the sweetest possible blush upon lher cheeks. ' Do you consent, then, dear Frederica?" demanded the en- raptured lover. She put her hand into his own; he carried it to his lips, then drew her down to him where he lay upon his leafy couch, and repeated the same liberty with hers. His shout, in another moment, summoned Elijah Field to his side. The business, in prospect was soon explained. Our good parson readily colcur- red in the propriety of the proceeding. ,The inhabitants of the little camp of refuge were soon brought together, Brough placing himself directly behind his young mistress. The white teeth of the old African grinned his approbation; the favoring skies looked down upon it, soft in the dreamy twilight of the evening sunset; and there, in the natural temple of the forest-none surely ever prouder or more appropriate--with columns of gi- gantic pine and cypress, and a Gothic luxuriance of vine, and leaf, and flower, wrapping shaft, and cornice, capital and shrine, our two lovers were united before God-our excellent preaclier never having a more solemn or grateful sense of the ceremony, and never having been more sweetly impressive in his manner of performing it. It did not impair the validity of the marriage that Brough honored it, as he would probably have done his own, by dancing Juba, for a full hour after it was over, to his own satisfaction at least; anld in the absence of all other witnes- ses. Perhaps, of all his little world, there were none whom the old negro loved quite so much, white or black, as his young mistress and lheryouthful husbanld. With the midnight, Fred- erica left the camp of refuge under the- conduct of Elijah Fields. They departed in the boat, the preacher pulling up stream- no easy work against a current of four knots -with a vigorous arm, which, after a tedious space, brought him to the landing opposite-old Sabb's farm. Here Frederica landed, and the dawn of day found her standing in front of the old log-house which had been assigned ler parents, and a captive in the strict custody of the- tory sentries. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 SOUTHWARBD nO! ' ; . CHAPTER V1II. IT was with feelings of a tumultuous satisfaction that Mat Dun- bar found himself in possessipn of this new prize. He at once conceived a new sense of his power, and prepared to avail him- self of all his advantages. But we must suffer .our friend Brough to become the narrator of this portion of our history. Anxious about events, Coulter persuaded the old Afirican, nothing loath, to set forth on a scouting expedition to the farmstead. Following his former footsteps, which had been hitlerto planted in seen. rity, the negro made his way, an hour' before daylight, toward the cabin in which Mimy, and her companion Lizzy, , yonng girl of sixteen, were housed. They, too, had been compelled to change their abodes under the tory usurpation;- and now occuI- pied an ancient tenement of logs, which, in its time, liad gone throughl a curious history. It had first been a hog-pen, next a hunter's lodge; had stabled lhorses, and had been made a tem- porary fortress during Indian warfare. It was amnple in its dimensions-mnade of heavy cypresses; but the clay which had filled its interstices had fallenI out; of the cllimney nothing re- mained but the fireplace; and one end of the cabin, from thle decay of two or more of its logs, lad taken such an inclination downward, as to leave the security which it offered of ex- ceedingly dubious value. 'The negro does not mucll regard these things, however, and old lMiny e joyed her sleeps here quite as well as at her more comfortable kitchen. The place, indeed, possessed some advantages tnder the peculiar circum- stances. It stood on the edge of a limestone sink-hole-one of those wondelrful natural cavities with which the country abounds. This was girdled by cypresses and pines, acnd, fortunately for Broughl, at this moment, when a, droughlt prevailed, was entirely free from water. A negro loves anything, perhaps, better than water-he would sooner batlhe in the sun than in the stream, and would rather wade through a forest fthl of snakes than suffuse his epidermis tinnecessarily withl an element which no one will insist was made for his uses. It was important that the sinlk- hole near Mimy's abode should be dry at'this juncture, for it was here that Brough foulnd his hiding-place. He could apploach this place under cover of the woods. There was an awkward BROUGH'S ESPIONAGE. 295 interval of twelve or fifteen feet, it is true, between this place ad the hovel, Tlwhich the inmates had stripped of all its growth in the search for fuel; but a dusky form, on a duslky night, care- fill to crawl over the space, might easily escape the casual glance of a diowsy sentinel; -and Brough was partisan enough to know that the best caution implies occasional exposure. He was not unwilling to incur the risk., We must not detail his progress. Enough that, by dint of crouching, crawling, creep- in m rollinw, and sliding, he had contrived to bury himself, at lentlh under the wigwam, occupying the space, in part, of a de- cayed log connected with the clayed chimney, and fitting him- self to the space inll the log, from which he had scratched out the rotten fragments, as snugly as if hle were a part of it. Thus, with his head toward the fire,looking within-his body hidden from those within by the undecayed portions of the timber-with Miimy on his side of the fireplace, squlat upon the hearth, and busy with the hominy pot; Brough might carry on the most in- teresting conversation in the world, in whispers, and occasionally be fed firom the spoon of his spouse, or drink from the calabash, without any innocent person suspecting his propinquity. We will suppose him thus quietly ensconced, his old woman beside him, and deeply buried in the domestic histories which he camhe to hear. We must suppose all the preliminaries to be despatched already, which, in the case of an African dramatis persone, are usually wonderfully minute and copious. "And dis nigger tory, he's maussa yer for true " "I tell you, Brough, he's desp'r't bad! He tek' ebbry ting for he'scf! Hie sway [swears] ebbry ting for him-we nigger, de plantation, boss, hog, hominlly; and cf young misses no marry umn-you yeddy? [hear]--he will hang ole maussa up to de sapling, samne as you hang scarecrow in de cornfiel' "' Brough groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. "Wha' for do, Brough q" "Who gwine say? I 'spec le mus fighlt for um yet. Mass Dick no chicken! He gwine fight like de debbil, soon he get strong, 'fore dis ting gwine happen. He hab sodger, and more for come. Parson 'Lijah gwine fight too-and dis nigger gwine fight, sooner dan dis tory ride, whip and spur, ober we plantation." page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 SOUTHWARD HO! "Why, wha' you tink dese tory say to me, Brough?" "Wha' he say, woman?" "He say he gwine gib me hundred lash ef I no get lie breck. kus [breakfast] by day peep in de morning!" "De tory wha' put hick'ry 'pon you' back, chicken, he hab answer to Brough." "You gwine fight for me, Brough?" "Wid gun and bagnet, my chicken." "Alh, I blieb you, Brough; you was always lub me wid yon' sperrit!" "Enty you blieb? You will see some day! You got 'noder piece of bacon in de pot, Mimy 1 Dis lom'ny 'mos' too dry in de t'roat." "Leetle piece." "GPi me." His creature wants were accordingly supplied. We must not forget that the dialogue was carried on in the intervals in which he paused from eating the supper which, in anticipation of his coming, the old woman had provided. Then followed the reca- pitulation of the narrative; details being furnished which showed that Dunbar, desperate from opposition to his will, had tlrown off the restraints of social fear and decency, and was urging his measures against old Sabb and his daughter with tyrannical se- verity. He had:given the old man a sufficient taste of his power, enough to make him dread the exercise of what remained. This rendered him now, what he had never been before, the advocate himself with his daughter in behalf of the loyalist. Sabb's vir. tue was not of a self-sacrificing nature. He was not a bad man --was rather what the world esteems a good one. He was just, as well as he knew to be, in his dealings with a neighbor; was ,U wanting in that charity which, having first ascertained its rn excess of goods, gives a certain proportion to the needy; he had offerings for the church, and solicited its prayers. But he had not the courage and strength of character to be virtuous in spite of circumstances. In plain language, he valued the se- curities and enjoyments of his homestead, even at the peril of his daughter's happiness. He urged, with tears and reproaches, that soon became vehement, the suit of Dunbar, as if it had been his own; and even his good 'brow Minnicker Sabb, overwhelmed GREAT OD0D,. 297 by his afflictions and her own, joined somewhat in his entreaty. We may imagine poor Frederica's afflictions. She had not dared to reveal to either the secret of her marriage with Coulter. She now dreaded its discovery, in regard to the probable effect which it might have upon Dunbar. What limit would there be to his fury and brutality, should the fact become known to him? How measure his rage -how meet its excesses? She trembled as she reflected upon the possibility of -his making the discovery;, and, while inwardly swearing eternal fidelity to her husband, she resolved still to keep her secret close from all, looking to the chapter of providential events for that hope which she had not the power to draw from anything within human- probability. Her eyes naturally turned to her husband, first of all mortal agents. But she had no voice which could reach him-and what was his condition? She conjectured the visits of old Brough to his spouse, but with these she was prevented from all secret conference. Her hope was, that Mimy, seeing and hear- ing for herself, would duly report to the African; and he, she well knew, would keep nothing from her husband. We have witnessed the conference between this venerable couple. The result corresponded with the anticipations of Frederica. Brough hurried back with his gloomy tidings to the place of hiding in the swamp; and Coulter, still suffering somewhat from his wound, and conscious of the inadequate force at his control, for the rescue of his wife and people, was almost maddened by the intelligence. He looked around upon his party,- now increased to seven men, not including the parson. But Elijah Fields was a host in himself. The men were also true and capable-good riflemen, good scouts, and as fearless as they were faithful. The troop under Dunbar consisted of eighteen men, all well armed and mounted. The odds were great, but the despair of Richard Coulter was prepared to overlook all inequalities. Nor was Fields disposed to discourage him. "There is no hope but in ourselves, Elijah," was the remark of Coulter. "Truly, and in God-!" was the reply. " e must make the effort." "Verily, we must." "We have seven men, not counting yourself, Elijah.?' 1 2 page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 SOUTHWARD 9HO! "I too am a man, Richard," said the other, calmly. 'A good man and a brave; do I not know it, Elijah? But : we should not expose you on ordinary occasions." ' "This is no ordinary occasion, Richard." "True, true! And you propose to go with us, Elijah?" No, Richlard! I will go before you. I must go to prevent outrage. I must show to Dunbar that Frederica is your wiife. It is my duty to testify in this proceeding. I am the first wit- niess. "But- your peril, Elijah! He will become furious as a wild beast when he hears. He will proceed to the most desperate excesses." "It will be for you to interpose at the proper moment. You must be at hand. As for me, I doubt if there will be much if any peril. I will go unarmed. Dunbar, while lle knows tlat I am with you, does not know that I have ever lifted weapon in the cause. He will probably respect my profession. At all events, I must interpose and save 11him from a great sin, and a cruel and useless violence. When he knows that Frederica is irrevocably married, he will probably giye up the pursuit. If Brough's intelligence be true, he must know it now or never." "Be it so," said Coulter. "And now that you have made your determination, I will make mine. The odds are desperate, so desperate, indeed, that I build my hope somewhat on that ery fact. Dunbar knows my feebleness, and does not fear me. I must. effect a surprise. If we .can- do this, with the first ad- vantage, we will make a rush, and club rifles. Do you go up in the dug- out, and alone, while we make a circuit by land. We can be all ready in five minutes, and perhaps we should set out at once." R' Tight!" answered the preacher; " but are you equal to the struggle, Richard?" The young man upheaved his powerful bulkr, and leaping up to the bough which spread over him, grasped the extended;limb with a single hand, and drew lhimself across it. "Good!" was the reply., But you are still stiff. I have seen you do it much more easily. Still you will do, if you will only economize your breath. y There is one preparation first to be made, Richard. Call up the men." PRAYER BEFORE STRIFE. 299 They were summoned with a single, shrill whistle, and Coul- ter soon put them in possession of the adventure that lay before them. It needed neither argument nor entreaty to-- persuade them into a declaration of readiness for the encounter. Their enthusiasm was grateful to0 their leader, whom they personally loved. "And now-, my brethren," said Elijah Fields, "I am about to leave you, and we are all about to engage in a work of peril. We know not what will happen. We know not that we shall meet again. It is proper only that we should confess our sins to God, and invoke his mercy and protection. My brothers, let- us pray." With these-words, the party sank upon their knees, Broughl placing himself behind Coulter. Fervent and simple was the prayer of the preacher-inartificial but highly touching. Our space does not suffer us to record it, or to describe the scene, so simple, yet so imposing. The eyes of the rough men were moistened, their hearts softened, yet strengthened. They rose firm and resolute to meet the worst issues of life and death, and, embracing each of them in turn, Brough not excepted, Elijah Fields led the way to the enemy, by embarking alone in-the canoe. Coulter, with his party, soon followed, taking the route through the forest. ' CHAPTE1R IX. IN the meantime, our captain of loyalists had gone forward in his projects with a very free and fearless footstep. The course which he pursued, in the present instance, affords one of a thousand instances which go to illustrate the perfect reckless- ness with which- the British conquerors,: and their baser allies, regarded the claims of humanity, where the interests, the rights, or the affections of the whig inhabitants of South Carolina were concerned. Though resolutely rejected by Frederica, Dunbar yet seemed determined to attach no importance to her refusal, but, despatching a messenger to the village of Orangeburg, hee brought thence one Nicholas Veitch, a Scotch Presbyterian par- son, for the avowed object of officiating at his wedding rites. The parson, who was a good man enough perhaps, was yet a page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 SOUTHWARD HO! weak and timid one, wanting that, courage whichi boldly flings itself between the victim and his tyrant. He was brought into the Dutchman's cottage, which Dunbar now occupied. lhither also was Frederica brought, much against her will; indeed, only under the coercive restraint of a couple of dragoons. I3er parents were neither of them present, and the following dia- logue ensued between Dunbar and herself, Veitch being the only witness. "Here, Frederica,"' said Dunbar,-' you see the parson. He comes to marry us. The consent of your parents has been already-given, and it is useless for you any longer to oppose your childish scruples to what is now unavoidable. This day, I am resolved that we are to be made man and wife. Having the consent of your father and mother, there is no reason for not having yours." "Where are they?" was the question of Frederica. Her face was very pale, but her lips were firm, and her eyes gazed, without faltering, into those of her oppressor. "aThey will be present when the time comes. They will be present at the ceremony." "Then they will never be present!" she answered firmly. ," Beware, girl, how you provoke me! You little, know the power I have to punish-" "You have no power upon my voice or my heart." "Ha!" The preacher interposed: "My'- daughter, be persuaded. The consent of your parents should be enough to incline yon to Captain Dunbar. They are surely the best judges of what is good for their children." "I can not and I will not marry with Captain Dunbar." "Beware, Frederica!" said Dunbar, in a voice studiously subdued, but with great difficulty-the passion speaking out inl his fiery looks, and his frame that trembled with its emotions. "'Beware "' said Frederica. "Of what should I beware? Your power? Your power may kill me. It can scarcely go farther. Know, then, that I am prepared to die sooner than marry you." Though dreadfully enraged, the manner of Dunbar was still THE SIGHT OF- TERROR. . 301 carefully subdued. His words were enunciated in tones of a laborious calm, as he replied:- it You are mistaken in your notions of the extent of my power. It can reach where you little imagine. But I do not desire to juse it. I prefer that you should give me your hand without restraint or coercion." ,' That, I have told you, is impossible." "Nay, it is not impossible." , Solemnly, on my knees, I assure you that never can I, or will Ii while I preserve my consciousness, consent to be your wife." The action was suited to the words. She sunk on her knees as she spoke, and her hands were clasped andj her eyes uplifted, as if taking a solemn oath to heaven. Dunbar rushed furiously toward her. "Girl!" he exclaimed, " will you drive me to madness f will you compel me to do what I would not?" The preacher interposed. The manner of Dunbar was that of a man about to strike his enemy. Even Frederica closed her eyes, expecting the blow. "Let me endeavor to persuade the damsel, captain," was the suggestion of Veitch. Dunbar turned away and went toward the window, leaving the field to the preacher. To all the entrea- ties of the latter, Frederica made the same reply. "Though death stared me in the face, I should never marry that man!" "Death shall stare you in the face!" was the fierce cry of Dunbar. "Nay, you shall behold him in such terrors as you have never fancied yet; but you shall be brought to know and to submit to nmy power. Ho, there! Nesbitt, bring out the prisoner." This order naturally startled Frederica. She had continued kneeling. She now rose to her feet. In the same moment Dunbar turned to where she stood, full of fearful expectation, - grasped her by the wrist, and dragged her to the window. She raised her head, gave but one glance at the scene before her, and fell back swooning. The cruel spectacle which she had been made to witness, was that of her father, surrounded by a guard, and the halter about his neck, waiting only the terrible word from the ruffian in authority. page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 SOUTHWARD HO! In that sight, the unhappy girl lost all consciousness. She would have fallen upon the ground, but that the hand of Dunbar still grasped her wrist. He now supported her in his arms. ( Marry us at once," he cried to Veitch. "But she can't understand--she can't answer," replied the priest.' "4'That's as it should be," answered Dunbar, with a laugh; "silence always gives consent." The reply seemed to be satisfactory, and Veitch actually stood forward to officiate in the disgraceful ceremony, when a voice at tlhe entrance drew the attention of the parties within. It was that of Elijah Fields. How he had made his way to the building without arrest or interruption is only to be accounted for by his pacific progress--his being without weapons, and his well-known priestly chalracter. It may have been thought by the troopers, knowing what was in hand, that he also had been sent for; and probably something may be^ ascribed to the excitement, of most of the parties about the dwelling. At all events, Fields reached it without interruption, and the first intimation that Dunbar had of, his presence was frolm his owln lips. "I forbid this proceeding in the name and by the authority of God," was the stern interruption. "The girl is already married!" CHAPTER X. "ET us now retrace our steps and follow those of Richard Coulter and his party. We have seen what has been the progress of Elijah Fields. The route which he pursued was considerably longer than that of his comrades; but the differ- ence of time was fully equalized by the superior and embarras- sing caution which they were compelled to exercise. The result was to bring them to the common centre at nearly the same moment, though the policy of Coulter required a different course of conduct from that of Fields. Long before he reached the neighborhood of old Sabb's farm, he had compelled his troopers to dismount, and hide their horses in the forest. They then made their way forward on foot. Richard cCoulter was expert in all the arts of the partisan. Though eager to grapple with his enemy, and impatient to ascertain and arrest the dangers of o COULTEB,'S STRATEGIES. 803 his lovely wife, he yet made his approaches with a proper cau- tion. The denseness -of the forest route enabled him easily to do so; and, making a considerable circuit, he drew nigh to the upper part of the farmstead, in which stood the obscure out- house, which, when Dunbar had taken possession of the man- sion, he assigned to the aged couple. This- he funcd deserted; he little dreamed for what reason,--or in what particular emer- gency the old Dutchman stood at that very moment. Making another circuit, he came upon a copse, in which four of Dunbar's troopers were grouped together in a state of fancied security. Their horses were fastened in the woods, and they lay upon the ground,; greedily interested with a pack of greasy cards, which had gone through the campaign. The favorite game of that day was Old-Sledge, or All-Fours, or Seven- LUS; by all of which names it was indiscriminately known. Poker, and Brag, and Loo, and Monte, and V;-gt'un, were then unknown in that region. These are all modern innovations, in the substitution of which good morals have made few gains. Dragoons, in all countries, are notoriously sad fellows, famous for swearing and gaming; Those of Dunbar were no exception to the rule. Our tory captain freely indulged them in the prac- tice. He himself played with them when the humor suited. The four upon whom Coulter came were not on duty, though they wore their swords. Their holsters lay with their saddles across a neighboring log, not far off, but not immediately within reach. Coulter saw his opportunity; the temptation was great; but these were not exactly his prey-not yet, at all events.' To place one man, well armed with rifle and pair of pistols, in a situation to cover the group at any moment, and' between them and the farmstead, was his plan; and this done, he proceeded on his way. - - His policy was to make his first blow at the head of the enemy -his very citadel-trusting somewhat to the scattered condition of the party, and the natural effect of such an alarm-to scatter them the more. All this was managed with great prudence; and, with two more of his men set to watch over two other groups of the dragoons, he pushed forward with the remaining four until -he reached the verge of the wood, just where it opened upon the- settlement. Here he had a full view of the spectacle--his page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 SOUTHWARD HO! own party unseen--and the prospect was such as to compel his' instant feeling of the necessity of early action. It was 'at the moment which exhibited old Sabb in the hands of the provost, his hands tied behind him, and the rope about his neck. Clymes, the lieutenant of Dunbar, with drawn sword, was pacing between the victim and the house. The old Dutchman stood between two subordinates, waiting for the signal, while his wife, little, dreaming of the scene in progress, was kept out of sight at the bottom of the garden. Clymes and the provost were at once marked out for the doom of the rifle, and the beads of two select shots were kept ready, and levelled at their heads. .But Dunbar must be the'first victim--and where was he? Of the scene in the house Coulter had not yet any inkling. But suddenly he' beheld Frederica at the window, He heard her shriek, and be- held her, as he thought, drawn away from the, spot. His excite- ment growing almost to frenzy at this moment, he was about to give the signal, and follow the first discharge of his rifles with a rush, when suddenly he saw his associate, Elijall Fields, turn. the corner of the house, and enter it through the piazza. This enabled him to pause, and prevented a premature development of his game. He waited for those events which it is not denied that we shall see. Let us then return to the interior. We must not forget the startling words with which Elijah Fields interrupted the forced marriage of Frederica with her brutal persecutor. "' The girl is already married." ' Dunbar, still supporting her now quite lifeless in his arms, looked up at the intruder in equal fury and surprise. "Ha, villain!" was the exclamation of Dunbar, "you are here?" "No villain, Captain Dunbar, but a servant of the Most High God!" '"Servant of the devil, rather! What brings you here-and what is it you' say?" "I sayy that Frederica Sabb is already married, and her ,hus- band living!" "Liar, that you are, you shall swing for this insolence." "I am no liar. I say that )the girl is married, and I witnessed the ceremony," ^ . . THE CONFLICT. 305 , You did, did you? was the speech of Dunbar, with a tre- mendous effort of coolness, laying down the still lifeless form of Frederica as he spoke; " and perhaps you performed the ceremony also, oh, worthy Servant of the Most High!" It was my lot to do so." "Grateful lot! And pray with whord did you unite the dam- sel?" "Witlh Richard Coulter, captain in the service of the State ,of South Carolina." Though undoubtedly anticipating this very answer, Dunbar echoed the annunciation with a fearful shriek, as, drawing his sword at the same moment, he rushed upon the speaker. But his rage blinded him; and Elijah Fields was one of the coolest of all mortals, particularly when greatly excited. He met the assault of Dunbar with a fearful buffet of his fist, which at once felledf the assailant; but he- rose in a moment, and with a yell of fury he grappled with the preacher. They fell together, the latter uppermost, and rolling his antagonist into the fireplace, where he was at once half buried among the embers, and in a cloud of ashes. In the struggle, however, Dunbar contrived to extricate a pistol from his belt, and to fire it. Fields struggled up from his embrace, but a torrent of blood poured from his side as he did so. He rushed toward the window, grasped the sill in his hands, then yielded his hold, and sunk down upon the floor, losing. his consciousness in an uproar of shots and- shouts from without. In the next moment the swords of Coulter and' Dun- bar were crossed over his prostrate body. The struggle was short and fierce. It had nearly terminated fatally to Coulter, on his discovering the still insensible form of Frederica in his way. In the endeavor to avoid trampling upon her, he afforded an advantage to his enemy, which nothing prevented him from employing to the utmost but the ashes with which his eyes were still half blinded. As it was, he inflicted a severe cut upon the shoulder of the partisan, which rendered his left arm temporarily useless. But the latter recovered himself instantly. His blood was in fearful violence. He raged like a Birserker of the North- men-absolutely mocked the danger of his antagonist's weapon --tlrust him back against the side of the house, and hewing him almost down with one terrible blow upon -the shoulder; with a page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 SOUTHWARD HO! mighty thrust immediately after, he absolutely speared him against the wall, the weapon passing through. his body, and into the logs behind. For a moment the eyes of the two glared deathfully upon each other. The sword of Dunbar was still up- lifted, and he seemed albout to strike, when suddenly the arm sunk powerless--the weapon fell from the nerveless grasp- the eyes became fixed and glassy, even while gazing with tiger appetite into those of the enemy-and, with a hloarse and stifling cry, the captain of loyalists fell forward- upon his conqueror, snapping, like a wand of glass, the sWord that was still fastened in his body. XI. WE must briefly retrace our steps. We left Richard Coulter in ambush, having so placed his little detachments as, to cover most of the groups of dragoons-at least such as might be im- mediately troublesome. It was with the greatest difficulty that he could restrain himself during the interval which followed the entry of Elijah Fields into the house. Nothing but his great confidence in the courage and fidelity of the preacher could have reconciled him to forbearance, particularly as, at the point which hle occupied, he could know nothing of what was going on with- in. Meanwhile, his eyes could not fail to see all the indignities to which the poor old Dutchman was subjected. He heard his groans and entreaties. "I am a goot friend to King Tshorge! I was never wid de rebels. Why would you do me so? Where is de captaine?. I have said dat my darter shall be his wife. Go bring him to me, and let him make me loose from de rope. I'm a goot friend to King Tshorge!" "Good friend or not," said the brutal lieutenant, "you have. to hang for it, I reckon. We are better friends to King George than you. We fight for him, and we want grants of land as well as other people." "Oh, mine Gott!" Just then, faint sounds of the scuffle within the house, reached the ears of those without. Clymes betrayed some uneasiness; and when the sound of the pistol-shot was heard, he rushed for- ward to the dwelling. But t[at signal of the strife was the -sig- 807 THE MELEE. ' nal for Conlter. He naturally feared that his comrade had been shot down, and, in the same instant his rifle gave the signal to his followers, wherever they had been placed in ambush. Almost simnultaneously the sharp cracks of the fatal weapon were heard fro four or five several quarters, followed by two or three scat- tering pistol-shots. Coulter's rifle dropped Clymes, just as he was about to ascend the steps of the piazza. -A second shot from one of his companions tulmbled the provost, having in charge old Sablb. His remaining keeper let fall the rope and fled in,. teror, while the old Dutchman, sinking to his knees, crawled rapidly to the opposite side of the tree which had been chosen for his allows, where he crouched closely, covering his ears withl his hands, as if, by shutting out the sonmds, he could shut out all danger from the shot. Here' he was soon joined by Brough, the African. The faithful slave bounded toward his master the moment he was released, and hugging him first with a most rugged embrace, he proceeded to undo the degrading halter firom about his neck. This done, he got the old man on is feet, placed him still further among the shelter of the trees, and then hurried away to partake in the struggle, for which he had provided himself with a grubbing-hoe and pistol. It is no part of our object to follow and watch his exploits; nor do we need to report the several results of each ambush Which -had been set. In that where we left the four gamblers busy, at Old- Sledge, the proceeding had- been most murderous. One of Coul- te's ena had beenan old scout. IJob Fisher was notorious for his stern deliberation and method. tHe had not been content to lpick his man, but continued to revolve around the gamblers until he could range a couple of them, both of whom fell under his first fire.' Of the two others, one was shot down by the com- panion of Fisher. The fourth took to his heels, but was over- taken, and brained with the butt of the rifle. The scouts then hurrie tonother parts of the farmstead, agreeable to previous arrangement, where they gave assistance their fellows. The history, in short, was one of complete surprisenand route-the dragoons were not allowed to rally; nine of them were slain outright-not including the captain; and the rest dispersed, to be picked up at a time of greater leisure. At themomn t w hen Coulter's party were assembling at the dwelling, Brongh I ad page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 3808 SOUTHWARD HO! succeeded in bringing the old couple together. Very pitiful and touching was the spectacle of these two, embracing with groans, tears, and ejaculations-scarcely yet assured of their escape from the hands of their hateful tyrant. But our attention is required within the dwelling. Rapidly extricating himself from the body of the loyalist captain, Coulter naturally turned to look for Frederica. She was just recover. ing from her swoon. She hadl fortunately been spared the sight of the conflict, althoughl she continued long afterward to assert that she had been conscious of it all, tough she had not been able to move a limlb, or give utterance to a single cry. Her eyes opened with a wild stare upon her husband, who stooped fondly to her embrace. She knew him instantly-called hisg name but once, but that witlh joyful accents, and again faintedl. Her faculties had received a terrible shock. Coulter himself felt like fainting. The pain of his wounded arm was great, and be had lost a good deal of blood. He felt thlat hle couldnot lollg be certain of himself,.and putting the bugle to his lips, he sounded three times with all his vigor. As he did so, he became con- scious of a movement in the corner of the room. Turning in this direction, he beheld, crouching into the smallest possible compass, the preacher, Veitch. Tlhe miserablle wretch was i a state of complete stupor from his fright. "Bring water!" said Coulter. But the fellow neither stirred nor spolke. He clearly did not comprehend. In the next mo- ment, however, the faithful Brough made his appearance. Iis cries were those of joy and exultation, dampened, however, as he beheld the condition of his young mistress. "4 Fear nothing, Broughll, she is not hlurt-she has only fainted. But run for your old mistress. Run, old boy, and bring water while you're about it. Run!" "But you' arm, Mass Dick--he da bleed! You hu't?" "Yes, a little - away!" Brough was gone; and, with a strange sickness of fear, Coul- ter turned to the spot where Elijah Fields lay, to all appearance, dead. But he still lived. Coulter tore away his clothes, which were saturated and already stiff with blood, and discovered the bullet-wound in lhis left side, well-directed, and ranging clear through thel body. It needed no second glance to see that the DEATH OF THE PREACHER. 309 shot was mortal; and while Coulter was examining it, the good preacher opened his eyes. They were full of intelligence, and a pleasant smnile was upon his lips., ' You have seen, Richard; the wound is fatal. I had a pre- sentiment, when we parted this morning, that such was to be the case. But I complainnot. Some victim perhaps was ne- cessary, and I am not unwilling. But Frederica?" t4 She lives! She is here : unhurt but suffering." 6 1Ah! thact monster!' -By this time the old couple made their appearance, and Fred- erica was at once removed to her ownl chamber. A few moments tendance sufficed to revive her, and thlen, as if fearing that she had not heard the trutlh in regard to Coulter, she insisted on going where he was. Meantime, Elijah Fields had been re-, moved to an adjoining apartment. He did not seem to suffer. In the mortal nature of his hurt, his sensibilities seemed to be greatly lessened. But his mind was calm and firm. He knew all around him. His gaze was fondly shared between the young couple whom hle had so lately united. "Love eachl other,' hle said to them; " love each other-and forget not me. I am leaving yo --leaving you fast. It is pre- sumption, perhaps, to say that one does not fear to die-but I am resigned., I have taken life-always in self-defence-still I hlave taken life! I would that I had never done so. That makes me doubt. I feel the blood upon my hlead. iy 1hope is in the Lord Jesus. May his blood atone for that which I hav-e shed!" His eyes closed. His lips moved, as it were, in silent prayer. Again he looked out upon the two, who hung with streaming eyes above lhim. "I'Kiss me, Richard-and you, Fredelia- dear children-I have loved you always. God ble with you -and-me!" He was silent. Our story here is ended. We need not follow Richard Coul- ter through the remnaining vicissitudes of the war. Enough that he continued to distinguish himself, rising to the rank of major in the service of the state. With the return of peace, he re- moved" to the fanrmhouse of his wife's parents. But for him, ill all probability, the estate would have been forfeited; -and the great love which the good old Dutchman professed for King *-a ' , ' page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310, SOUTHWARD HO! George might have led to the transfer of his grant to some one, less devoted to the house of Hanover. It happened, only a few months after the evacuation of Charleston by the British, that Felix Long, one of the commissioners, was again on a visit to Orangeburg. It was at the village, and a consideiable number of persons had collected. Among them was old Frederick Sabb and Major Coulter. Long approached the old man, and, after the first salutation, said to him--"Well, Frederick, have we any late news from goot King Tshorge?" The old Dutchlman started as if he had trodden upon an adder-gave a hasty glance of indignation to the interrogator, and turned away ex- claiming-"D--n King Tshorge! I don't care dough I nebber more hears de name agen!" . A CHAPTER XIV. GLIMPSES ALONG SHORE OF THE OLD NORTH STATE. IF you have ever, in a past period of your life, been a coastwise voyager, south or north, along our Atlantic shores, and making your way, after. an antique fashion, in one of those good old slow- and-easy coaches, called packet ships, brigs, or schooners, you must a thousand times have bewailed the eternal prospect, the endless length of waste and unprofitable shore, which the-old North State continued to unfold to- your weary eyes, creeping forward at a snail's pace under the influence of contrary winds, or no winds at all, with every now and then the necessity of going about, lest the nose of your vessel--having thereto a strong native tendency--should thrust itself into one of Peleg Perkin's tar barrels, close by Pamlico, or, worse still, into the ugly Scylla and Charybdis, the ship-traps of Cape Hatteras. From rise of morn to set of sun, still the same vague, faint, monotonous out- line. You go-to your berth at niglt, with a half-smothered curse at the enormous bulk of body which the good old state protrudes along your path. You rise in the morning and ask, with the smal- lest possible expectation, of the steward- "Where are we now?" and still the same lamentable answer "OffNorth Carolina, sir." You go on deck, and there, precisely as she lay last night, she lies this morning--a sluggish monster drowsing on the deep, like A that to the back of which Sinbad had recourse, dreaming it a comfortable islet for hermit habitation. "Hugest of fish that swim the ocean stream." The annoyance vas immeasurable, and, doubtless, to this feeling may be ascribed much of that sharp sarcasm to -which, in its sea- son, the good old North State has been exposed; she nevertle- less, all the while, showing herself very scornfully indifferent to J page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 SOUTHWARD HO! b..at vulgar thing, called, very ridiculously, "public opinion.; / AAngry travellers were apt to assume an- intellectual sluggishness f: ^ on the part of her people corresponding to that which her vast outline along the sea seemed to indicate to the voyager. That she made no great fuss in the body politic-that she kept her- self out of hot water of all kinds, and, in proportion to the ex- hibition of morbid energies on the part of her neighbors, seemed all the more resolute to subdue her own-these were assumed as proofs of a settled mental atrophy, which only made her enormous bulk of body show more offensively in the eyes of tle - impatient traveller. He visited upon her genius the very vast- ness of her dimenisions, and fancied that her soul was small, sim- ply because her physique was gigantic. "And, by the way," answered my Gothamite, " a very rea- sonable assumption according to human experience." "True enough," interposed our orator with a leer, "as in- stanced in your own state of Goth-am." Duyckman felt uneasyand looked savarnge for a moment. The ' Alabamian continued. "What was felt of tedious, passing the shores of the old North State, was not a whit lessened when you took the land route, seeking to. shorten the progress by the help of railroads and locomotives. A more dreary region than the track from Wil- mington to Portsmouth is hardly to be found anywhere. The region through South Carolina, from Augusta to Charleston, is bad enoughl. Tliat through her ancient sister is a fractiol worse." "Something is due to our own impatience. Our thoughts do not keep progress with our eyes. Were travellers observers, which they rarely are, and still less thinkers upon what they ob- serve, they would make many more grateful discoveries ^along the route than they do. He wlio goes firom Dan to Beersheba and reports nothing to be seen, is simply an animal that has not duly acqutired the use of his eyes." "My friend," quoth the Alabamian with green eyes-" your eyes have been indulgent. I have tried as much as possible to see something along your Carolina routes, but to little profit." "Perhaps," put in a shal'p, peppery, little fellow, whom we afterward ascertained to be from the old North State himself- UNKNOWN COASTERS. 313 " perhaps, you did all your seeing through those tea-green spec- - tacles." "I surely have done so always when passing through North -Carolina," answered the other quietly. "It was needful to give the trees, shrubs, fields and flowers, something of a natural com- plexion. Now, I will report briefly the result of several prog- resses, through that state, during the growing season. The whole country, so far as its agriculture is concerned, seemed i wretchedly unpromising. The glimpse here and there of a tol- erable farm, was only an oasis in the desert, which made the rest of the country more and more distressing to the eye. The-corn- fields were few, I could have covered half of them with a table cloth, and the crops raised seem all destined for the markets of Laputa." ', Laputa? Where's that, I wonder?" quoth North Carolina. ( Somewheic, north of Brobdignag; I believe, and west of the tropics, between the equator- and the Frozen sea, and crossed by the central fires of the Equinox, which enables the people to raise potatoes and barley with equal facility, but prevents them from growing corn. This commodity, of which they are passionately fond, eating an ear at a mouthful, and chewing the cob at their leisure, is brought to them only once a year by one Captain Gulliver, a native of Cape Cod, the only known trader between Laputa and North Carolina. H should not be surprised if he is even now taking in a cargo at Wilmington," "I never heard of the man, and I reckon I know all the peo- ple that trade to Wilmington, captains and ships. Just say now, if you can remember, what's the vessel called that he navigates." "The Long Bow," was the quiet and immediate answer. "This is a great craft for shallow waters. She -certainly does trade with North Carolina somewhere - are you sure that you remem- ber all the names of the vessels that ply to your ports." "Every one of them " "You have a most wonderful memory, my friend.- But pas- sing from the cornfields of your state, I am sorry to say that I can say as little for its habitations. The dwellings were, all of the rudest construction, and signs of gardening,! or culture of any kind, were as rare, almost, as you will find them along' the waste places of the Tigris and the Dead sea. As for fruit, the peaches, A14 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] "314 SOUTHWARD, O! . and -apples offered us along the route were such as nature seemed to have designed for the better encouragement of Cholera,--a sort of bounty offered for bile, indigestion, dyspepsia and riled intestines." "But that's only along the railroad route," said our little North Carolina man, " and who ever expects to see a decent country along a railroad route in any agricultural region?" Another party came to the succor of the North-Carolinian with whom our bilious orator was evidently disposed to amuse himself. "He is right. You willI form a very erroneous notion of this truly valuable state if you assume its general character fron what you see along the railroad routq. North Carolina is even now, in many respects, one of the most prosperous of all the states. She lacks nothing but population to exhibit incomparable resources, of vegetable and mineral treasure, such as in future days shall make us utterly forgetful of California. Penetrate the interior even now, and you will be rewarded in a thousand places by the beauties of a careful icultivation, the sweets of a mild and graceful society, and the comforts of a condition to which want and care are strangers, and where the real misfortune is that the means of life are so easily and abundantly found. North Carolina has suffered a greater drain upon her population, in emigration to- the Southwest, than probably any of her At- lantic sisters. How often have I' met, twenty years ago, her poor wayfarers-' from Tar River, or thar' abouts,' trudging on by the side of their little wagons, from which the great eyes of a wilderness of 'young ones were peeping out, thick as the dogwood blossoms in the spring-time. The surplus population- the natural increase of this state, and that of South Carolina and Virginia--have thus for thirty years or more been carried off to the unrestoring West; and it is only within the last seven that the torrent seems to be measurably stayed. The pros- perity of these states depends in great degree, upon the arrest of this outflow; -- since all the improvements ever effected in a state - all of its newer developments of resource - are only to be made by its own surplus, or natural increase, under the stim- ulus of necessities, the result of a more crowded condition, and a closer competition in the fields of labor. That portion of a pop- THE ALABAMA QUIZ. 315 ulation which has reached the age of forty seldom achieve any new development of the resources of a country. To hold their own--to be what they have been and keep as they are,--is all that can reasonably be expected at their hands. But they are doing much more than this. As a state, and as communities, they are making large general improvements, and as individuals, they are rising equally in education and in prosperity." "Glad to- hear it, but take leave to doubt," responded the man of bile. "Yiou are evidently an enthusiast, my friend; a word in your ear-" Here he slid up to the previous speaker, looked him slyly un- der his green spectacles, gave him a nudge in his side, and whispered:- ("Don't I know Rip Van Winkle as well as you or anybody else, but don't you see that this little fellow don't know me. We'll have some fun out of him. He has a large capital of patriotism out of which ywe shall manufacture many a broad grin, such as would do no discredit to a Washington politician. Listen now, while I touch him -under his diaphragm.--It's something of a waste of words," he resumed aloud, "r to be discussingo North Carolina. But-one question. Have you ever been to Smith-, ville? If you want to know something of her, go- to Smithville. We once put into that port, somewhat in distress, making the voyage from Charleston to New York in one of those cockle shells which Pennoyer got up to run between the two places. She was the Davy Brown I think. She had very nearly car- ried me to Davy Jones'. It is a God's mercy that these miser- able little mantraps had not gulfed their hundreds as did the 'Home.' Well, we put into Smiithville--a gale blowing on- deck, and fifty children squalling in the cabin. A few of us got to shore, counting on an oyster supper. We met a fellow seven feet high, with his back against ia bank of sand that kept off the wind, while the fragment of an old cutter's deck, hanging over the bank, covered him from the rain-all except drippings and leakage.- There was the bottom of an old turpentine tub beside 1him from which he detached occasional fragments of gum to gnaw upon. We questioned him about oysters. "'6Reckon it's hard to find 'em now.' "' Why .' page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 816 SOUTHWARD HO! "'Why, you see, we've done cleaned'off all a 'top, and them down low in the water's mighty hard to come at.- Don't get much oysters at Smithville now. Reckon there mought have 'been a right smart chance of 'em long time ago--'bout the Revolution.' "'Well, do you think we can get any broiled chickens any. where?' "' Chickens don't do so well at Smithville. I'm thinkiig tghey drink too much of the salt water, and the gravel's too coarse for 'em, but they die off mighty soon, and there's no cure for it.' "'Eggs?' ," Well now, as for eggs, somehow the hlens don't lay as they used to. Folks say that there's a sort of happidemic among the poultry of all kinds. They don't thrive no more in Smithville.' "' And what have you got in Smithville V' "' I reckon there's pretty much all the Smiths here that was here at the beginning. Old granny Pressman Smith lives thati in that rether old house that looks a'most as if it was guine to fall. 'Lijah Smith keeps opposite. He had the grocery, but he's pretty much sold out-though they do say there's a schooner expected mighty soon with some codfish and p'taters for him, from dclown East. Rice Smith owns that 'ere flat, you sees thar' with its side stove; and the old windrmill yancder with the fans gone b'longs to Jackson W. Smithi, the lawyer. He's pretty much broke up I hear, by buying a gold mine somewhere in the South. I'm a Smith myself--my name's Fergus Smith, but I'm the poorest of the family. I don't own nothing, no how, and never did.' ' Now there's a chronicle," said our orator. "Was there ever such a complete picture of all sorts of debris and 'ruin?" "But Smithville is not North Carolina," was the reply of our little red-faced native, who seemed particularly to resent tlis portraiture. "I am afraid it is," was the reply of the orator, coolly spoken, and without seeming to heed the evident ruffling of the young one's plumage. "I have seen somewhere," he continued, "a picture of the old North State, of which I remember just the heads. Doubtless there is some exaggeration in it, but on the whole the thing is true. It is true in generals if not details-- GENIUS OF NORTH CAROLINA. 317 true to the spirit of the whole, if regardless of all occasional ex- ceptions. We have had a picture of the Virginian. We can not object to one of the North-Carolinian, and he who objects to it as not true, will be wise enough to regard it as a jest, not wholly without body in the fact." "OOh, you're only a-jesting, then?" "Jesting, sir! I never jest. I am as serious as the Dutch Momus, and I never suffer myself to smile except in a thunder- storm." "And what makes you smile then?" t"To hear so much ado about nothing." "You're a mighty strange person, I'm a thinking." "Ah! that's a practice, my young friend, you should snot in- dulge in. Don't go out of your way, at any time, in search after vain things." "You don't call thinking a vain thing?" "By no means--only you search after it." "I don't rightly understand you." "The fault, I suspect, is rather yours than mine; and I don't see how we're to amend it. I must leave you to your unassisted- efforts; and, if you will suffer me, I will resume my portrait of the old North State." "That's right! Go ahead, old Bile!" cried the Texan, irrev- erently. The Alabamian glanced at him from under his green spectacles. "' ave you been eating cabbage, my friend?" "Cabbage, no!" t "It must be the cocktails then! Either swear off from cock- tails altogether, Texas, or go and get yourself another. Your complexion is rather the worse for wear." "Oh1! d-n the complexion," cried Texas, ' and breeze away with what you've got. Hurrah for nothing--go ahead!" "Thank you for permission," was the cool reply. "( And now, gentlemen, for our unknown chrolnief of the virtues of the old North State. I may not give his exact language always, but you will excuse my involuntary fault:- "' The genius of North Carolina,' says he, 'is clearly mas- culine. He has no feminine refinements. You will not accuse him of unnecessary or enfeebling delicacies, and, one merit, he page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] , 318, 8 SOUTHWARD HO! is totally free from affectation. You have strong smells of him before you approach his shores, but these occasion no concern in--' Here, however, a bell rang, which seemed to have some pecu- liar meaning in it. The Texan curled himself up only to stretch away for the cabin. His example was about to be followed by the rest, and our orator seeing this, judiciously proposed that we should for the present forbear the discussion of the old North State for the more grateful discussion of the supper---a proposi- tion which was carried nemn. con. We adjourned to meet again. CHAPTER XV. , MORE OF THE GENIUS OF THE OLD NORTH STATE. "WE must notforget our pledges," said the sea-green ora- tor, as we seated ourselves in a group near the wheel, after sup- per, cigars all lighted. "And, if not too full of better stuff, my friends, I propose to give you the chronicle of the old North State, of which I have spoken. As I have mentioned already, the matter is not my own. I gathered it from the correspondence of a travellei in some of the newspapers. It seemed so truth- ful, so appropriate, and confirmed so admirably my own experi- ence, that I memorized it without any effort." No one dissenting, the Alabamian proceeded with his narra- ,}. tive, very much as follows:- "'The genius of -the old North State,' said he, 'is deci- - dedly masculine. With a large physical development, he is as ) conscious of his strength as totally indifferent to its uses. Indif- ],' . ference is his virtue. He would be as little interested if the ; scents which he gave forth were cologne instead of turpentine. There he stands or lies, an enormous waste of manhood, looking out upon the Atlantic. His fo0rm, though bulky, is angular- one shoulder rather higller than the other, and one leg standing awkwardly at ease. His breeches, you perceive, are of the, most antique faslion- equally short and tight. He has evi- dently outgrown them, but the evidence is not yet apparent tq. his own mind. His meditations have not yet conducted him to' that point, where the necessity of providing himself with a bet- ter fit, a more becoming cut, and a thoroughly new pair, comes upon him with the force of some sudden supernatural conviction. When they do, he will receive such a shock as will cover him with perspiration enough for a thousand years. He stands now, if you believe me, in pretty nearly the same attitude which he maintained when they were running the State Line between him page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820, SOUTHW ARD HO! and his northern brother (Virginia) to the great merriment, and the monstrous guffawing of the latter. He carries still the same earthen pipe, of mammoth dimensions, in his jaws; and yon may see him, any day, in a fog of his own making, with one hip resting against a barrel of tar, and with his nose half buried in a fumigator of turpentine. He is the very model of that sort of constancy whiqh- may at least boast of a certain impregnable. ness. His tastes and temper undergo no changes, and are what ! they have been from the beginning. The shocks of the world do not disturb his gravity. He lets its great locomotives pass i by, hurrying his neighbor through existence, and congratulates himself that no one can force him into the car against his will. He is content to be the genius of tar and turpentine only. lHis native modesty is quite too great to suffer him to pretend to any- thing better. "'The vulgar notion is that this is due wholly to his lack of energy. But I am clear that it is to be ascribed altogether to his excessive modestij He asserts no pretensions at all--he dis- i claims most of phose which are asserted for him. Some ambi. tious members (f his household have claimed for him the first 1 revolutionary mqvements, alid the proper authorship of the Dec- laration of Independence. But his deportment has been that of one who says,- "What matter? I did it, or I did not! . The \ thing is done! Enough! Let us have no botheration." "' Do you ask what he does, and what he is? You have the I answer in a nutshell. He is no mereliant, no politician, no ora- tor; but a small planter, and a poor farmer-and his manufac- s tures are wholly aromatic and spiritual. They consist in tur- j pentine only, and his modesty suffers him to make no brag even of this. His farm yields him little more' than peas and pump- , kins. His corn will not match with the Virginian's, and that is by no means a miracle. I have seen a clump of sunflowers growing near his entrance, and pokeberries and palma-christi^ are agreeable varieties in his shrubberies. Of groundnuts lie raises enough to, last the children a month at Christmas, and save enough for next year's acre. His pumpkins are of pretty good size, though I have not seen them often, and thinlk they i are apt to rot before he can gather them. His cabbage invaria- bly turns out a collard, from which lie so constantly strips the SHPPING OF THE OLD NORTH STATE.. 321 under leaves that the denuded vegetable grows finally to be al- most as tall as himself. His cotton crops are exceedingly small -so short in some seasons as not to permit the good wife to make more than short hose for herself and little ones. His his- torian is Shocco Jones.'" "Where the d-1 is Shocco Jones now?" was the in- quiry of the little red-faced native, who tried to appear very indifferent to all that the orator was saying. "He wrote well, that Jones. His defence of No1rth Carolina against Tom Jeffer- son was the very thing, and I have seen some of his sketches of the old State that were a shine above Irving's." ,; No doubt! no doubt! Jones and Smith have possibly gone on a visit to their cousin German, Thompson. To proceed:- ca "'His orators are Stanley and Clingman, who are by no means better than Webster and Calhoun-and his shipping consists of the "Ilary and Sally," and "( Polly Hopkins "' e "He must have others, for I saw a wreck at Smithville in 1835, on the stern of which I read ' Still-Water.'" "She is there still," said the orator, " and still-water at that. She was beached in 1824-the ' Sleeping Beauty' taking her place, between Squam Island, Duck's 'Inlet, Old Flats, and Smithfield, till, lingering too long in the river, the tide fell and left her on the Hognose Bank, where her beauty is somewhat on the wane. But to proceed with Our authority-" "Your authority is an abominable falsehood all throughout -a lie of whole cloth," said the fiery native-" so let's have no more of it." "Go on! Go on! old Bile! It's prime!" quoth the Texan. Not heeding either, the Alabamian proceeded as if he were reading from a book:- o- "' Wilmington is his great port of entry-- his city by the sea. , Here he carries on some of his largest manufactures, converting daily into turpentine a thousand barrels of the odoriferous gum. His dwellings here are of more pretension than elsewhere. He ! has lately been doing them up, rebuilding and retouching in a style that shows that he has suddenly opened his eyes upon what the world has been doing elsewhere. The change, is really not in unison with his character. It sits unnaturally upon him, and gives him a slightly fidgetty manner which is no ways pre- "* page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 , SOUTHWARD HO! possessing. He seems to be impressed with an idea that the world requires him to bestir himself. He has a certain respect for the world, and is not unwilling to do what it requires, but he moves slowly and awkwardly about it, and he must not be hur- ried. If he can accomplish the new duty without disparaging the old habit, he has no objection, but he seems quite unwilling to give up his pipe, his tar barrel, and his luxurious position ill the shade, just on the outer edge of the sunshine. The superfi- cial observer thinks him lazy rather than luxurious. But this is I scandal surely. I am willing to admit that he has a Dutch infil- sion in his veins, which antagonizes the naturally mercurial i characteristics of the South; 'but it is really a Dutch taste, rather than Dutch phlegm, which is at the bottom of his failings. "' It has been gravely proposed to neutralize his deficiencies through a foreign graffing, and by the introduction of a colony from Bluffton in South Carolina---otherwise called Little Gasco- ny-and no doubt an amalgamation with some of the tribes of that impatient little settlement would work such a change in his constitution as might lead to the most active demonstrations. It would be as the yeast in the dough, the hops in the beer, the cayenne in the broth. The dish and drink would become rarely palatable with such an infusion. ' But, even if we allow our brother to be indolent, or apathetic, we are constrained to say that he is not without his virtues. His chief misfortune is, that knowing- them to be such, he has grown rather excessive in their indulgence. His prudence is one of his virtues. For example, he will owe no money to his neighbors at a season when states beggar themselves in the wildest speculations, and dishonor themselves through a base feeling of the burden of their debts. Speculation can not seduce him into following their foolish and mean examples. He be- lieves in none of the fashionable bubbles. Fancy stocks have ' no attractions for him. He rubs his forehead, feels his pockets, and remembers hisold sagacity. Sometimes he has been be- guiled for a moment, but a moment only, and his repentance fol- lowed soon. He has been known, for example, to lay down a railway, and has taken it up again, the more effectually to make ! himself sure of being able to fieet his contracts. His logic is doubtful perhaps, his purpose and policyv never. You can not OPINIONS OF THE OLD NORTH STATE. 323 gull him into banks, though, strange to say, he thinks Nick Bid- dle an ill-used m an, and still halts with a face looking too much in the direction of Whiggery. And, with the grateful smell of i his tupentine factories always in his nostrils, though with no other interest in manufactures, you can not persuade him that a I protective tariff is any such monstrous bughear, as when it is painted on the canvass of his southern sister. '"Of this southern sister he is rather jealous. She is too mer- t curial to be altogether to his liking. He thinks she runs too fast. He is of opinion that she is forward in her behavior -too } much so for his notions of propriety. A demure personage him- I self, he dislikes her vivacity. Even the grace with which she couples it, is only an additional danger which he eschews with warning and frequent exhortation. His error is, perhaps, in as- suming her in excess in one way, and he only proper in the oppo- site extreme. "' As little prepared is he to approve of the demeanor of his northern brother. Virginia is none of his favorites. He has never been satisfied with the high head she carries, from the day , when that malicious Col. Byrd, of Westover, made fun of his commissioners* The virtue of our North-Carolinianr runs some- what into austerity. We fear that he has suffered somehow a cross with the Putitans. His prudence is sometimes a little too elose in its economies. His propriety may be suspected of cold- ness; and a very nice analysis may find as much frigidity in his modesty as purity and sensibility. He is unkind to nobody so nmuch as to himself. He puts himself too much on short com- , 1mons t Hle does not allow for what is really generousin his nature, and freezes up, accordingly, long before the "Yule Log" is laid on the hearth-at Christmas. His possessions constitute him, in wealth perhaps, no lesstlthan size, one of the first class states of the confederacy--yet he has failed always to put the proper value .on them. His mountains--of which we shall give here- after a series of sketches-are salubrious in a high degree- * See the Westover Manuscripts, one of the pleasantest of native productions, from a genuine wit and hnumorist, and a frank and manly Southron. t The venerable Nathaniel Mnaon, a very noble and virtuous gentleman, has been heard to say to his friends, "Don't 'come to see me this season for I've made no corn. I'll have to buy." page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 SOUTHWARD HO! very beautiful to the eye, and full of precious minerals and met. als.* But his metallurgists do precious little with the one, and he has failed to commissionm single painter to'make pictures of the other. He has som erst rate lands scattered over lis vast domains--the valle 1 between his mountains making not only the loveliest but the most fertile farmsteads, while along his southern borders, on the seaboard, it is found that he can raise as good rice as in any other region. But he is too religiousl true to tar and turpentine to develope the rare resources whichh he possesses and miSlht unfold by the adoption of only a moder- ate degree of that mouveiment impulse which the world on every side of him exhibits f He has tried some experiments in silk, but it seems to have given him pain to behold the fatiguing la- bors of his worms, and, averting his eyes from their sufferings, he has forgotten to provide the fresh mulberry leaves on which they fed. When they perished, his consolation was found in the conviction that they were freed from their toils; with this additional advantage over men, that their works would never follow them. His negroes are fat and lazy, possessing, in the former respect, greatly the. advantage of their masters. "' Our North-Carolinian will be a lean dog always-- though it would be no satisfaction to liim if the chase is to be inevitable from the leanness. His experience refutes the proverb. Certain- ly, the contrast is prodigious between his ne,'roes and himself. : They have the most unctuous look of all the slaves in the South -and would put to utter shame and confusion their brethren of i the same hue in the Yankee provinces - the thin-visaged, Iank- jawed, sunken-eyed, shirking, skulking free negroes of Connee- Ij ticutand Rhode Island. Our North Carolina negro rolls rather 'i than walks. His head is rather socketed between his shoulders than upon a neck or shaft. When he talks, it is like a heated dog lapping-his mouth is always greasy, and he whistles when- It is not so generally known that, the only dianlods found in the United States have been found, of hlate years, in North Carolina. Some six or eight i have been picked up without search, attesting the probable abundance of the t Our orator must not forget the new railroad progress of the old North Btate. It strikes us she has already, tprned over a new leaf, and promises to become a'moving chalracter. Qn, ' VIRTUE OF THE OLD NORTH STATE. 8325 ever he has eaten. He is the emblem of a race the most sleek, g satisfied, and saucy in the world. You see the benevolence of the master in the condition of the slave. He derives his 4dief enjoyments, indeed, from the gay humors of the latter. He seems to have been chosen by Heaven as a sort of guardian of the negro, his chief business being to make him happy. . ("'Our Nortl-Carolinian, with all his deficiencies, is a model of simplicity and virtue. His commendable qualities are innumer- able. lie never runs into excesses. You will never see him playing Jack Pudding at a-feast. He commits no extravagances. You will never find him working himself to death for a living. He is as moderate in his desires as he is patient in his toils. He seems to envy nobody. You can scarcely put him out of tem- per. 'He contracts no debts, and is suspicious of those who do. He pays as he goes, and never through the nose. He wastes none of his capital, if he never increases it, and his economy is such that he never troubles-himself to fiurnish a reason for his conduct, before he is asked for it. In truth he is almost too vir- tuous for our time. He seems to have been designed for quite- another planet. He is totally unambitious, and though you may congratulate yourself at getting ahead of him, you will be morti- fied to learn from himself that this is altogether because he pre- / . fers to remain behind. ) He has no wants now that I remember, . i with a single exception. Without having a single moral feature in common with Diogenes, he perhaps will be obliged to you if you will not interrupt his sunshine.' " "Well, have you done at last?" demanded the fiery little son - of the old North State, as the other appeared to pause. "' The chronicle? - yes." "Well, I'll just take leave to say that it's a most slanderous and lying history from beginning to end." "To what do you object " "To everything." "But what is there that you deny to be true?" "Well, there's that about our shipping. Why, instead of two vessels, Wilmington's got fifty, more or less, and some of them steamers, and some of them square-rigged, brigs and hermaphro- dites." v ,r page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 SOUTHWARD HO! "I admit the hermaphrodites. I have seen one of them my. self. " "Ah! have you? and you'll admit the brigs and schooners too, I reckon, if you're put to it, and the steamers. Then, too, you don't say a word of our exports." "Your produce, you mean! Didn't I admit the pumpkins and the peas?" - "As if six millions could be got out of peas and pumpkins." "It does seem a large amount, indeed, from such a source, but of course there's the tar and turpentine." ("I say, young hoss," put in the Texan, " don't you see that old Bile is just putting the finger of fun into the green parts of your, eye.' "Well said, son of Texas; the figure is not a bad one. The finger of fun! - green parts of the eye! Good -decidedly." "He's poking fun at me, you mean to say." "That's- it!" "Well, he shall see that he can't do that without risking some- thing by the transaction. One thing, my friend, you forgot to say about the people of-North Carolina in your chronicle. They won't stand impudence of any sort. And now I have just to ask of you 'for an answer, up and down, to one question." "Propound!" "Did you mean to make my state or me, personally, ridiculous by what you have been saying?" " Ridiculous, indeed, my friend! Iow can you imagine such a vain thing. You are quite too sensitive. Your self-esteem is singularly undeveloped. Your state is a very great state, after a somewhat peculiar model, and no doubt, though a small man, you are one who need not be ashamed of yourself or your acquaintance." We all assured the young Carolinian that there could be no purpose to give him offence--that the Alabamian was simply endeavoring to amuse the company with a salient view of men and communities. "But he shan't do so at my expense. "Oh! lhe means nothing of the kind.' "If he did!" v- "Well!" quoth the Alabamian. " If I did! what then?" PROWESS OF TE. ORATOR. 827 "Why, you'd only try it at some peril." ," Peril of what?" i"Of a fight to be sure! We'd see who was the best man after all.'" "Tlhere is something in the warning to prompt a person to tread cautiously. The rattle announces the snake. Now, look you, my friend, once foriall, I beg leave to disclaim all desire to offend you. I simply sought to enjoy my jest; in an innocent way, and to amuse other people by it. That ought to be suffi- cient; but, for my own sake and self-esteem, I must add that it is only as a good Christian that I say so much. I am apt to be riled rather, - feel skin and hair both raised unnaturally - when I am threatened; and, as for a fight, it sounds to me rather like an invitation than a warning. Were you now to desire to do battle with me how would you propose to fight?" ' Why, if I were really anxious, I shouldn't much care how. I am good at pistol and rifle, and have heft enough for a good bouit at arms-length with a bigger man than myself." "Well, my good fellow, for all that, you'd stand no chance )wiith me at either. I should whip you out of your breeches, without unbuttoning mine." "You?" "Yes, I." We were all now somewhat curious. The orator did not look half the man of his opponent. ' "Now," said he, "without fighting, which wouldn't do here of course, we can test the chances of the two. Suppose you try and lift that little brass piece yonder," pointing to the can- non of the steamer, " our captain's brazen beauty." "I can't do it, nor you." "Answer for yourself. I can. But here is a test." With these words he seized two chairs that stood at hand. "Hold the backs of these firmly," he said to the bystanders. He placed the chairs some five feet apart, and in the twinkling of an eye had stretchedl himself at length, the back of LIis head resting upon one chair, his heels upon the other. "Now, some half dozen of you sit upon me." To the astonishment of all, the slight-looking person, who seemed too frail to support himself, maintained two or three per- page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 SOUTHWARD HO .! sons for several seconds sitting upon his unsupported body. le stretched out his arms to the group. "Feel them." They rwere all muscle -so much whip, cord and wire. "You spoke of pistol and rifle," continued the orator. "Yot shall have a sample of shooting." He retired for a few moments, and returned, bringing with him a large case which, when opened, displayed a beautiful brace of pistols -and a rifle of elegant pro. portions and high finish. The pistols were already charged. A bottle was thrown into the sea, and, at the flash'of the pistol, was shattered to a thousand pieces. "My friend," quoth the orator, "I have led just that sort of life which makes a man up to anything; and the use of the weapon, of every sort, is natural to me in any emergency." "Well, t'aint your muscle and strength and good shooting that would keep me from having a trial with you, in case you show"d a disposition to insult me." ' But I avow no such disposition, my excellent friend of the old North State." "Many's the man that's a good shot at a bottle, who can't take a steady aim, with another pistol looking him in the face." "Nothing more true. But we need say no more on this head, unless you still think that I designed offence." "Well, since you say you didn't, of course, I'm satisfied." "I'm glad of it. There's my fist. - I didn't mean offence to you, my friend; but I confess to amusing myself at all hazards and with any sort of customer. You happened in the way, and I stumbled over you. You are a clever fellow, and I don't like you the less for standing up for your state, which is a clever and most respectable state,--a state of size, and some sizable steam- boats and schooners,-not forgetting the hermaphrodite. And now, let us have a touch of snake and tiger together." "Where were you born?" demanded the North-Carolinian. "I was born in a cloud and suckled by the east wind." "Oh, get out!--I reckon you're crazy, after all." "I'll defend myself against the imputation when you'll prove to me thlat anybody is quite sane. It is but a difference in degree between the whole family of man." ANTIQUITIES OF SMTHVILLE. 329 ,sWhat's your business? You've served, I reckon, in the army." i"Yes, as a ranger." ," Been in many fights?" "A few. The last I had was with seven Apache Indians. I had but one revolver, a six-barrel-" ' Well ." "I killed six of the savages." "And the seventh 1" "He killed me!-And now for the snake and tiger.' The two disappeared together, steering in the direction of the bar. When they next joined us, the North-Carolinian had his arm thrust lovingly through that of his tormentor, and came forward laughing uproariously, and exclaiming:-- , You should have heard him. Lord, what a fellow! , He's mad as thunder-that's certain; but he's got a mighty deal of sense in him, in spite of all." "We are about opposite Smithville now," said our captain, as the Alabamian came up. The latter turned to the' North-Caro- linian, and, with a poke in his ribs, said:- "You thought me quizzing your state, when, in fact, I have more reverence for its antiquities than any person I know. This place, Smithville, for example, I have studied with gi'eat industry. It was settled-perhaps you have heard--by the first man of the name of Smith that came out of Noalh's ark. It is supposed, indeed, to be the very spot where the arkl rested when the waters subsided. There is an -old windmill here, still to be seen, and the most picturesque object in the place, which is referred back to the period when Noah carried three sheets in the wind. The people here, of course, are all named Smith." "Oh, that's a mistake, my dear fellow," put in the North-Caro- linian. "You have been imposed upon. I know the place, and know that the Buttons live here, and the Black family; and there's another family " i "Never mind--it is you who are mistaken. They are really all Smiths, however much they may disguise and deny. There's a family likeness running tlrough all of them which nobody can dispute." page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 SOUTHWARD HO! "That's true. There is such a likeness, I admit." "Of course you must admit. Everybody sees it. The won. der is, that, boasting such a great antiquity, they are so little ambitious. . Their enterprise is limited to an occasional visit to the oyster-bank; where it is said they will feed for some hours at a stretch, but they never trouble themselves to carry any of tlhe fruits away. The pearl-fisheries, which conjecture supposes to have been very active here at one period, were discontinued and fell into neglect somewhere about the time of the Babylonian captivity. Smithville is a place that should largely command the veneration of the spectator, apart from its antiquity of site, and the antiquities which may yet be found within its precincts after proper exploration; it is a study for the ethnologist. There is one peculiarity about the race--all the children here are old when they are born. The period of gestation seems to be about eighteen years. The child is invariably born with a reddish mustache and imperial, and a full stock of reddish hair." "Bless me, what a story! Why, how they have imposed upon you, old fellow! I tell you, I myself know the families of Button and Black, and-and they all have children-real chllildren, just like any other people's children-little, small, helpless, with hardly any hair upon their heads, not a sign of a moustache, and the color of the hair is whitish, rather than reddish, when they are born." The assurance was solemlly given by our Carolinian. "How a man's own eyes may deceive him! My dear friend, you never saw a child in Smithville of native origin at all. The natives are all full grown. If you saw children there-- ordinary children--they were all from foreign parts, and griev- ously out of their element, I assure you. Your supposed facts must not be allowed to gainsay philosophy. -I repeat, the re- gion, on this score of idiosyncrasy in the race, should attract tlhe ethnologists. In mere antiquities-in the proofs of ancient art-it is also rich. I have found curiously- wrought fragments of stone there,--sharp at the edges, somewhat triangular of shape--" ; "Nothing but Indian arrow-heads, I reckon." "My friend, why expose }ourself? They were sacrificial implements, no doubt. Then, curious vases, in fragments, are . - ' THE ANCIENT SUITOR. 381 to be still picked up, such as were probably employed for sacred purposes in the temples of their gods." "As I live, old Bile," said the Texan-" nothing but Injun pots and pans for biling hominy." "Get thee behind us, Texas-blanket thyself and be silent. The present inhabitants of Smithville are certainly the Autoc- thones-natives of'the soil. They have never known any other. And yet, Smith is said to have been a common name a,ong the Phoenicians. Its founder was undoubtedly Tubal- Cain. It is fortunate that we have a place like Smithville, des- tinled for its perpetuation. We are, unhappily, fast losing all traces of the venerable name in every other quarter of the country." "Why how you talk! There isn't a name so common as Smith in all our country." : i"Ah, my dear fellow! do you not see that you are giving constant proof of what I said touching Smithville, that all the babies were grown men at birth?" "That's somehow a fling at me, I reckon; but I sha'n't quar- rel with youl, now I know you." At this moment, the tender tinkle of the guitar, in the hands of Selina Burroughs, announced that my friend Duyckman had succeeded in his entreaties; and we gathered around the ladies, and the mischievous fooling of our Alabamian ceased for a sea- sonl,-but only for a season. The young lady sang .very sweetly one of Anacreon Ioore's best lyrics, accompanied by my friend from Gotham. When she had done, to the surprise of all, our orator, who seemed quite a universal genius, coolly took up the guitar when the damsel laid it down, and, without apology or preliminary of any kind, gave us the following sam- ple of the mock-heroic with equal archness and effect:- THE ANCIENT SUITOR. OLD Time was an ticient suitor, Who, heedless of jury and judge, Still kept to the saws of his tutor And held that all fashion was fudge: He never kept terms with the tailors, The aid of the barbers he scorn'd, page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 832 SOUTHWARD HO! And with person as huge as a whaler's, His person he never adorn'd. Sing-Out on that ancient suitor. What chance could he have with a maiden, When round her, the gallant and gay Came flocking, their bravest array'd in, Still leading her fancies astray? But he studied the chapter of chances, And having no green in his eyes, He gallantly made his advandes, As if certain to carry the prize. Sing-Hey for that ancient suitor. But his beard had grown whiter than ever, He still made no change in his dress, But the codger bad Anglican clever, And was confident still of success; And the ladies now smiled at his presence, Each eagerly playing out trumps, And his- coming now conjured up pleasance, Where before it but conjured up dumps. Sing-Ho for that ancient suitor And what were the arts of our suitor? Why, the simplest of all, to be sure He took up Dan Plutus as tutor, Dan Cupid he kicked from the door. Still sneering at sentiment-gammon, He found that whene'er lhe could prove, That his Worship found favor with Manmmon, His worship found favor with love. Hurrah! for that ancient'suitor! ",Oh! most lame anid impotent conclusion, cried the lady. "An old and stale scandal." "What a slander of the sex," echoed Gotham, looking more sentimental than ever. "I Ihave given you but a true and common history,' answered the orator. "It is within every man's experience; but here's a case that occurred in one of our own villages. The ladies there admit the -fact to be undeniable, though they assert- Credat Judceus -- that the world can show no other suchl marvellous example." Here he again fingered the guitar with the ease of one who had mastered all its pulses, add sung the following historical ballad, which he called- A INVITATION OF WIDOWHOOD. /883 "OVE'S CONTINGENT REMAINDER. AT eve, when the, young moon was'shining, And the South wind in whispers arose, A youth, by the smooth stream reclining, Thus pour'd forth the stream of his woes;- "I sigh and I sing for the maiden, Who dwells in the depths of yon grove; Not the lily, its whiteness array'd in, So beautiful seems to my love." And the maiden, she drank in the ditty With keen sense and a tremulous heart: But there dwelt an old man in the city, And he in her musings had part: She answer'd love's song by another, To the very same air, but less sweet, And some sighs which she struggled to smother, Found their way to the youth at her feet. Ah! Dick, I confess you are dearest, But then you can buy nothing dear; Your song is the sweetest arid clearest, And I dote on your whiskers and hair; But thei, the old man in the city, Hathonds and bank-notes, and a store, Such possessions, both costly and pretty, And he promises gold in galore. AWith you I should find love in marriage, But love is poor feeding alone; With him I have horses and carriage; With you but a crust and a bone; He leaves me no time to consider, Still pressing with tongue and with pen, But if ever he leaves me a widow, Oh! Dicky, come sing to me then! "Worse and worse!" cried the lady. "Truer and truer," answered the orator. "Bless me, sir, for what reason is it that you so hate our sex?" "Hate your sex! Nobody loves it better. I have been married three times!" "That accounts for it all!" quoth Gotham, sotto voce, with the feeling of one who is amlply avenged. Selina Burnoughs , whispered-- page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] "The danger seems to be that he will leave just such an in- scription upon his monument as the tn. BMr. Custis of the East. ern Shore." There was a pause. "No, story to-nlight?" inquired one of the party. "By the way, yes--and our friend here from North Carolina, ' has been appointed to deliver it." n, With a thousand excuses and apologies, some stammering and much confusion, our fiery little companion commenced his task, in a legend of the Nortl Carolina slore, wlich he entitled ? THE SHIP OF FIRE. "THE State of North Carolina, the assumed poverty of which in material resources, and in mind, has been a little too much dwelt upon by some portions of this compally, is, nevertheless, quite as rich, in all respects, as any of her sister states. Her deficiency seems to lie in her want of a seaport of capacity equal to her product, and in the lack of a population sufficiently dense for her territorial magnitude. We may never be able to supply the one deficienecy; except possibly by railroads which shall give us the free use of the harbors of our sister states; but the latter will be developed on a magnificent scale, so soon as the popula- tion shall become sulfficiently dense for the due exploration and working of our soil. Our productions, as the case stands, must now amount to fully eight millions, sent to market along ore. And this, be it remembered,-is pretty much a sur- plus production. As an agricultural community, North Carolin a supports herself apart from what she sells. Of the morals of the people of our State, I have only to say, that they shrink from comparison with none. We do no startling things, but we rob [ no exchequers. We attempt no wonderful works, but we repudi ate none of our debts. In brief, we owe no debts. There is no ? State in the Union quite so independent as North Carolina. You may smile at her simplicity, but you must respect her honesty. i' You may see something green in her eye, but nothing jaundiced. If goaded by no wild ambition, she is troubled with no excess - of bile. Her brains may never set rivers on fire, but they are sure not to blow up her locomotive. 'But, even in enterprises, suchl'as are so largely assumed to be signs of moral progress, she is not idle. In proportion to strength of her population, her railroads are as extensive -: those of any other Southern State5 and when you consider . wide stretch of her territory and the difficulties of her situa- 5 , lacking an eligible seaport, she has done more and better - most. Her people are prosperous, making money fast; the ilts of tar and turpentine will put to shame those of your sted regions of rice and cotton; and our railroads have :i ight into use, fo. these productions, vast territories which have lerto yielded nothing. I repeat, that in the morals of her peo- . their physical prosperity, their virtues and advance in edu- on, North Carolina need shrink in comparison with none of states of this confederacy." - : Bravo!-spoken like a patriot! But what of the story all time?" Patiently: I had first to fling off some of the feeling with i ch you, sir, have been stirring me up about my good old te for the last twenty-four hours." Well-you have relieved yourself?" Perhaps: but a few words more, before I begin my legend.; all not say anything here about our lack of literature in -: th Carolina, since the argument necessarily belongs to most : le Soutlbern States-in fact, to all the States-our national ciency being still a reproach to us in the mouths of other na- s. When the nation, as a whole, shall be able to answer this ,: reach satisfactorily, it will then be quite time enoughl for 'th Carolina to show her solicitude as to what people think wer shortcomings." ;'-- Quite logical that." I hlave no doubt that the native genius of the old Northll . te will bring her intellectual wares into the market in due son for her reputation." :;: Save her distance, you mean." As you please. Her native material affords adequate stuff ' the future author and artist. She is rich- in traditions and - .: written histories. Her revolutionary chronicles are by no Ins meagre, and'only lack the chronicler and author. They be found as soon as our communities shall become suffi- itly dense and numerous to afford the audience." page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 SOUTHWARD HO! "Meanwhile, we will put off the requisition ad Grcecas Ial. endas. The argument is a good plea for all the states if ad. missible in the case of one. I doubt its propriety. I am not prepared to believe in that inspiration which waits upon the gathering of the audience. But the point needs no discussion. Go ahead with your story." "My story must' excite no expectations. I am no artist, and shall attempt nothing but a simple sketch--a bare outline of a legend which our simple people along' the seashore, wreckers and. fishermen, have told a thousand times with grave looks and a most implicit faith. It will add but another chapter to the vast chronicles of credulity which we possess, and skepticism will decide against it only as further proof of human supersti. tions which keep their ground even in the most enlightened ages. Be it so. The wise man will find much occasion f6r thought even where the subject is a vulgar superstition. The inventive genius may go further, and weave from it some of those beautiful fictions which nleed no better staple than the stuff which dreams are made of--which delight us in the fancies of Comus, and carry us into new creations, and new realms of exploration in the Tempest and Midsummer Night's Dream." Thus far the preliminaries. Our raconteur then proceeded as follows: "You are then to know that annually, at a regularly-recur- ring period, the coast of North Carolina, even the very route over which we voyage now, is visited by a luminous object hav- ing the exact appearance, at a little distance, of a ship on fire. This appearance has been seen regularly, according to the tra- dition, and the fact has been certified by the sworn state- ments in recent' times, of very credible witnesses. They affirm that nothing can be more distinct than the appearance of thllis ship, limned in fire, consuming, yet always unconsumed. She invariably-appears approaching from the east. She speeds slowly toward the west, nearing the shores always until seem- ingly about to run aground, when she disappears, for a moment, only to re-emerge again from the distant east. Thus advancing perpetually, she appears to grow in bulk to grow more vivid and distinct as she draws nigl, until, when most perfect to the eye, and about to enter the harbor-when .she flits from sight, THE PALATINES. 337 only to shoot up in the distance and renew her fiery progress to the shore. , Every part of her seems ablaze. Hull and gunwale, mast and spar, sail and cordage, are all distinctly defined in fiery mass and outline. Yet she does not seem to burn. No fiery flakes ascend, no smoke darkens her figure, no shroud or sail falls, no visible' change takes place in her fate, or dimensions--and thus perfect, she glides onward to the shore, glides along the shore, skirts the breakers into which she appears about to penetrate, then suddenly goes out; but only, as I have said, to loom up once more upon the eastern edge of the sea. This operation continues for twenty-four hours, one day in every year." ! "Bless me, how curious. I wish we could get an exhibition of it now. Is it a regular day in the year on which it appears ." "So it is asserted, but I do not recollect the day, and I doubt if our chronicles determine the fact. But the affidavits of re- spectable witnesses give the date on which they declare them- selves to have seen the spectacle, and that day, each year, may be assumed to be the one on which it annually reappears.' "Well, how do they account for this singular exhibition 1" "In the following manner. The tradition, I may add, is a very old one, and the historical facts, so far as they may, are found to confirm it. "The burning vessel is known as' The ship of the Palatines.' The story is that, some time during the region of the First George of Englanid, and when it was the anxious policy of that monarch to encourage emigration to the Southern Colonies, a small company of that class of colonists who were known as 'German Palatines' having come from the Palatinate, arrived in London seeking means to get to America. They were sus- tained for a time at the public expense, until a vessel could be chartered for their use, when they-took their departure for-the New World. The public policy made it comparatively easy to perslade the crown to this sort of liberality; and succor of this character was frequently accorded to this class of adventurers, who were supposed to have a special claim on the bounty of the German monarch of the English. Tle emigrants, in the present instance, wore the appearance of poverty so common to their class, and studiously forebore to betray the fact that they had 15 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 SOUTHWARD zo! any resources of their own. But, as usual, in all such cases, they were far less destitute than they avowed themselves. Our ,Palatines, on this occasion, were in r- ather better condition, in pecuniary respects, than was commonly the fact with their, coun. trymen. It was only a natural cunning which prompted their concealment of means which they preferred to keep in reserve for other uses. Upon their secresy, on this head, depended their hope of help from private bounty and the public exchequer. They kept their secret successfully while on shore. It was their great error and misfortune that they were less prudent when they put to sea. They had- treasures- speaking with due heed to the usual standards of inferior castes-of considerable value; treas. ures of gold and silver, jewels and movables; old family acu- mulations, little relics of a former prosperity: relics of an affection which sometimes stinted itself in its daily desires, that it might provide token and trinket to give pleasure to a beloved one. The stock, in these things, which had been parsimoniously kelpt, and cunningly hidden away by this little community of adveln turers, was by no, means inconsiderable. A treasure of great value in their own eyes, it was a sufficient bait to lust and cupid- ity, when beheld by those of others. But I must not anticipate. These treasures of the precious metals, toys, and trinkets, were easily concealed in close nooks, among their common luggage, and, seeming no other than a poor peasantry, and mere destitutes of society, they went on board of the vessel which cad been chartered for them, and soon after put out to sea. 'The voyage was a very tedious one, protracted by bad weather, and thwarting winds. The bark in which they sailed was one which would be likely, in our day, to be condemned as unseaworthy, except when soldiers, doing battle for the country, needed to be sent to Texas and California. It would answer even now for such purposes-perhaps find preference." "A good hit, young Turpentine," quoth the Alabamian. "Our Palatines were pretty well wornout by the tedium of the voyage, their miserable fare and more miserable accommoda- tions. The ship was leaky, the stores stale,'the storms fiequent, and, our poor adventurers, new to such a progress, were terribly subdued in spirit long before they made soundings. When at length they did, when at length the low gray coast of North DISAPPOINTMENT. 389 Carolina, stretched its slight barriers across their western horizon, and the cry of ' land' sounded in their ears, they rose from the deeps of despondency into an extremity of joy. They were in ecstasies of hope, and, in their madness of lieart, they forgot that prudence which had hitherto kept them humble and cautious. Seeing the shores so nigh, growing momently nearer, the great, trees, the verdant shrubs, the quiet no'oks and sheltering places for which their fancies had so long yearned, they felt that all danger, all doubt and delay was at an end, and all reserve and secretiveness were forgotten. They prepared to leave their gloomy prison-ship, and to taste the virgin freedom of the shores. Each began to gather up his stores, and to separate his little stock of worldly goods, from the common mass. They gathered their bales and boxes from below. They strapped and un- strapped them; and grouped themselves upon the decks, waiting to see the anchor dropped, and to dart into the boats which were to carry them ashore. "Thus men for ever cheat themselves with their hopes, and theimpatience of a single moment, will undo the work of years. "They were destined to disappointment. To their surprise, tile ship was suddenly hauled off from land. The sails were backed. The shores receded from sight. They could not land that day. The captain had his reasons. They were in danger- ous soundings. There were treacherous currents. The insidi- ous rocks were about to work them disaster. It was necessary that they should seek a more accessible region in which to effect their progress to the desired haven. These were the grounds for the movement which baffled their anticipations at the moment of seeming certainty. ' The last feather, it is said, breaks the camel's back. It is the last drop of bitter poured in the cup already full of bitter- ness. I can not say that our poor Palatines were utterly broken down by their disappointments; but it is very sure that they felt as wretched that night, as they receded from the land so fres!lly won, as if they were required to begin their voyage anew. Of course, the pretexts of the master were wholly false. He had made. his port. He' had reached his true destination. Had run his proper course, and miglt have landed all his Pala- tines that very night. That he did not, was due to their own page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 840 SOUTHWARD HO! error of policy--to that wild eagerness and childish hope, which made them heedless of a caution which they had hitherto pre- served with a religious strictness, through long years, in which they had known nothing but the caprice of fortune. "The careless, or the ostentatious exhibition of their hitherto concealed treasures, now held to be secure, was the true caused of the master's change of policy. His greedy eye lfad caught golden glimpses among their luggage. He had seen the silver vessels and the shining jewels--he had detected the value of those heirlooms wlhicht had been accumulated and preserved by the tribe of adventurers, in spite of the trials of poverty, through long generations. "These discoveries awakened the devil in his heart. His was the sort of honesty which kept steadfast only in the absence of the tempter. He had, otherwise, few or no human motives for its exercise. His life had been a reckless and a restless one, and sober business performance was only to be pursued by way of variety, and in the absence of more exciting stimulants. His mate, or second officer, was a person after his own heart. To him he dropped a hint of his discoveries. A word to the rogue is quite as sufficient as' to the wise man. It, required but few words between the two to come to a mutual understanding. The seamen were severally sounded; and the ship clawed off from the shore. "In those days the profession of piracy had no such odious character as it bears in ours. Successful piracy was, in short, rather a creditable business. It was not dishonorable, and lie who practised it with most profit', was likely to acquire from it the best credit. Great pirates were knighted by great kings in those periods. Witness the case of the monster Henry Morgan. The bloody hand was rather a noble badge indeed, provided it was shown at courtfull-handed. Then, as now, it was only your poor rogue who was hung for making too free with his neigh- bor's goods. Piracy was legitimated beyond the line, and found its national and natural excuse in Great Britain wlhen it could prove that the victims were only Spaniards or Frenchmen. Like ahy other speculation, its moral depended wholly on -its results. We are not to feel surprised, therefore, at the easy virtue of our mariners-a people, in those days, whose lives and mor'als oc- THE MDNIGHT ASSASSINS. 841 casioned no such respectful concern or consideration among the' pious as they command in ours. ; The devil, accordingly, found nothing to obstruct his machi- nations in the hearts of our captain and his subordinates. They determined upon possessinog the goods and chattels of the poor emigrants, about whose fate the government was hardly likely to inquire. Hence the sudden purpose of drawing off from the shore, at the very moment'of landing, to the mortification .and final defeat of the hopes of our simple and unsuspecting Pala- tines. "It was not found difficult to convince these ignorant people, that the safety of the vessel required these precautions-that they had erred somewhat in their reckoning-that they were still short of their promised port, and that a progress farther west was necessary. No matter what the plea, it was sufficient to silence complaint or murmuring. They were at the- mercy of the master, whether he were pirate or honest mariner, and re- signed themselves, with what philosophy they might, to the de- cree that told them of rolling a few days longer on the deep. "They did not linger on deck after night, and when the shores were no longer visible. The hope deferred whichl maketh the heart sick, drove the greater part of them to their hammocks. Their baggage, with the unhappily exposed wealth, was again restored to the interior of the ship. But a few of the young men sat upon the deck, watching the faint lines of the land, until swallowed up in darkness; even then, with eyes straining in the direction of the shore for which they yearned, conversing to- gether, in their own language, in hope and confident expectation of their future fortunes. "While thus employed, the captain and his crew, in another part of the vessel, were concocting their fearful scheme-of vil- lany. "The hour grew late, the night deepened; the few Germans who remained on deck, stretched themselves out where they were, and were soon composed in slumber. "While thus they lay under the peaceful cope and canopy of heaven, in a slumber, which the solemn starlight, looking down upon, seemed to hallow, the merciless murderers, with cautious foot- step and bared weapon, set upon them. The cabin-door of the page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 842 SOUTHWARD H-IO! I vessel had been fastened, the entrance closed to the hold. Eaclh seaman stood by his victim, and at a given signal they all struck together. There was no chance given for struggle-the mur- derers had planned their crime with terrible deliberation and consummate skill. A spasmodic throe of some muscularl frame --a faint cry a slight groan may have escaped the victims- but little more. At least, the poor sleepers below were una- roused by the event. "The deck cleared of the murdered men, the murderers de- scended stealthily to the work below. Passing from berth to berth with the most fiendish coolness, they struck--seldom twice- always fatally--men, women, and children; the old, the young, the tender and the strong, the young mother and the poor angel-innocent but lately sent to earth-all perished; not permitted to struggle, or submitting in despair, incapable of arresting the objects of the criminals. We may fancy for our- selves the horror of such a scene. We may imagine some one or more of the victims awaking under the ill-directed knife- awaking to a vain struggle-unkindly alarming those into con- sciousness who had no strength for conflict. Perhaps a mother may have found strength to rise to her knees, imploring mercy for the dear child of her heart and hope;--may have been suf- fered to live sufficiently long to -see its death struggle, its wild contortions, in the grasp of the unrelenting assassin. Art may not describe such a scene truly, as imagination can lardly coln- ceive it. They perished, one and all--that little family of em- igrants; and the murderers, grouped around the treasures which had damned their hearts into the worst hell of covetousness and crime, were now busied in the division of their bloody spoils. "How they settled this matter among themselves -what divis-- ion they made of the treasure-andwith whllat temper they decided upon their future course, must be wholly matter of con- jecture. Tradition rarely deals with the minior details of lher subject, though sufficiently courageous always in the conception of leading events. "The story further goes, that, having done the fearful deed without botching, thoroughly, effectively, suffering neither resis- -tance nor loss--having possessed themselves of all that was valuable in the ship, as well as among the stores of their vic- ., - - , ;? THE BURNING VESSEL. 843 tirms-the pirates proceeded to set the vessel on fire, as the safe mode for concealing all the proofs of their crime.- They launched their boats. It was midnight. The night was calm and very beautiful-the stars looking down with serene eyes, as innocently and unconsciously, as if there were no guilt, and shame, and murder, anywhere visible; aS if Death had not yet been born anywhere among the sons of ien. 'No voices in4he winds, no wail along the sea, arose to startle the secret coi- sciences of the bloody-handed wretches, fresh from their cruel sacrifice. They worked as if Law and Love both- presided gratefully over their labors; and, with jest and laughter, and perhaps song, they cheerily toiled away, until their ill-gotten spoils were all safely transferred to the stowage of the boats. They then set the condemned vessel on fire-- "' That fatal bark, Built in t1l' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark ;' and plied their prows in the direction of that shore, from the opening harbor of which they had withheld their longing vic- tims. The fire, fed by tar and other combustible matter, seized instantly on every portion of the fabric. The pirates had made their arrangements for its destruction, in such a way as to leave no sort of doubt tlat the ship would be utterly destroyed. She was herself sufficiently old and combustible. The flames rose triumphantly in air, licking aloft with great, red,rolling tongues, far above the maintop, darting out to the prow, climbing along spar and shaft, from stem to stern, from keel to bulwark, involv- ing the whole mass in inextinguishable fire. The pirates looked with satisfied eyes upon their work. Not the aeluge now should arrest the conflagration. The deep should engulf its embers! "Vain hope! The Providence still sees, though the stars, prove erring watchers. Suddenly, as the receding criminals looked back, the ship had ceased to blaze! The masts, and spars, and sails, and cordage, still all alig ht, bright in fiery beauty, perfect in every lineament, no longer raged with the, fire. The flames hissed and spread no longer. The fiery tongues no longer ascended like hissing serpents commissioned to destroy. They seemed each to sleep, long lines of red-hot glow, streaks of fire, shrouds of fire, sails of fire, hull and masts page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 844 SOUTHWARD sO! of fire,-fire alight-of a fierce red flame like that of an August sunset--but fire that would not consume the thing of which it seemed to have become the essential life! "What a wonder! what a spectacle! To the murderers, the finger of God was present. -He was present, beholding all, and his judgment of fire was already begun. "For a moment every arm was paralyzed. The boats drifted idly on the waters. The oars dipped and dragged through the seas, undirected by the stroke, until the husky but harsh voice of the captain startled them into consciousness. He was a hardened sinner, but he too felt the terror. He was simply the first to recover from his paralysis. H"' Hell yawns! It is hell we see! Pull for dear life, men- pull for shore.' "And they obeyed; and, fast as they fled, stoutly as they pulled for land, they looked back with horror and consternation at the sight-that terrible, spectacle behind them-a ship all fire that would not burn-a fire that would neither destroy its object, nor perish itself, nor give out concealing smokes, shrouding the form with blackness,--shrouding the dreadful secret which they themselves had lighted up for the inspection of Heaven. Was God, in truth, presiding over that bloody deck? Was he then penetrating the secrets of that murderous hold? Did hell really yawn upon them with its sulphurous fires! Strange, indeed, and most terrific spectacle! "They reached the land before the dawn of day. They drew their boats on shore upon a lonely waste, a few- miles only from human habitations, but in a region utterly wild and savage. They had strength only to reach the land and draw the boats on shore in safety. Then they sank down, incapable of further effort, and gazed with vacant eyes upon the illuminated beacon of their hellish deeds. There was a God-there was a hell! They read both truths, for the first time clearly, in that awful picture of judgment. "All night thus did the ship continue to glow with unconsuming brightness. The mortal fires had been extinguished in the super- natural. And thus articulately limned in phosphoric brightness, the fatal ship sped to and fro, iow passing forward to the shore upon which they crouched-now suddenly lost- to sight, and THE CHARRED VESSEL. 345 reappearing in the east only to resume the samne fast fearful progress toward the shore. At moments when they lost her, they breathed freely in a relieving sigh, and cried out:- (' She's gone--sunk at last--gone now-gone for ever!' "A moment after, they would cry out in horror:-- "' iHell! There she is again!' i"And so the night passed. , With the dawning of the day the vessel had ceased to burn. She was no longer illuminate. But she was there still-erect. as ever--perfect in hull, and masts, and spars, and sails, and cordage--all unconsumed-everything in its place, as ift she were just leaving port,-but everything blackened-charred to supernatural blackness-terribly sable-gloomy as death- solemn, silent, portentous, moving to and fro in a-never-ceasing. progress from east to west. "With fascinated eyes the miserable murderers watched the dreadful spectacle all day. They ate nothing. They drank nothing. They had no sense but in their eyes, and these had but the one object. Every moment they watched to see the ship go down. When they spoke, it was with this hope; and. sometimes, when for a moment the spectre vessel receded :in the east, they cried this hope aloud in gasping accents full of a horrid joy. But the joy chlanged- in a moment- as she reap- peared quite near again-to a despair more horrid. "With the return of night the terrible fascination increased. The suln went down in beauty; the stars came out in serene sweetness; the sky was without a cloud, the sea without a mur- mur; the winds slept upon the waves; the trees along shore hung motionless; and all gradually melted mistily into the so- ber darkness--all but the blackened vessel. Suddenly, she brightened. Suddenly, they beheld the snaky fires running up the cordage. They wound about the masts; Athey stretched themselves over the canvass; they glared out upon the broad black sea with a thousand eyes of fire; and the ship again -went to and fro, from east to west, illuminate in supernatural fire. She bore down upon them thus, and stood of'f, then wore, then pressed with all canvass toward the beach upon which they crouched, until mortal weakness could no longer endure the terror. The dreadfiul horror could no more be borne. The 15* - page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 SOUT0HWARD HO! murderers fled from the shore-fled to the cover of the forest, and buried themselves in the-vast interior. "According to tradition, the penalty of blood has never been fully paid ; and the rule of retributive justice requires that the avenging fates and furies shall hang about the lives of the crim- inals and their children, unless expiated by superior virtues in the progeny, and through the atoning mercies of the Savior. Hence the continued reappearance, year after year, of the Ship of Fire. -The immediate criminals seem to have gone free. At all events, tradition tells us nothing of their peculiar pains and penalties. Doubtlessly, Eternal justice followed on their footsteps. Their lives were haunted by terror and remorse. Horrid aspects crowded upon their souls in dreaming hours and in solitude. They lived on their ill-gotten spoils to little profit; and, according to the story, each year brought them' down, as by a fearful necessity, to the seashore, at the very period whelnl tlhe spectre ship made her fiery progress along the coast. This spectacle, which they were doomed to endure, kept alive and for ever green in their souls the terrible memory of their crime. They have all met the common destiny of earthl-are all dead; for the period of their evil deed extends back long beyond the usual limit of human life. Their descendants still enjoy tle Iruits of their crime, and hence the still-recurring spectacle of the Ship of Fire, which, according to the tradition, must continue to reappear, on the spot consecrated by the crime, until the last de- scendant of-that bloodly crew shall have expiated, by a death odf shame and agony, the bloody offences of his miserable ancestor." Otr North-Caroliniani- paused. "Have you ever seen this Ship of Fire?" was the question of one of the ladies. "I have seen something like it-something so utterly unac- countable otherwise, under the circumstances, that I have been reluctantly compelled to account for the mystery by a reference to the tradition." This was said somewhat hesitatingly. The Alabamian touched the narrator on the shoulder:- "I do not censure your credulity, my dear young Turpentine, nor will I question your belief indany way; but suffer me to coun- sel, that, whatever you may believe, you never permit yourself to eive a certificate of the fact. No affidavies, if you are wise." CHAPTER XVI. S PIRIT-WHSPERINGS.- REMNISCENCE. THE thanks of our little company were frankly given to our young North-Carolinian, who had delivered himself much more successfully than we were prepared to expect, from the previous scenes in which his simplicity had quite failed to suspect the quizzings of the Alabamian. That satirical worthy joined in the applause with great good humor and evident sincerity, though he could not forbear his usual fling at the venerable North State. , Verily, thou hast done well, my young friend fror the em- pire of Terebinth; thou hast delivered thyself with a commend- able modesty and simplicity, which merits our best acknowledg- ments. Pray, suppose me, among the rest, to be eminently de- lighted and grateful accordingly. That a tragedy so grave, and so symmetrical as the one you have told, could have been con- jlred out of ally of the historical or the traditional material of North Carolina., I could scarcely have believed. I have been pleased to think her genius too saturnine or phlegmatic for such conceptions. If she lost the phlegm for a moment, it was to indulge in a spasmodic sort of cacchination. She relishes the -ludicrous at times. Travelling last summer over her railroad to the east, fwe came to a place called ' Strickland.' "' Strickland!' cries the conductor: and at the word, an old woman got out, and a group of smiling country-girls got in. "' Strickland, indeed!' exclaimed one Jeruthan Dobbs, an aged person in a brown linen overall, and with a mouth from ear to ear, defiled at both extremities, with the brownest juices of the weed--' Strickland, indeed! that's one of them big words they've got up now, to take in people that don't know. The people all about here calls the place Tear-Shirt' and -they kain't be got to larn your fine big name for it. Strickland's quite too big a mouthful for a corn-cracker.' page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 SOUTHWARD HO! "Think of the pathetic susceptibilities of any people who call their village Tear-Shirt!' I could not -well believe it, and knowing in what sort of ditch water hyperbole our common sort of people are apt to deal, I turned to the fellow and said- You don't mean that' Tear-Shirt' is the real name of this place ' "'Why to be sure I do,' said he I that's what the people calls it all about; its only the railroad folks that names it 'Strick- land';-and he then told a long cock-and-bull story of a famous fight in these parts, at the first settling of the place, in which one of the parties, though undergoing a terrible pummelling all i the while continued to tear the shirt wholly from the back of his assailant; and this imposing event, seizing upon the popular imagination, caused the naming of the place-the ludicrous naturally taking much firmer hold with the vulgar than the sub- lime. Tie most pathetic circumstance that I ever witnessed, or, indeed, heard of in North Carolina, occurred ill this very region, and on the same occasion. I mentioned that a group of country. girls came into the cars, at this place of ragged-linen cognomen. They were pretty girls enough, and several beaux were in at- tendance; and such sniggering and smiling, and chirping and i chittering, would have made Cupid himself ache to hear and wit- ness, even in the arms of Psyche. "' Ain't you going to take little CaAzrrybusco along with you, Miss Sallie?' demanded one of the swains, holding up a pet pup. py to the windows of the car. r ip "' Ef they'd let me,' answered one of the girls; ' but they'd } want me to pay for his passage.' ) ' He'll be so sorry ef you leave hia!' quoth the lover. "'Well, I reckon,' responded the girl, pertly enough, 'he . won't be the only puppy that's sorry.' "'You're into me, Miss Sallie!V was the answer; ' and I shall feel sore about the ribs for the rest of the day.' "' I don't think,' answered the girl- I never gin you credit for any feeling.' "' Ah! you're too hard upon a body now.' ' Well, I don't want to be; for when I think about leaving Churrybusco, I has a sorrowful eort of feeling for all leetle dogs.' "'Well, take us both along. I'll pay for myself, and I reck-. THE LITTLE DOG. 849 on the conductor won't see Churry, and he won't say nothing ef he does.' "' You think so?' " I does.' tis Well, hand him up here. I'll try it.' "g And, with the words, the insignificant little monster, of gray complexion and curly tail, was handed into the window of the car, and carefully snuggled up in the shawl of Miss Sallie, Soon we were under way. Soon the conductor made his appear- ance and received his dues. If he saw the dog, he was civil enough not to seem to see. For a few miles, the puppy and the damsel went on quietly enough. But Churrybusco became impa- tient finally of his wrappings in the mantle, and he scrambled out, first upon the seat, then upon the floor of the car. Anon, we stopped for a moment at some depot, where twenty-two barrels of turpentine were piled up ready for exportation. Here 'Churrybusco made his way to the platform, and, just as the car was moving off, a clumsy steerage passenger, stepping from one car to another, tumbled the favorite from the platform upon the track. Very terrible and tender was the 'scream of the young lady - "' Churrybusco ! Churrybusco! He's killed! he's killed!' "But the wlhining and yelping puppy soon showed himself running with all his little legs in pursuit of the train, and bow- wowing with pitiful entreaty as he ran. "'Stop the car! stop the car!' cried the young lady to the conductor passing through. (' (Stop h-1 ' was the horrid answer of the ruffian. "The lady sobbed and begged, but the obdurate monster was not to be moved by her entreaties. The damsel was whirled away, weeping all the while. If you ask tradition, it will prob- ably tell you that the pup has kept on running to this day, on his stumps, as the fellow fought in the old English ballad. The whole scene was very pathetic--after a fashion. Now, that is the most tragic adventure that I ever had in North Carolina." "You may find others more tragical," quoth our North-Caro- linian, significantly, " if you travel frequently on that route, and use your tongue as freely as you-do here." We soon got back to the traditions of the great deep-its page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350- SOUTHWARDV HO! storms and secrets. Our captain then told the following anec- dote of his own experience :-- "You remember the fate of the Pulaski? Well, when she arrived from Savannah, full of passengers, and took in almost as great a number in the port of Charleston, the packet-ship Sutton, which I then commanded, was up for New York also. The Pulaski was- all the rage, as she had announced that she was to be only one night at sea. My ship had a large list of her own passengers, some of whom were prudent enough to prefer our ancient slow and easy sailer. - But two of them were now anxious, to leave me, and take the Pulaski. Of course, I had no objections to their doing so; I simply objected to giving them back their money. They were' not so anxious to get on as to make them incur double expense of passage, so they remained with me, growling and looking sulky all the way. Of course, my reso- lution saved their lives, but I do not remember that they ever , thanked me for having done so, or apologized for their sulks upon the way. But, curious enough, before they left the port, and while they were clamoring for their discharge, there came a gentleman from the interior, who lhad taken passage in the Pu- laski, and paid his money to that vessel. He implored a place in my ship, giving as his reason that he was afraid to go in the steamer. He was troubled with a presentiment of danger, and preferred to forfeit his money, rather than lose his life. His earnestness to get on board the Sutton, and to escape the Pu- laski, was in amusing contrast with that of my two passengers who wished to escape from me. I had no berth for the stran- ger, but he insisted. He could sleep anywhere--any how- and desired conveyance only. -He was accommodated,-and was, of course, one of those who escaped the danger. "(It 0so happened that-we had on board the Sutton several members of one of the most distinguished of the South Carolina families. A portion of this family, in spite 'of the wishes of the rest, had gone in the Pulaski. The steamer, of course, soon showed us her heels, and the Sutton went forward as slowly as the- most philosophical patience could desire. 'We had Light and baffling winds-nothing to help us forward-but no bad weather. The long-sided coast of North Carolina stretched away, never ending in length, for days upon our quarter. At MYSTERIOUS VOICES. 351 length, by dint of patience rather than wind, we reached that latitude in which the Pulaski had blown up four days before. We' mnst have been very nearly over the very spot, as we dis- covered by calculation afterward. Of course we were wholly in ignorance of the terrible catastrophe. ,' That evening, one of the gentlemen of the Carolina family I have mentioned, came to me, and said that he had heard cries of distress and moanings, as of some persons upon the water. I immediately set watches abott the vessel, examined as well as I might myself, but could neither hear nor see any object be- yond the ship. He again heard the noises, and again I watched and examined. He was excited-necessarily, and I greatly anx- ious. With the first dawn of morning I was up in the rigging, and sweeping the seas with my glass. Nothing was to be seen. We had no special fears, no apprehensions. There seemed no. reason for apprehension. None of us thought of the Pulaski. She was a good seaboat, and, saving the presentiment of the one passenger, who did not again speak of the scruples he had expressed on shore, there were not only no apprehensions en- tertained of the steamer's safety, but our passengers, many of them, were all the while regretting that they had not gone in, her. We never heard of her fate, or suspected it, till we took our pilot off Sandy-Hook. Now, what do you say of the warn- ing cries which were heard by the one gentlemen, whose kins- men in the Pulaski were all lost. Four days before, they were perishing, Without help, in that very spot of sea. The presenti- ments of the one passenger, before we started, the signs mani- fested to another after the terrible event, are surely somewhat curious, as occurring in the case of this single ship. I think that I am as little liable to superstitious fears and fancies as any. body present, and yet, these things, with a thousand others in my sea experience, have satisfied me to believe with Hamlet, that "' There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Than are dreamed of in our philosophy.' " Once open the way for the supernatural, and it is surprising what a body of testimony you can procure. -Most people are sensitive to ridicule on this subject, and will rarely deliver the secrets of their prison-house to other ears, unless the cue has page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 SOUTHWARD HO! been first given to the company by one bolder than the rest. Our captain's anecdote led to a variety of experiences and revela- tions, at the close of which, one of the party, being reminded of his appointment as next raeonteur, bestowed the following dark fancy-piece upon us, which he assured us was woven in the world of dreams, and was, in most respects, a bozafide report of a real experience in the domain of sleep:- THE WAGER OF BATTLE. A TALE OF THE FEUDAL AGES. CHAPTER I. THE analysis of the dreaming faculty has never yet been made. The nearest approach to it is in our own time, and by the doctors of Phrenology. The suggestion of a plurality of mental attributes, and of their independence, one of the other, affords a key to some of the difficulties of the subject, without altogether enabling us to penetrate the mystery. Many diffi: culties remain to be overcome, if we rely upon the ordinary modes of thinking. SIy own notion is, simply, that the condition of sleep is one which by no means affects the mental nature. I think it probable that the mind, accustomed to exercise, thinks on, however deep may be the sleep of the physical man; that the highest exercise of the thinking faculty--that which involves the imagination-is, perhaps, never more acutely-free to work out its problems than when unembarrassed by the cares and anxieties of the temperament and form; and that dreaming is neither more nor less than habitual thought, apart from the or- dinary restraints of humanity, of which the memory, at waking, retains a more or less distinct consciousness. This thought may or may not have been engendered by the topics which, have im- pressed or interested us during the day; but this is not necessary nor is it inevitable. We dream precisely as we think, with sug- gestions arising to the mind in sleep, spontaneously, as they do continually when awake, without any special provocation; and our dreams, in all probability, did not our memory fail us at awaking, would possess that coherence, proportion and mutual relation of parts, which the ordinary use of the ratiocinative , THE NIGHT PROSPECT. 85. faculties requires. I have no sort of doubt that the sleep of the physical man may be perfect, even while the mind is at work, in a high state of activity, and even excitement, in its mighty store- house. The eye may be shut, the ear closed, the tongue sealed, the taste inappreciative, and the nerves of touch locked up in the fast embrace of unconsciousness, while thought, fancy, im- agination, comparison and causality, are all busy in the most keen inquiries, and in the most wonderful creations. But my purpose is not now to insist upon these phenomena, and my speculations are only meant properly to introduce a vision of my own; one of those wild, strange, foreign fancies which sometimes so unex- pectedly people and employ our slumbers--coherent, seemingly, in all its parts, yet as utterly remote as can well be imagined from the- topics of daily experience and customary reflection. I had probably been asleep a couple of hours, when I was awakened with some oppressive mental sensation. I was con- scious that I had been dreaming, and that I had seen a crowd of persons, either in long procession, or engaged in some great state ceremonial. But of the particular s-the place,the parties the purpose, or the period,--I had not the most distant recollec- tion I was conscious, however, of an excited pulse, and of a feeling so restless, as made me, for a moment, fancy that I had fever. Such, however, was not the case. I rose, threw on my robe de cambi'e, and went to the window. The moon was in her meridian; the whole landscape was flickering with the light silvery haze iwith which she carpeted her pathway. From the glossy surface of the orange leaves immediately beneath; the window, glinted a thousand diamond-like points of inexpressible brightness; while over all the fields was spread a fleecy softness, that was doubly pure and delicate in contact with the sombre foliage of the great forest, to the very foot of wlhich it stretched. There was nothing in the scene before me that was not at once gentle and beautiful; 'nothing which, by the most remote con- nection, could possibly suggest an idea of darkness or of terror. I gazed upon the scene only for a few moments. The night was cold, and a sudden shivering chillness which it sent through all my frame, counselled me to get back to bed with all possible ex- pedition. I did so, but was not successful in wooing the return page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 854 SOUTHWARD HO! of those slumbers which Ihad been so unusually banished from mine eyes. For more than an hour I lay tossing and dissatisfied, with my thoughts flitting from subject to subject with all tho caprice of an April butterfly. When I again slept, however, I was again conscious of a crowd. A multitude of objects passed in prolonged bodies before my sight. Troops of glittering forms then occupied the canvass, one succeeding to the other regularly, but without any individuality of object or distinct feature. But I could catch at intervals a bright flash, as of a plume or jewel, of particular size and splendor, leading me to the conviction that whlat I beheld was the progress of some great state ceremonial, or the triumphal march of some well-appointed army. But whether the procession moved under the eagles of the Roman, tlhe horse-tails of the Ottoman, or the lion banner of England, it was impossible to ascertain. I could distinguish none of the en- signs of battle. The movements were all slow and regular. There was nothing of strife or hurry--none of the clamor of invasion or exultation of victory. The spectacle passed on witl a measured pomp, as if it belonged to some sad and gloomy rite, where. the splendor rather increased the solemnity to which it was simply tributalry. CHAPTER II. THElm scene changed even as I gazed. The crowd had disap- peared. The vast multitude iwias gone from sight, and mine eye, which had strained after the last of their retreating shadows! now dropped its lids .on vacancy. Soon, however, instead of the great waste of space and sky, which left me without place of rest for sight, I beheld the interior of a vast and magnificent hall, most like the interior of some lofty cathedral. The style of the building was arabesque, at once richly and elaborately wrought, and sombre. The pointed arches, reached by half-moon involu- tions, with the complex carvings and decorations of cornice, column, and ceiling, at once carried me back to those wondrous specimens-which the art of the Saracen has left rather for our admiration than rivalry. The apartment was surrounded by a double row of columns; slender shafts, which seemed rather the antennae of graceful plants thahf bulks and bodies of stone and marble, rising for near fifty feet in height, then gradually ,mar dually THE FEUDA&L PALACE. spreading in numerous caryatides, resembling twisted and un- folding serpents, to the support of the vast roof. All appearance of hulk, of cumbiousness, even of strength, seemed lost in the elaborate delicacy with which these antenna stretched them- selves from side to side, uniting the several arches in, spans of the most airy lightness and beauty. The' great roof for which they f urnished the adequate support, rose too high in the but partial light which filled the hall, to enable me to gather more than an imperfect idea of its character and workmanship. But of its great height the very incapacity to define its character af- forded me a sufficient notion. Where the light yielded the desired opportunity, I found the flowery beauty of the architecture, on every hand, to be alike inimitable. To describe it would be im- possible. A thousand exquisite points of light, the slenderest beams, seemed to depend, like so many icicles, from arch and elevation-to fringe the several entrances and windows-to liang from every beam and rlafter; and to cast over all, an ap- pearan ce so perfectly aerial, as to make me doubtful, at moments, rwhether the immense interior which I saw them span, with the massive but dusky ceiling which they were. intended to sustain, were not, in fact, a little world of wood, with the blue sky dimly overhead, a realm of vines and flowers, with polished woodland, shafts, lavishy and artfully accumulated in the open air, so as to produce, in an imperfect Ight, a delusive appearance of archi- tectural weight, magnificence and majesty. An immense avenue folmed of columns thus embraced and bound together by the most elaborate and fantastic carvings, linked vines, boughs, flowers and serpents, opened before me, conducting the eye through far vistas of the same description, thus confirming Athe impression of cathedral avenues of forest., The eye, beguiled along these passages, wandered into others quite as interminable, with frequent glimpses into lateralsranges quite as wonderful and ample, until the dim perspective was shut, not because of the termination of the passage, but because of the- painful- inability in the sight any further to pursue it. Eacl: of these avenues had its decorations, similaily elaborate and ornate with the rest of the interior. Vines and .flowers, stars and wreaths, crosses and circles--with such variety of form and color as the kaleido- scope only might produce in emulation of the fancy--were all page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 856 SOUTHRWARD HO! present, but symmetrically duplicated, so as to produce an equal correspondence on each side, figure answering to' figure. Bit these decorations were made tributary to other objects. Numer. ous niches opened to the sight, as you penetrated the mighty avenue, in which stood noble and commanding forms;--statues of knights in armor; of princes; great men who had swayed nations; heroes, who had encountered dragons for the safety of the race; and saintly persons, who had called down blessings from heaven upon the nation in the hour of its danger and its fear. The greater number of these stood erect as when in life; but some sat, some reclined, and others knelt; but all, save for the hue of the marble in which they were wrought-so exquisite was the art which they had employed--would have seemed to be living even then. Around the apartment which I have been describing, were double aisles, or rather avenues, formed by sister columns, corresponding in workmanship'andcl style, if not in size, with those which sustained the roof. These were deep and sepulchral in-shadow, but withal very attractive-, and lovely places; retreats of shade, and silence, and solemn beauty; autumnal walks, where the heart which had been wounded by the shafts and sorrows of the world, might fly, and be secure, and where the form, wandering lonely among the long shadows of grove and pillar, and in the presence of noble and holy images of past worth and virtue, might still maintain the erect stature which belongs to elevated fancies, to purest purposes, and great designs for ever working in the soul. But it would be idle to attempt to convey, unless by general- ities, any definite idea of the vast and magnificent theatre, or of that singular and sombre beauty with which I now found "myself surrounded. Enough, that, while I was absorbed, with my whole imagination deeply excited by the architectural grandeur which I surveyed, I had grown heedless of the progress of events among certain human actors--if I may be thus permitted to des- ignate the creatures of a vision--which had meanwhile taken their places in little groups in a portion of the ample are,. While mine eyes had been uplifted in the contemplation of thilgs inanimate, it appears that a human action was in progress on a portion of the scene below. - I was suddenly aroused by a stir and bustle, followed by a faint murmur, as of, applauding voices, THE SOVEREIGN. " which at length reached my ears, and diverted my gaze from the . remote and lofty, to the rich tesselated pavement of the apart- ment. If the mere splendor of the structure had so fastened upon my imagination, what can I say of the scene which now eomnanded my attention! There was the pomp of courts; the pride of majesty, the glory of armor, the grace and charm of aristocratic beauty, in all her plumage, to makel me forgetful of all other display. I now beheld groups of noble persons, clad in courtly dresses, in knightly armor, sable and purple, with a grofusion of gold and jewels, rich scarfs, and plumes of surpas- sing splendor. Other -groups presented me with a most imposing vision of that gorgeous churchl, whose mitred prelates could place their feet upon the necks of mightiest princes, and sway, for good or evil, the destinies of conflicting nations. There wele priests clad in flowing garments, courtiers in silks, and noblest dames, who had swayed in courts from immemorial time. Their long and rustling trains were upborne by damsels and pages, lovely enough, and richly enough arrayed, to be apt ministers in the very Courts of Love himself. A chair of state, massive; and richly draped in purple and gold, with golden insignia, over which lung the jeweled tiara of sovereignty, was raised upon a dais some five feet above the level of the crowd. This was filled by a tdll and slender person, to whom all made obeisance as to an imperial master. He was habited in sable, a single jewel upon his brow, bearing up a massive shock of feathers as black and glossy as if wrought out of sparkling coal. The air of majesty in his action, the habitual command upon his brow, left me in no doubt of his sovereign state, even had the obeisance of the mul- titude been wanting. But hle looked not as if long destined to hold sway in mortal provinces. His person was meagre, as if wasted by disease. Iis cheeks were pale and hollow; while a peculiar brightness of t!he eyes shone in painful contrast withl the pale and ghastly color of his face. Behind his chair stood one who evidently held th e position of a favorite and trusted coun- sellor. Hie was magnificently habited, with a profusion of jewels, which nevertheless adlded but little to the noble air and exquisite symmetry of his person. At intervals he could be seen to bend over to the ear of the prince, as if whispering him in secret. This show of intimacy , if pleasing to his superior, was yet 856 page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 358 SOUTHWARD HO! evidently of different effect upon many others in the assembly. The costume of the place was that of the Norman sway in Eng. land; before the Saxons had quite succeeded,-throughfl the jealousy entertained by the kings, of their nobles,'-in obtaining a share of those indulgences which finally paved the way to their recognition by the conquerors. Yet, even in this respect of costume; I was conscious of some discrepancies. Some of the habits worn were decidedly Spanish; but as these were mingled with others which bore conclusive proof of the presence of the wearers in the wars-of the Crusades, it was not improbable that they had been adopted as things of fancy, from 'a free com- munion of the parties with knights of Spain whom they had encountered in the Holy Land. But I was not long permitted to bestow my regards on a sub. ject so subordinate as dress. The scene was evidently no mere spectacle. Important and adverse interests were depending-- wild passions were at work, and the action of a very vivid dramai was about to open upon me. A sudden blast of a trumpet pene trated the hall. I say blast, though the sounds were faint as if subdued by distance. But the note itself, and the instrument could not have been mistaken. A stir ensued anmong the spec- tators. The crowd divided before an outer door, and those more distant bent forward, looking in this direction with an eager anx- iety which none seemed disposed to conceal. They were not long kept in suspense. A sudden unfolding of the great valves of the entrance followed, when a rush'zvas made from without. The tread of heavy footsteps, the waving of tall plumes, and a murmur from the multitunde, announced the presence of other parties for whom the action of the drama was kept in abeyance. The crowd opened from right to left, and one of the company stood alone, with' every eye of the vast assemblage fixed curi- ously upon his person. CHAPTER I1I. AND well, apart from every consideration yet to be developed, might they gaze upon the princely form that now stood erect, and with something approachiny to defiance in llis air and man- ner, in the centre of the vast assemblage. He was habited in THE TRAITOB PRINCE. o chain armor, the admirable work, in all probability, of the shops of Milan; This, though painted or stained thoroughly black, yet tlrew out a glossy lustre of incredible brightness. Upon his breast, as if the love token of some noble damsel, a broad scarf of the most delicate blue was seen to float. A cap of velvet, with a double loop in front, bearing a very large brilliant from which rose a bunch of sable plumes, was diseaaded from his brows the moment that he stood within the royal presence. He stood for a brief space, seeming to survey the scene, then ad- vanced with a bold and somewhat rapid step, as if a natural spirit of fearlessness had been stimulated into eagerness by a con- sciousness of wrong and a just feeling of indignation. His face was scarcely less noble than his form and manner, but it was marked by angry passions--was red and swollen-- and as he passed onward to the foot of the throne, he glanced fiercely on either hand, as if seeking for an enemy. In spite of the fearless- ness of his progress, I could now perceive that he was under constraint and in duresse. A strong body of halberdiers closed upon his course, and evidently stood prepared and watchful of his every movement. As he approached the throne, the several groups gave way before him, and he stood, with unobstructed vision, in the immediate presence of the monarch. For an in- stant lie remained erect, with a mien unsubduedl and almost haughty, while a low murmur-as I fancied, of indignation- rose in various portions of the hall. The face of the king him- self seemed suddenly flushed, and a lively play of the muscles of his countenance led me to believe that he was about to give utterance to his anger; but, at this moment, the stranger sunk gracefully but proudly upon his knee, and, bending his forehead, with a studied humility in his prostration, disarmed, if it -had been felt, the indignation of his sovereign. This done, he rose to his feet with a manly ease, and stood silent, in an attitude of expec- tation, but with a calm, martial erectness, as rigid as if cut from the inflexible rock. ' The king spoke, but the words were inaudible tomyears. There was a murmur from various parts of the assembly. Sev- er'al voices followed that of the monarch, but of these I could not comprehend the purport. 'I could only judge of the clirac- ter of what was said by its startling effect upon the stranger. If:. page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 SOUTHWARD HO! excited before, he seemed to be almost maddened now. His eyes followed the murmuring voices from side to side of the as. sembly, with a fearful flashing energy, which made them dilate, as if endangering the limits of their reddened sockets. A like feverish and impatient fury threw his form into spasmodic action. His figure seemed to rise and swell, towering above the rest. His arms were stretched in the direction of the assailing voices. His clenched fist seemed to threaten the speakers with in. stant violence.' Unintimidated by the presence in which he stood, his appearance was that of a subject, not only too strong for his superior, but too confident and presumptuous for his own self-subjection, even in the moment of greatest peril to himself. He resumed his composure at last, and the murmur ceased around him. There was deep silence, and the eyes of the stran- ;ger were fixed lrigidly upon those of his prince. The latter was evidently moved. His hand was extended-something he spoke which I again lost; but, strange to say, the reply of the stranger came sharply and distinctly to my ear. "Swear! Why should I swear? Should I call upon the Holy Evangel as my witness, when I see not my accuser? Let him appear. Let him look me in the face, if there be lord or knight in this assembly so bold, and tell me that I am guilty of this treason. Sire! I challenge myaccuser. I have no other answer to the charge!" CHAPTER IV. THE lips of the king moved. The nobleman who stood be- hind his throne, and whom I conceived to be his favorite, bent down and received his orders; thei; disappeared behind one of the columns whose richly-decorated, but slender shafts, rose up directly behind him, like some graceful stems of the forest, over which the wildering vine, and the gaudy parasite clambers with an embrace that kills. But a few moments elapsed when the favorite reappeared. He was accompanied by a person, whose peculiar form and aspect will deserve especial description. In that hall, in the presence of princes, surrounded by knights and nobles of the proudest in the land, the person newly come- though seemingly neither knight nor noble-was one of the most THE MAGICIAN. 361 \ lofty in his carriage, and most imposing and impressive in his look and manner. He was not only taller than the race of men in general, but he was obviously taller than any in that' select circle by whichl he was surrounded. Nor did his features mis- beseem his person. These were singularly noble, and of Italian cast and character. His face was' large, and of the most perfect oval. Though that of a man who had probably seen and suffered under sixty winters, it still bore the proofs of a beauty once remarkable. It still retained a youthful freshness, which spoke for a conscience free from remorse and self-reproach. His eyes were of a mild, but holily expressive blue; and beneath their rather thin white brows, were declarative of more titan human benevolence. His forehead was very large and lofty, of great breadth and compass, in the regions of ideality and -sublimity, as well as causality; while his hair, thick still, and depending from behind his head in numerous waving curls, was, like his beard, of the most silvery whiteness. This was spread, massive- ly, upon his breast, which it covered almost to the waist. His complexion was very pale, but of a clear whiteness, and harmo- nized sweetly with the antique beauty and 'power of his head. His costume differed in style, texture and stuff, entirely from that which prevailed in the assembly. A loose white robe, which extended from his shoulders to the ground, was bound about his body by a belt of plain Spanish leather, and worn with a grace and nobleness perfectly majestical. His feet were clothed in Jewish sandals. But there was nothing proud or haughty in his majesty. On the contrary, it was in contrast with the evident humility in his eye and gesture, that his dignity of bearing be- trayed itself. This seemed to be as much the fruit of pure and elevated thoughts, calm and resigned, as of that superior physical organization which made this aged man tower as greaitly above the rest,. in person, as he certainly did in air and manner. ? Ie. advanced, as he appeared, to the foot of the throne, grace- fully sunk before it, then rising, stood in quiet, as awaiting the royal command to speak. His appearance seemed to fill the assembly with eager curiosity. A sudden hush prevailed as he approached, the natural result of that awe which great superior- ity usually inspires in the breast of ignorance. There was but one face among the spectators that seemed to betray no curiosity 16 page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 SOUTrHWARD -HO! as he came in sight. This was that of the accused. With the first coming of the ancient man, I had instinctively fixed my gaze upon the countenance of the nobleman. I could easily discern that his lips were compressed as if by sudden effort, while his usually florid features were covered with a momentary paleness. This emotion, with the utter absence of that air of curiosity which marked every other visage, struck me, at once, as somewhat significant of guilt. "Behold thy accuser!" exclaimed the sovereign. "He! the bookworm! - the dreamer! - the madman! - sor. cerer to the vulgar, but less than dotard to the wise! Does your majesty look to a star-gazer for such evidence as will degrade with shame the nobles of your realm? Sire! -if no sorcerer, this old man: is verily distraught! He is lunatic or vile-a madman, or a bought servitor of Satan!" The venerable man thus scornfully denounced, stood, mean. while, looking sorrowful and subdued, but calm and unruffled, at the foot of the cdais. His eye rested a moment upon the speaker, then turned, as if to listen to that speech, with which the favor. ite, behind the throne of the monarch, appeared to reply to the language of the accused. This I did not hear, nor yet that which the sovereign addressed to the same person. But the import might be divined by the answer of the accused. "And I say, your majesty, that what he hath alleged is false -all a false and bitter falsehood, devised by cunning and malice to work out the purposes of hate. My word against his--my gauntlet against the world. I defy him to the proof! I defy all my accusers!" "And he shall have,the truth, your majesty," was the firm, clear answer with which the venerable man responded to this defiance. His tones rang through the assembly like those of a sweet bell in the wilderness.--"AIy life, sire, is sworn to the truth! I can speak no' other language. That I have said nothing falsely of this lord, I invoke the attestation of the Lord of all. I have had his sacred volume brought into this presence. You shall know, sire, what I believe,-by what I swear!" He made a step aside, even while he spoke, to a little girl whom I had not before seen, but wlo had evidently followed him into the assembly. She now approached, bearing in her'hands one THE ACCUSATION. 363 of those finely illuminated manuscripts of an early day of Chris- tian history in Europe, which are now worth their weight in gold. I could just perceive, as he openeds the massive volume, by its heavy metallic clasps, that the characters were strange, and readily conjectured them to be Hebrew. The work, from what he said, and the use to which he applied it, I assumed to be the Holy Scriptures. He received it reverently from- the child, placed it deliberately upon one of the steps of the dais, then knelt before it, his venerable head for a moment, being bowed to the very floor. Then raising his eyes, but without rising from his position, he placed one hand upon this volume, raised the other to heaven, and, with a deep and solemn voice, called upon, God and the Holy Evangelists, to witness that what he had spoken, and was about to speakl, was " the truth, and the truth only-spoken with no malice-no wicked or evil intent -and rather to defeat and prevent the evil designs of the per- son he accused." In this posture, and thus affirming, he pro- ceeded to declare that " theaccused had applied to him for a potent poison which should have the power of usurping life slowly, and without producing any of those striking effects upon the outward man, as would induce suspicion of criminal practice." He added, with other particulars, that " the accused had invited him, under certain temptations, which had been succeeded by - threats, to become one of a party to his designs, the victim of which was to be his majesty then sitting upon the throne." CHAPTER V. SUCH was the tenor of the assever'ations which he made, for- tified by numerous details, all tending strongly to confirm the truth of his accusations, his own testimony once being, relied-on. There was something so noble in this man's action, so- delicate, so impressive, so simple, yet so grand; and the particulars which he gave were all so probably arrayed, so well put together, and so seemingly in confirmation of other circumstances -drawn from the testimony of other parties, that all around .appeared fully impressed with the most perfect conviction that his accusation was justly made, A short but painful silence followed his nar- ration, which seemed, for an instant, to confound the guilty no- page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 864 SOUTHWARD HO! ble. The sad countenance of the monarch deepened to severity, while a smile of triumph and exultation rose to that of the favor. ite behind his throne. At this sight the accused person recov- ered all his audacity. With half-choking utterance, and features kindling with fury rather than faltering with fear, he demanded, "Am I to be heard, your majesty?'? A wave of the monarch's hand gave him the desired permis- sion, and -his reply burst forth like a torrent. He gave the lie to his accuser, whom he denounced as an impostor, as one who waslthe creature of his and the king's enemies, and tampering, himself, with the sovereign's life while pretending to minister to his ailments. He ridiculed, with bitterness and scorn, the notion that any faith should be given to the statements, though even offered on oatl, of -one whom he affirmed to be an unbeliever and a Jew; and, as if to crown his defence with a seal no less impressive than that of his accuser, he advanced to the foot of the throne, grasped the sacred volume from the hands by which it was upheld, and kneeling, -with his lips pressed upon the opened pages, lie imprecated upon himself, if his denial were not the truth, all the treasured wrath and thunder in the stores of Heaven! The accuser heard, with uplifted hands and looks of holy hor- ror, the wild and terrible invocation. Almost unconsciously his lips parted with the comment:- ' God have mercy upon your soul, my lord, for you have spoken a most awful perjury!" The king looked bewildered, the favorite behind him dissatis- fied, and the whole audience apparently stunned by equal incer- titude and excitement. The eyes of all parties fluctuated be- tween the accused and the accuser. They stood but a few paces asunder. The former looked like a man who only with a great struggle succeeded in controlling his fury. The latter stood sor- rowful, but calm. The little girl who had brought in the holy volume stood before him, with one of his hands resting upon her head. Her features greatly resembled his own. She looked terrified; her eyes fastened ever upon the face of her father's enemy with a countenance of equal curiosity and-suspicion. Some conversation, the sensb of which did not reach me, now ensued between the king and two of his counsellors, to which (, ,*Q. THE GAGE OF BATTLE. 365 his favorite was a party. - The former again addressed the ac- cuser. , Have you any other testimony but that which you yourself offer of the trutlh of your accusation. , None, your majesty. I have no witness of my truth but God, and it is not for vain man to prescribe to him at what sea- sons his testimony should be given. In bringing this accusa- tion, my purpose was not the destruction of the criminal, but the safety of my sovereign; and I am the more happy that no con- viction can now follow from my charge, as from the dreadful oath which he has just taken, he places it out of the power of human tribunal to resolve between us. For the same reasons, sire, he is in no condition to suffer death! Let him live! 'It is enough for me that your majesty is safe from the present, and has been warned against all future danger at his hands." "But not enough for me!" cried the accused, breaking in im- petuously. "I have been charged with a foul crime; I must free my scutcheon from the shame. I will not rest beneath it. If this Jewish sorcerer hath no better proof than his own false tongue, I demand from, your majesty the wager of battle! I, too, invoke God and the blessed Jesu, in -testimony of my innocence. This enemy hath slandered me; I will wash out the slander with his blood! I' demand the trial, sire, his arm against mine, according to the laws and custom of this realm." "It can not be denied!" was the cry from many voices. The favorite looked grave and troubled. The eyes of the king were fixed sadly upon the venerable accuser. The latter seemed to understand the expression. "I am not a man of blood, your majesty. Strife hath long been banished from this bosom; carnal weapons have long been discarded from these hands." "Let him find a champion!" was the fierce answer -of the accused. "And of what avail to me," returned the accuser, "1 the brute valor of the hireling who sells for wages the strength of his man- hood, and perils for gain the safety of his life. Little should I hope from the skill of such as hle, opposed in combat to one of the greatest warriors of the realm." "Ah, sorcerer! thou fearest!" was the exulting cry of -the page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366 SOUTHW9ARD HO! accused; but, if thy cause be that of truth, as thou hast chal. lenged the Most High to witness, what hast thou to fear? The stars which thou searchest nightly, will they not do battle ill thy behalf?r Methinks,^ said the favorite, wlo now advanced from behind the throne, " metlinks, old man, thou bast but too little relianlce on the will and power of God to assist thee in this matter. It is for him to strengthen the feeblest, where he is innocent, and in the ranks of war to do successful battle with the best and bravest. Is it not written, ' The race is not always to the swift, nor the triumph to the strong!"'? "Ah do I not knowthis, my lord? Do not think that I qtues- tion the power of the Lord to do marvels, whenever it becomes his will to do so; but who is it, believing in God's might and mercy, that flings himself idly from the steep, with the hope thlat an an- i gel's wings shall be sent to bear him up. I have been taught by the faith which I profess, to lonor the Lord our God, and not to tempt him; and I do not readily believe that we may commanad the extraordinary manifestations of his power by any such vain i and uncertain issue as that which you would nowr institute. I believe not that the truth is inevitably sure to follow the wager and trial of battle, nor will I lean on the succor of any hireling weapon to avouch for mine." - It need be no hireling sword, old man. The brave and the -^ noble love adventure, for its owh-sake, in the paths of danger; and it may be that thou shalt find some one, even in this assem- bly, noble as him then accusest, and not less valiant with lis weapon, who, believing illn thy truth, shall be willing to do bat- tie in thy behalf." 'Thyself, perchance!' cried the accused, impetuously, and turning a fiery glance upon the speaker. In this glance it sepemed to me that I could discover a far greater degree of bit- terness and hate than in any whichh he had shown to his accuser,. ' It is thyself that would do this battle? Ha! thou art he, then, equally noblc and not less valiant, art thou? Be it so! It mwill rejoice me shouldst thou venture thy body in this quarrel. But I know thee-thou lovest it too well-thou durst not." ^Choose me for thy clhampion, old man,'? was the further speech of the favorite, -with a difficult effort to be calm. I willJ THE GLOV E. 8 BT o battle for thee, and with God's mercy, sustain the right in 4y behalf.7' d Tnou shalt not 1" exclaimed the king, vehemently, but feebly, calf rising as he spoke, and turning to the favorite. "Tho4 halt not I command thee mix not in this matter." More was said, but in suchll a feeble tone that it failed to each my senses. When the king grew silent, the favorite owed with submissive deference, and sunk again behind, the hrone. A scornful smile passed over the lips of the accused, Yio looked, with a bitter intelligence of gaze, upon a little group ,eemingly his friends and supporters, who had partly grouped hlemselves around im n Following his glance, a moment after owardl the royal person, I was attracted by a movement, though *or a single instant only, of the uplifted hand of the favorite. It was a sign to the accused, the former witlhdrawing the glove from his right hand, a moment after, and flinging it, with a sig- nificant action, to the floor behind him. The accused, whispered a page in waiting, who immediately stole away and disappeared from sight. But a little while elapsed when I beheld him ap- proach the spot where the glove had fallen, recover it adroitly, and convey it,-unperceived, into his bosom. All this by-plAy, though no doubt apparent to many in the assembly, was evi- dently unseen and unsuspected by the king. J inferred the rank luxuriance of the practice of chivalry in this region, from the nicety ivith which the affair was conducted, and the forbearance of all those by whom it had been witnessed, to make any report of what they had beheld. The discussion was resumed by the accuser. , - "I am aware, your majesty, that by the laws and practice of your realm, the wager of battle is one that may be freely chal- lenged by any one accused of treason, or other crime against the state, against whom there shall be no witness but the accuser. It is not the fear of danger whichhmakes me unwilling to seek this conflict; it is the fear of doing wrong. Though the issues of battle are in the hands of the Lord, yet who shall persuade me that he has decreed the combat to take place. Now I do confess that I regard it as unholy, any invocation of the Grod of Peace, to be a witness in a strife which his better lessons teach us to abhor-a strife grossly at variance with his most settled and divine ordinances." page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 SOUTHWARD HO!! "I am grieved, old man, to hear you speak this language," ; was the grave censure of one who, from his; garments, seemed to be very high in authority and the church. "What thou say-. est is in direct reproach of holy church, which hlas frequently called iin the assistance of mortal force and human weapons to put down the infidel, to crush the wpong-doer, and to restore that peace which can only owe her continued existence to the presence ever of a just readiness for war. 3rethinks thou hast scarcely shown thyself enough reverent in this thy bold opinion." "Holy father, I mean not offence! I do not doubt that war, with short-sightedness of human wisdom, has appeared to secure the advantages of peace. I believe that God has endowed us. with, a strength for the struggle, and with a wisdom that will enable us to pursue it with.- success. These we are to employ when necessary for the protection of the innocent, and the res- cue and safety of those who are themselves unwilling to do harm. But I am unwilling to believe that immortal princi- ples-the truth of man, and the value of his assurances-- are to depend upon the weight of his own blows, or the address with which he can ward off the assaults of another. Were this the case, then would the strong-limbed and brutal soldier be always the s0le arbiter of truth, and wisdom, and all moral government." We need not pursue the argument. It has long since been settled, though with partial results only to humanity, as well by the pagan as the Christian philosopher. But, however inge- nious, true, or eloquent, was the venerable speaker on this occa- sion, his arguments were entirely lost upon that assembly. He himself soon perceived that the effect was unfavorable to his cause, and exposed his veracity to question. With a proper wisdom, therefore, he yielded promptly to the current. But first he asked :- "And what, may it please your majesty, if I decline this ordeal?" "Death!" was the reply of more than one stern voice in the assembly. , Death by fire, by the burning pincers, by the tortures of the screw and rack.", The venerable man replied calmly. "Life is a duty! Life is -precious!" tHe spoke musingly, THE GAGE TAKEN UP. 869 looking .down, as he spoke, upon the little girl who stood beside him, while the big tears gathered in his eyes as he gazed. "Do you demand a champion?" was the inqtury of the king. "No, sire! If, in behalf of my truth, this battle must be fought, its dangers must be mine only." "Thine!" exclaimed the favorite. i"Ay, my lord -mine. None other than myself must encoun- ter this peril." A murmur of ridicule passed through the assembly. The accusetl laughed outright, as the exulting warrior laughs, with his captive naked beneath his weapon. A brief pause followed, and a visible anxiety prevailed among the audience. Their ridicule afforded to the accuser sufficient occasion for-reply:- ,c This murmur of surprise and ridicule that I hear on every hand, is of itself a sufficient commentary upon this trial of truth by the wager of battle. It seems to all little less than madness, that a feeble old man like myself, even though in the cause of right, should oppose himself to the most valiant warrior in the kingdom. Yet, if it be true that God will make himself mani- fest in the issue, what matters it whether' I be old- or youyig, strong or weak, well-skilled or ignorant in arms . If there bb a just wisdom in this mode of trial, the feeblest rush, in main- tenance of the trutlh, were mighty against the steel-clad bosom of the bravest. I take the peril. I will meet this bold criminal, nothing fearing, and will, in my own person, engage in the bat- tle which is thus forced upon me. But I know not the use of lance, or sword, or battle-axe. These weapons are foreign to my hands. Is it permitted me to use luch implements of defence as my own skill and understanding, may invent, and I may think proper to employ ." "Thou shalt use no evil arts, old man," exclaimed the church- man who had before spoken, anticipating the answer of the monarch. "No sorcery, no charms, no spells, no accursed de- vices of Satan. I warn three, if thou art found guilty of arts like these, thou shalt surely perish by fire." "None of these, holy father, shall I employ. My arts shall be those only, the principles of which I shall proclaim to thy- self, or to any noble gentleman of the king's household. My weapons shall be those only which a human intelligence may 16* page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 870 SOUTHWARD HO! prepare. They belong to the studies which I pursue- 'to the same studies which have enabled me to arrive at truths, some of which thou thyself hast been pleased to acknowledge, and which, until I had discovered them, had been hidden from the experience of men. It can not be held unreasonable and un. righteous that I employ the weapons the virtues Ohf which I know, when my enemy uses those for which he is renowned?" Some discussion followed, the demand of the accuser being strenuously resisted by the friends of the accused. "The weapons for knightly encounter," said they, "have long since been acknowledged. These are sword, and battle- axe, and spear." "But I am no knight," was the reply; , and as it is permit- ted to the citizen to do battle with staff and cudgel, which are his wonted weapons, so may it be permitted to me to make use of those which are agreeable to my strength, experience, and the genius of my profession." Some demur followed from the churchman. "Holy father," replied the accuser, " the sacred volume should be your guide as it is mine. My claim is such as seems already, in one famous instance, to have met the most decisive sanction of God-himself." Here he unfolded the pages of the Holy Scriptures. "Goliah,"' said he, "was a Philistine knight, who came into battle with the panoply of his order. David appeared with staff, and sling, and stone, as was proper to the shepherd. He rejected the armor with which Saul would have arrayed him for the combat. The reproach of the Philistine knight comprises the objection which, is offered here-- Am I a dog,' said Goliah, '-that thou comest to me with staves?' The answer of David, O king! shall be mine: ' And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give you into our hands.' Such were his words-they are mine. God will deliver me from the rage of mine enemy. I will smite him through all his panoply, and in spite of shield and spear." te spoke with a momentary kindling of his eyes, which was soon succeeded by an expressionyof sadness. "And yet, O king! I would be spared this trial. My heart THE PHLOSOPHER'S CELL. 3871. loves not strife. My soul shrinks in horror, from the shedding of human blood. Require not this last proof at my hands. Suffer me to keep my conscience white, and clear of this sacri- fice. Let this unhappy man live; for as surely as we sh'ive together, so surely must hbe perish." "4Now this passeth all belief, as it passeth all human endur- rance!" exclaimed the accused with irrepressible indignation: "I claim the combat, O king, on any condition. Let him come as he will, with what weapons he may, though forged in the very armory of Satan. My talisman is in the holy cross, and the good sword buckled at my thigh by the holiest prince in Christendom, will not fail me against the devil and all his works, I demand the combat!" "Be ye both ready writhin three days!" said the king. "I submit," replied the aged man. "I trust in the mercy-of God to sustain me against this trial, and to acquit me of its awful consequences." "Ready, ay, ready!" was the answer of the accused, as with his hand he clutched fiercely the handle of his sword, until the steel rang again in the iron scabbard. CHAPTER VII. THE scene underwent a sudden change, and I now found myself in a small and dimly-lighted apartment, which seemed designed equally for a studio and a laboratory of art.- The walls were surrounded by enormous cases, on the shelves of which were massive scrolls of vellum, huge parchment manu- scripts, and volumes fastened with clasps of brass and -silver. Some of these lay open. Charts hungwiide marked with strange characters. Frames of ebony were thus suspended also bearing the signs of the zodiac. Other furniture, of quaint and strange fashion, seemed to show conclusively that the possessor pursued the seductive science of astrology. THe had other pursuits--a small furnace, the coals of which were ignited, occupied one cor- ner of the chamber, near which stood a table covered with retorts and receivers, cylinders and gauging-glasses, and all the other paraphernalia which usually belong to the analyfticworkeV" in chemistry. The old man, and the young girl des1abed iri page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] !I?, 8 72 SOUTHWARD HO! 'the previous scene, were, at first, the only occupants of tle !: . apartment. Bat a few moments elapsed, however, MeI ;n /J Do inner door was thrown open, and a third party appeared, closely enveloped in a cloak of sable. This he threw' aside, and I dis- covered him to be the same person who had been the chief coun- sellor of the king, and whom I supposed to be his favorite. At his entrance the damsel disappeared. The stranger thlen, some. what abruptly, began in the following manner: "Vy, O why did you not choose me for your champion?" "And why, my lord, expose you to a conflict with one of the bravest warriors in all the realm?" "He is brave, but I fear him not; besides, he who fights against guilt hath a strengtl of arm which supplies all deficien. cies. But it is not too late. I may still supply your place." "Forgive me, dear lord, but I have made my election." "Alas, old man, why are you thus obstinate? He will slay you at the first encounter." "And if he does, what matter! I have but a brief space to live, according to the common allotment: He hath more, which were well employed devoted to repentance. It were terrible, indeed, that he should be hurried before the awful tribunal of Heaven with all the blackness in his soul, with all his sins unpurged, upon his conscience." Wy, tlLis is veriest madness. Think you what will follow' your submission and defeat? ' He will pursue his conspiracy. Others will do what you have refused. tie will, drag other and bitter spirits into his scheme. Hle will bring murder into our palaces, and desolation into our ^ cities. Know you' not the man as I know him? Shall hle be suffered to escape, when thee hand of God has dcleafly shown you'rthlat his purposes are to be overthrown, and his crime to be punished through your agency." "And it shall be so, my dear lord. It is not my purpose to submit. The traitor shall be met in battle." "But by thyself? Why not a champion? I am ready." - :Greatly indeed do I thank and honor thee, my lord; but it can not be." '"Methinks there is some touch of insanity about thee, old man, in spite of all thy wisdom. Y Thou canst not hope to con- tend, in sooth, against this powerful warior. -e will huhll thee ' THE GIRL AND HER GRANDSIRE. 373 to the earth with the first thrust of his heavy lance; or smite thee down to death with a single blow of battle-axe-or dagger." "Hear me, my lord, and have no fear. Thou knowest not the terrible powers which I possess, nor should any know, but that this necessity compels me to employ them. I will slay my enemy and thine. He can not harm me. He 'will perish help- lessly ere his weapon shall be twice lifted to affront me." "Thou meanest not to employ sorcery?" ( Be assured, my lord, I shall use a carnal agent only. The instrument which I shall take with me to battle, though of ter- rible and destructive power, shall be as fully blessed of Heaven as any in your mortal armory." "Be it so! I am glad that thou art so confident; and yet,' let me entreat thee to trust thy battle to my hands." "No, my dear lord, no! To thee there would: be danger- to me, none. I thank thee for thy goodness, and will name thee in my prayers to Heaven." We need not pursue their dialogue, which was greatly pro- longed, and included much other matter which did not concern the event before us. When the nobleman took his departure, the damsel reappeared. The old man took her in his embrace, and while the tears glistened upon his snowy beard, he thus addressed her:-- "But for thee-for thee, chiefly-daughter of the beloved and sainted child in heaven, I had spared myself this trial. This wretched man should live wert thou not present, making it needful that I should still prolong to the last possible mo- ment, the remnant of my days. Were I to perish, where wert thou . What would be the safety of the sweet one and the des- olate? The insect would descend upon the bud, and it would lose scent and freshness. The worm would fasten upon the flower, and a poison worse than death would prey upon its core. No! my poor Lucilla, I must live for thee; though I live not for myself. I must shed the blood of mine enemy, and spare mine- own, that thou mayest not be desolate." page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] - - 374 - . SOUTHWARD HO! CHAPTER VI. , . WHLE the tears of the two were yet mingling, the scene un. derwent a change corresponding with my anxiety for the denoue. ment. A vast area opened before me, surrounded by the seats and scaffolding as if for a tournay, and the space was filling fast with spectators. I will not attempt to describe the splendor of the scene. Lords and ladies, in their most gorgeous attire, oc. cupied the high places; princes were conspicuous; the people were assembled in thousands. At the sound of trumpets the king made his appearance. A grand burst of music announced that he was on his throne. Among the knights and nobles by whom he was attended, I readily distinguished " the favorite." Hie was in armnor, but it was of an exceedingly simple pattern, and seemed designed for service rather than display. He looked grave and apprehensive, and his eyes were frequently turned upon the barriers, as if in anxious waiting for the champions. The accused was the first to appear. He was soon followed, however, by the accuser, and both made their way through the crown to the foot of the throne. As the old man: approached, the favorite drew nigh, and addressed him in subdued, but earn- est accents. "It is not yet too late! Call upon me as thy champion. The king dare not refuse thee, and as I live, I will avenge mine own and thy wrongs together." "It can not be, my lord," was the reply, with a sad shake of the head. "Besides," he continued, 1"I have no wrongs to avenge. I seek for safety only. It is only as my life is pledged equally to the living and the dead, that I care to struggle for it, and to save." The face of the favorite was clouded with chagrin. He led the way in silence to the foot of :the throne, followed by the venerable man. There, the latter made obeisance, and encoun- tered the hostile and fierce glance of his enemy, whom he re- garded only with looks of sorrow and commiseration. A breath- less silence pervaded the vast assembly as they beheld the white locks, the simple majesty of his face and air, and the cos- tume- singular for such an occasion --wlich he wore. Tlhis did THE COMBATANTS. 875 not in any degree differ from that in which he hadt always ap- peared habited before It consisted of a loose, flowing robe of the purest white, most like, but more copious than the priestly cassock. His opponent, in complete steel, shining like the sun, with helmeted head and gauntleted hand, afforded to the spec- tators a most astonishing difference between the combatants. The wonder increased with their speculations. The surprise extended itself to the king, who proffered, as Saul had done to : David, the proper armor of a warrior to the defenaceless man. But this he steadily refused. The king, himself, condescended to remonstrate. ,' This is sheer madness, old man. Wouldst than run upon thy death with uncovered head and bosom?" "Oh! sire, I fear not death, and feel that I am not now to die. Yet would I still implore that I may be spared this trial. Once more I lay myself at the foot of- the throne, to supplicate its mercy." "For thyself!" cried his enemy, with a scornful taunt. "For myself and for thee!" was the fixm reply, "that I may be spared the pang of sending thee before the Eternal Judge, with all thy unatoned crimes upon thy head." The voice and words of the venerable speaker, deep and sol- emn, thrilled, with a sensible effect, throughout the assembly. Whence should he derive this confidencee? From heaven or from hell. The conclusion to which they came, more than ever colfirmed their belief in his reputed sorceries; and his words inspired a deep and silent terror among the crowd. But the ac- cused, strong in his skill, courage, and panoply of steel, if not in the justice of his cause, mocked scornfully, and defied the doom which was threatened. Some of his friends, however, shared strongly in the apprehensions of the vulgar. "He hath no visible armor," was their cry; "with what would he defend himself. How know we that he hath not magic arts, and devices of hell, with which--he secretly arms himself" " "Thou hast weapons-visible weapons, as I hear"-re- marked the king. I i"They are at hand, sire-they are here." "Thou hast dealt in no forbidden practice?" - page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] 31/ti SOCUTIWTRD 'HO! "None, sire, as I stand uncovered in the sight of heaven. The reverend father in God, to whom thou didst give in charge this inquiry, is here, and will answer to your majesty. He hlatl heard and seen the secret of my strength--that strength which I know 'and declare is powerful to destroy my foe. He knows it to be a secret of mortal wisdom only, as patiently wrought out by human art and labor, as were the sword and axe of him who I now seeks my destruction. I have warned him already of the fearful power which they impart. I would still iave him live, unharmed by me." "Peace, insolent!" cried the accused. "I am here, your majestyto fight, not to prate!-to chastise, not to hearken to the speeches of this pagan sorcerer. Let his power bewhat he I esteems it: I trust to my good sword and to the favor of the Mother of God; and I doubt not of this good steel, which hath been crowdedl writh a threefold Conquest, on the plains of thie : Saracen. I entreat that your majesty will give command for the combat." -, CHAPTER IX. THE eye of the venerable accuser, regarded the face of the i speaker with a sad and touching solemnity; but at this moment, the little girl who had before accompanied him, was conducted into the foreground by the archbishop. She bore in her hand a sarbacane-seemingly of brass, long and narrow like a wand, and crowned, at the extremity, by a small globe or bulb of the same material. The length of this instrument was fully six feet or more. The old man took it into his hands, and having unscrewed a part of the bulb--which seemed a mere sheathing of brass, he discovered beneath it another globe, similar, in -shape and size, to that which had been removed;; but the inner bulb was man- ufactured of glass, of a whiteness equally crystalline and beauti- ful. He then took from beneath his robes a little box of ebony, which he unlocked, and from which he produced a headpiece, t the face of which, instead of being hard steel or iron, was of glass - also, very thin, and quite transparent; through whichh every muscle and motion of the features might be seen with the great- est distinctness. To the thoughtless vulgar, such a shield seemed only a mockery of that more solid furniture of metal, THE COMBAT. 8" which, in those days, thoroughly encased the warrior for battle. The inference, accordingly, was very general, that if by any possibility, the accuser succeeded in the combat, he would be in- debted solely to supernatural agency for his good fortune. His wand of brass, with its crystal bulb--his glassy vizor and hel- met-were only regarded as designed to divert-the scrutiny from the more secret agency which he employed. "I am ready," said the accuser. "*Hast thou prayed?" demanded his enemy, in a mocking fashion. "If thou hast not, get thee to thy knees quickly, and renounce the devil whom thou servest. Verily, but little time is left thee." "(I have prayed, and confessed to the Holy Father. Do thou likewise, and make thyself humble and contrite. Repent thee-for, of a truth, my lord, if the king forbid -not this com- bat, thou art doomed this day to go to judgment." The heart of the accused was hardened within him. He re- plied with a hiss of defiance and contempt to this last appeal;, It the same moment he declared himself in readiness also. They were then withdrawn from the presence for aXbrief space, and overe severally approached by their friends and attendants. The archbishop, and the king's favorite went aside with the accuser, and when the latter rdturned to the arena, in order to the combat, the archbishop led away with him the little girl, upon whom, at parting, the old man bestowed many caresses, accompanied by ma- nly tears. The spectators were all very much moved by this ten- derness, and now began to regard him as one set apart for sacri- fice-doomed ;to be separated for ever, and by a violent death, from the object of his affections. And when the opponents stood, at- length, confronting each other-with none to go be- tween-- awaiting only the word for the combat a I'outrance; when they regarded the strong soldier-like frame, and the war- like bearing of the accused---beheld the ease with which he strode the lists, and displayed his weapon- --and contrasted this image of dire necessity and war, with the feeble, though erect ' form of his venerable accuser,-Labited 'in vestments like a priest or woman - withl the simple unmeaning wand within his grasp, and the frail mask of brittle crystal upon his face-a loud murmur of regret and commiseration prevailed among the page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] 878 SOUTHWAwRD HO! multitude. But this murmur was soon quieted' by the cry of the master of the tournay.. "Laissez aller!" Then followed a painful silence.' "Now, sorcerer," cried the knight, raising his glittering sword, and advancing deliberately and with the confidentmanner of the executioner. The aged accuser simply presented the bnl- bous extremity of lis wand, and before the accused could smite, the frail glass was shivered against the bars of his enemny's -mouth-piece. At this moment the knight was seen slightly to recoil; but it was for a moment only, in the next instant lie dart. ed forward, and with a fierce cry, seemed about to strike. The old man, in' the meantime, Lhad suffered his wand to fall upon the ground. He made no further effol t-offered no show of fear or fliglt, but with arms folded, seemed in resignation to await tile death-stroke of his enemy. But while the weapon of the man of war was in air, and seemingly about to descend, he was seen to pause, while his form suddenly became rigid. A quick and awful shudder seemed to pass through his whole frame. Thus, for a second, he stood paralyzed, and then a thin, mist-like vapor, which might be called smoke, was seen to creep out fionm various parts of his frame, followed by a thin but oily liquor, that now appeared oozing through-all the crevices of his armor. His arm dropped nervelessly by'his side; the sword fell-from the inca- pable grasp of- his gauntleted hands, and in an inconceivable fraction of time, he himself, with all his bulk, sunk down upon the earth - falling, not at length, prostrate, either backward or forward, but in a heap, even upon the spot which he had, oc- cupied when standing; and as if every bone had suddenly been withdrawn wlhich had sustained them, the several parts of his armor became detached, and rolled away--his helmet, hisgorget, his cuiras, his greaves, his gauntlets- disclosing beneathl a dark, discolored mass-a mere jellied substance, in which bones and muscles were already decomposed' and resolved into something less than flesh. Above this hleap might be seen a still bright and shining eye, which, for a single second, seemed to retain consciousness and life, as if the soul of the immortal being had- linglered in this bealltiful and pberfect orb, reluctant to depart But in a moment it, too, had cldisappeared - all the brightness THE CRY OF THE MULTI'TUDE. 379 swallowed up and stifled in the little cloud of vapor which now trembled, heaving up from the mass which but a moment before - had been a breathing, a burning, an exulting spirit. A cold' horror overspread the field, followed by a husky and convulsive cry, as from a drowning multitude. The people gazed upon each other, and upon the awful, heap in unspeakable terror. It was annihilation which had taken place before them. Dead was the silence that prevailed for several minutes; a vacant consternation freezing up the very souls of the spectators. -But the reaction was tremendous. "Seize upon the sorcerer! Tear him in pieces!" was the cry from a thousand voices. This was followed by a wild rush, like that of an incoming sea struggling to overwhelm the headlands.- The barriers were broken down, the cries swelled into a very tempest, ancf the mammoth multitude rolled onward, with souls on fire, eyes glaring with tiger fury, and hands outstretched, clutching spasmodically at their victim. Their course had but one centre, where the old man calmly stood. -There he kept his immovable station, calm, firm, subdued, tgt stately. How will he avert his fate -how stay this ocean of souls, resolute to overwhelm him? I trembled - I gasped with doubt and appre- hension.' But I was spared the further contemplation of horrors which I'could no longer bear to witness, by the very intensity of the interest which my imagination had conceived in the sub- ject. There is a point beyond which the mortal nature can not endure. I had reached that point, and was relieved. I awaken- ed, and started into living consciousness, my face covered with clammy dews, my hait upright and wet, my whole frame agita- ted witlh the terrors which were due wholly to the imagination. It would be easy, perhaps, to account for such a dream, as- suming, as we did at the outset, that the mental faculties never know abeyance - that the thought never sleeps. Any specula- tion, in regard to the transition periods in English history, would give the requisite material. From a survey of the powers of physical manhood to those rival and superior powers which fol- low from the birth of art and science, the step is natural enough; and the imagination might well delight itself by putting them in contrast and opposition. But we have no space left for further discussion .. page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] OIAPTER XVII. BHOW THE BILIOUS ORATOR ESSAYED. "A GOOD deal has been said in respect to the monotony of -the prospect while passing thlroug the Nortl-Carolina country. Il respect to such influences' as are derived from the moral world, and by-which places are lighted up by a brilliancy not their own, the same thing may be said of most of the ordinary stage and railway routes everywlere in our country. Roads are usually drawn through the most accessible regions. The lands commonly surrendered for this purpose are generally the most inferior, and the man of taste rarely establishes a fine man. sion upon the common highway. In the South,- this is particen- larly the case. The finer dwellings of the planter are to be approached through long and sinnous avenues, that open only a green arch upon the roadside, and show you nothing to convey any tolerable idea of the beauty, taste and comfort rwhich are buried in noble woods away firom vulgar curiosity. The land- scape, in the eye of the hurrying traveller, needs to possess but a single element-variety. Let it be broken into grea t inequal- ities-steep rocks, and deep dells and valleys, overhanging precipices, and thuindering waterfalls--and the voyager, *who is only the pendant to a locomotive for the nonce, is quite satisfied. Beauty of detail is, of course, quite imperceptible to his vision. In the old- countries of Europe, the site is illustrated by tower and temple, pijturesqcue ruin and votive tablet. The handbook' which you bm distinguishes the spot with some strange or startling history. In our world of woods, we lack these ad- juncts. If we had the handbook, re shouldl doubtlessly dis- cover much to interest us in the very scenes by which we hurry with contempt. Dull and uninteresting as tae railroad route appears through Nortl and Soutti Carolina, were you familiar witl the facts in each locality-coul you couple each with its y - could ^ * ^* ou couple.- "OCAL CHRONICLES. 381 local history or tradition-the fancy would instantly quicken, and the mind would not only take' a lively interest in the scene through which you pass, but would, by a naturally-assimilative process, begin to explore for its underlying beauties." "( What a pity that handbooks for the South are not provided by some patriotic author!" "( They will be furnished, no doubt, when the tide of travel sets in this direction, and you will then be surprised at the dis- coveries which shall be made. He who goes over these com- mon routes has no idea of the wondrous scenic beauties which lie in wait to delight him, hidden froom sight 'only by the road- side umbrage. With a considerable knowledge of the history of the country in all these states, I am able to identify scenes of interest as I pass; and I find, at' every step;in my course along these regions which seem so barren to the stranger, fruit- ful interests and moving influences, which exercise equally the memory and the imagination--the imagination through the memory. There is scarcel:l a mile in the passage over the common roads, in South Carolina, which I do not thus find sug- gestive of events and persons, legends .and anecdotes, which elevate the aspect of the baldest tracts, each with a befitting moral. To him who can recall these events and traditions, the scene becomes invested with a soft and rosy light--the sterile sands put on features which sublime them to the thought, and the gloomy wastes of pine and swamp forest commend them- selves to sympathies which lie much deeper than any which f we can reach through the medium of the external senses. No -doubt this is the same in all the wild states of the South, to him -who' is of Ithe manor born.' There will be a thousand local matters, of colonization, early adventure, peculiar strifes and endurances--the lohg records of history and tradition, from the first coming of the colonists--which, if known to the way- farer, would make him forgetful of the monotonous features of his progress." "It is a great pity that for these we have no guide-books- no monuments along the wayside--no ' Old Mortality' to show us where the stone lies half buried, and, with his chisel, to deepen all its features to our eyes. Some of these days, no doubt, we shall have rare chroniclers springing up, who shall page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] 38S2 382 SOUTVHWARD HO! reveal to our successors these things-these objets, as well of nlind as of sight--wlich I we hourly I hurry by unseeing." Of this I have no sort of question. The developllelt is in progress. The mines of the South leave-been struck. The vein is revealed. Tle quarryis discovered, and in due season it will be worled. The very impatience with which I e com. Plain, thaZ' e aY".'*6' gitarantyc plain that the thing is not done, is in some degree a guaranty for the performance. We must wait pon Providence. Tle Pt J. of upl^ 'r'T W0 p Pwoidene. Till great error of or people, as whole, is that they live too fast and endeavor at too mucli. If suffered to go ahead, according- to the motive impulse in their veins, our posterity would have neither necessity nor field foracPieveent. I am for leaving something to be done by our children. To him who relembes the South--North Carolina, for example-but tw'enty, " ten years ago, ler- social and mental progress is absoltely wonderful." Hear thlatiyoung Ttirpentine,and be consoled at alimny flings at the old Nortl state." "Ah, he knows it better than either you or me." ":ut, without looking to the social progress of North Caro'- lina, and regarding her as a region only for the exploration of the picturesque and adventure-seeking traveller-the artist, tie man of taste, the lover of fine manly sports, -the good old North state is one of the most attractive in all the confederacy. Her vast ranges of mountain render her especially attractive to all these classes." Yet, how little promise of this is there along the Atlantic "Even here, to the painter of detail, to the contemplative and musing taste and nature, there are thousands of scenes of great interest and beauty. To find these, Iloeve you need the eye that sees; and the man whose eyes have been properly couched by art may spend months and years along the Atlantic coast, and discover new provinces of beauty with the ramble of each succeeding day. Nature, i her arrangement of the scenery of the South, differing from the rule of the artist, has thrown her most imposing forms and aspects into the background. Her mountains and majestic altar-pl-aes are nowhere visible along the sea; and the superficial traveller is prepared to doubt the FAIRY REGIONS. 383 existence of any such throughout our land. Their atsence on the Atlantic would not, perhaps, be so greatly felt, if men were not alw'ays most easily taken by the bald outline, the mere sur- 1 face, the simply salient and externally imposing. There is much in the scenery along our coast which, closely examined, would, by its exquisite delicacy and nice variety of detail, quite as much attract the mere explorer as the artist. One of the peculiarities of this region, as distinguished from- the northern coasts, is the presence of the numerous beautiful islets, that seem to guard our shores and cities from the wave. Roving in boat or steamer along these islets, or among them, they appeal to a moral instinct, the exercise of which puts a thousand genial fancies into activity. They rise up suddenly around you, like gems from out the sea; fairy abodes at least; sometimes green in shrub, and vine, and tree, to the very lips of ocean; and againl, spread out, a sandy plain, glittering with myriads of dia- mond sparks, garlanded with myriads of fantastic shells, and seeming, for all the world,-particularly when seen by the moonlight-to have been devised and choseneas favorite places for the sports of Oberon and Titania, of Pupkl and Little John, the capricious Loline and the tricksy Anatilla. Southward as you go, they-spread away, diamonds or emeralds, till they cons duct you to the great waters of the Mississippi. They grow. in size and lose in beauty as you advance northwardly. But they still constitute a remarkable feature of our whole coast; and to him who spreads sail among them at moonlight, especially in the more southwardly points, they compel the thought of all the beings recognisel by the old system of pneumatology. The terrors of Cape Hatteras might well make it to be supposed a regior of mischief, upheaved from the seas by races of ungentler beings than such as harbor in those little sand-dunes wlhich lie. so smilingly in the moonlight, with the sea moving between them in, such p lacid currents. At Hatteras, we may supposes,the ma- licious elves, the grim Brownies, the savage IKobolds inhabit- demon tribes that'lie waiting, in malignant watch for the uncon- scious bark-slyly slipping beneath the wave, seizing without noise upon the prow of the vessel, and drawing her into the insidious currents, an d upon thlesands of the treacherous islet. The fancy that peoples the innocent islets, whic h wreck no ves- page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] 384 SOUTHWARD HO! sels, with' the 'good people,' may with equal propriety refer the dangerous capes and headlands to such hostile tribes of demons as haunt the wilds of Scotland, the Halrz mountains and Black forests of the German, and the stormy shores of the Scandinavian." , "Not an unreasonable notion. But was not Hatterask the old Indian name of the cape and the sea about it, as given by the ancient chroniclers?" "Yes: they varied, however; sounds imperfectly caught from the Indian tongue were imperfectly rendered in the various tongues of Dutchman, Spaniard, Frenchlman, and Englishman. We must content ourselves with making them euphonious, and leave their absolute propriety in doubt." "And a pretty sort of euphony we should have of it, if we leave the matter to American discretion." "This need occasion no concern. The poets settle this for succeeding time, when our generations have no longer the power to pervert the ears of the future. The necessity of verse compels the gradual growth of harmony in every lan- guage. The oral authority lasts no longer than it can compel the ,echo. The poet, always resisted while he lives, leaves a voice behind him that survives all others. Let him make his record, and be satisfied to leave it to the'decision of posterity. There is no speech of the future that rises in conflict with his own." "Are the historical and traditional materiel of North Carolina of attractive character?" "None more so. The very regions of country which are so barren in the eyes of the stranger, pursuing the railway routes along the Atlantic coast, would alone afford materials vfor a thousand works of fiction. . I have identified, along this very route, the progress of more than one curious history. Take an example: -- "Our first serious war with the redmen of the South, broke out in 1712. The savages of the old North State took up the tomahawk and scalping knife in that year, with terrible effect. Numerous tribes were leagued together for the extermination of the whites of the colony of New Berne. This colony was of Swiss, from the Canton of Berne in Switzerland, and Germans 385 "EAGUE OF THE REDMEN . of the palatinate. They came out to America under the patron- age of Queen Anne. Tlhey were led by the Baron'De G raffen- reidt, who Qu a s reate d a landgrave. He, with Louis Mitchell, a leading ma n among the Swiss, received a grant of ten thousand acr es of land on either of the riversNeuse and Cape Fear, or their tributary branches, at the rateof ten poun ds sterling for ery thousa acres, a quitrent of five shillings. The every thousand acres, and r flf ee number of G eimal's is ukunown ; but the Swiss were fifteen hundred. They-reaclled the confluence of the Neuse and Trent in December, 1710, and laid off the limits of the colony in that neighborlhoo.. , The conditions upon which these people came to America, were specious and encouraging Each of them received, in Eng- lanl, an outfit in clothes and money, of from five to ten pounds stering; and two lundaredl and fifty acres were allotted to each family, whic h was to be five years exempt from rent or taxation. At the end of that t ime, they were to pay at the rate of half per cent, Carolina currency.--They were credited one year with provisions, and seven years with the naterietfor a certain farm- ing establishment. This included cows altl calves, sows and pigs, lambs, &c. Tools-ana implements for learing land andp building, were furnished without any charge by theproprietors. , eeoes, the pros- "To a poor people, driven from their native , te pros- pect was encouraging enough; -and the treatmentwhich they received seemed very liberal. Indeed, the colony very soon be- gal to put on the most prosperous appearance--as flourishing il fact, growing daily in numbers and affluence. But the Indians, as the phrase goes, began to look on the whites with jealousy. Jealousy, it probably was not. In brief the savages coveted treasures which they beheld for the first time, and whichwere indifferently guarded. th "In the fall of 1711, certain tribes agreed to combine their forces for the purpose of massacre and plunder. The Tuscaro- ras undertook to cut the throats of tihe settlers upon the Iloanoke, auld between that river and Pmlllico, Otherwise Tar river. The Cotheckneys and Corees arrangerd to do the same benevolent office for the settlements on the euse and Trent. TheMat- tamaskettos and Matchapangos had the duty assi-ned them of scalping tfie whites in the neighborhood of Bath. page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] f OtJ - iU U ltYY illtH ZI t "' The work was done with little reservation at the designated period. But a few days before the massacre, the Indians sue. ceeded in taking captive the Baron De Graffenreidt and John Lawson, the surveyor-general of the province, whose book of travels, a highlly-interesting narrative, constitutes one of the best of our Indian authorities of the South, and should be in every good American library. "These distinguished persons, totally unsuspicious ofI danger, were engaged in an exploring expedition up the Neuse. Their vessel was a mere dug-out, a cypress canoe of native manufacture: and they were accompanied only by a negro, who paddled the canoe, right and left. They landed at evening with the view' of encamping, when they were suddenly surrounded by more than sixty Indians. They were made prisoners and marched off to a village some distance up the river-a march that occupied the whole night. Here, the tribe and their neighbors met in solemn consultation on the fate of their prisoners. The baron was an intruder, but Lawson was an invader. As it was after his su-. veys that they found their lands appropriated, they assumed him to be the source of the evil of which they complained. Both the captives underwent a severe preliminary beating, the better to prepare them for what was to follow. They were then'deliber. ately doomed to the fire torture, carried to the field of sacrifice, kept there in durance vile, and in the most gloomy apprehensions for a day and night, when the number of the savages having greatly increased to behold the spectacle, the preparations were immediately begun for carrying the terrible judgment into effect. The orgies and phrensied brutalities of the Indians may be imagined. The hour for execution came. The parties were bound to the stake; but at this moment the baron pleaded his nobility, appealing to the chefs for protection, for that he too was a chief. "Strange to say, the appeal was entertained. They concluded to spare his life: but no entreaty could save Lawson and the negro. They were subjected to the fiery ordeal, and perished by a-terrible and lingering death, protracted to their utmost capa- city to endure, with all the horrid ingenuity of savage art. Then followed the general massacrg, which spread consternation , g t th e , r More than one hundred and sixty 3 Ugliou the provine I ons were butchered in a ight.9 Certainly, th e y0"a ncer could worl, vp such a history with certainl1"4'66^ 181' i R E ct. Wh hat a lterrible scene, ill these awful forestse it' s ands of the begrimed and p ainted savages, howli ng terribly - dancinf g fiercely about t lem. Di I the affair end here'l' j? aninflgtcyao tio that it must H w could it 1 It is the necessity of civilization th at m ust rA^tthe first tidings of the affair, the- assembly of South - liu then in session at Chleston, called out her militia, , priated eighty thousand dollars to the , elief of the srs- alLprovlle . ilitiamen, under Col. Barnwell,- im- Grovince say hulldred mlitaeu diately took the field. An auxiliary force of friendly Indias, sisting of two hundred and eighteen Cherokees, seventy-mne -the Indins brein chiefly used as scouts an hnters. Wild, tangled, gloomys,wa the wilderness which they had to verse-a egion utterly savage, iaite by bear an Pn- *,elec by. ,1ie officer -w'eI S;".; erl'or bye tribes of men qitse r as Te ous and ntam -able he governor of North Carolina called oat the miitia of North WRolina, but seemingly in vain. His proclamation was little arnwed a crossed tfle eormtry, in spite of all impedimens, ad ne up with th e Indians, who were in great strengtlh upol the teus, here the had erectd a strong fort of logs, at a point e thirty mies belong the spot here the railroad crosses the ivrer. The battle that followea resulted in the utter defeat of the [naians, and rthe anniiationofsome of theirtris. o tn ;lhree rundbes of the redmen were slain-we have no report of ahe wounded-an d' ote hrtmire taere made prisoners The battle had taken place without their fortress, the Indians having boldly become the assailants. Tile fugitives found' shelter in 'the fort, bwhich, after much loss any great sine -ing, they surre- dered, (and seded for peace; which was granted them by their collquelor. Barllwellwas censued for being too indulgent to tile vanqnishe,; Iut what could ee exact from the savages n Tstey had noeding farther to concede than sebmission-coul mao-e no fartyer sacrifice but in their lives. Tlde fortress thus caWtered Teas called after the conqaetor, and you'may still trac and t*e aA-iia 'of t [11dila, ofterednnersai-e avi page: 388-389[View Page 388-389] 388 SOUTHWARD Io! out its ruins. Would these have no interest in the eyes of tl, traveller who is familiar with the history 2 "Os, if Isay that all this region is marked in like interest. ing manne by ild, savage, bloody, strange, and wonderful events,' you will be no longer doubtful of the attraction with which an ordinary handbook, stedh as in' Europe distinguishes every crumbling fabric or fortress with a human interest, would invest this seemingly barren country. There are true histoies throughout all these old states of the south, not inferior to those of Powhatan and Pocahontas, and that remarkable old Roma red man of Virginia, the mighty Opechancanough, "It is curious," said Selina Burroughs, " that our own people are quite as ignorant of these local histories as anybody else." The remark stirred the bile in the bosom of our Alabama orato; who was never more ready to lift the tomahawlr than when oppor tunity offered to indulge in a fling at the Yankees, and pour out his sarcasms at the expense0of those of the South, who were adverse to decisie or hostile measures. "Nothing curious about it, Miss Burroughs. We are a poor mouthing, meallspirited people after all, with long tongues and soft brains, and no resolution. Our ignorance iln respect to our olvi history and own resources, and our own rights, is suficiently con. elusive against our perpetually vaunted patriotism. Our constnt travel at the North among a people tvho are for ever assailing us, is enough to shame and discredit all our boasting', "But theme is a great change going on in this respect, sir." Yes, indeed! I can acknowledge this, though the acknowl- edgment does not a whit lessen the necessity of denouncing the lessen t ese necessity ou r eporter hht practice which is still too much continued We must continue to denounce until the reform is complete. It is a great consola- tion, full of hope and promise, that it is at last begun." Here the orator dashed off into an essay, somewhat in the vein of his anniversary oration, which, as it contains sundry startling things, and striking sarcasms, our repoter has thought it proper to preserve. In fact, there is a wholesome word for North and South, in the very energetic expression of this man's , feelings. He is the true type and representative of a large por- tion of the soutlern people, speaking the bitterness which they have been taught to nourish, their jealous resentments, and tile I THE BILIOUS ESSAYIST. 38-9 spirit with which they will seize upon any opportunity of obtaining redress and remedy for the evils and injuries of which they com- plain. Let North and South consider, and be wise in season. I The usual caprice in the destiny of nations precipitates catastro- phes which men may lament but never repair; and one of the most dangerous of the errors which prevail among the people of the North, is their obstinate faith in the integrity of the Union. It is a faith against which all histories, in all periods, bear the most unvarying testimony-testimony which we should be au- thorized to disregard and reject, only when we shall be able to assure ourselves that we have stronger claims, by reason of our greater virtues, upon the protecting care of God, than any -of the myriad generations by which we have been preceded. But, to the essay of our orator, which, though extempore, was deliv- ered as rapidly as an oration memorized; not as if read simply, but with the freedom of one who declaims passionately, in hot blood, and with the bold impetuous action of a fiery soul, in which the long-fettered torrents have at length broken all their barriers, arid are dashing headlong, in foam and fury, over the still resisting but incapable rock. ' "Yes, soft-heads! soft-heads! That is the word-s ft-heads I But there is hope, even for a soft-head!" "We should only be indulging in one of the commonest of all truisms, were w e to protest that there is no such thing as unmixed evil in the world; and all the philosophy may be compassed in a nut-shell, which chuckles over the 'ill wind that blows nobody good.' It will suffice if we insist that our bitter is, frequently, the wholesome medicine whose benefit is in the future; and what we regard as the mishap of the day, and- lament accordingly, becomes to our great surprise, the parent of a necessity that leads to most pleasant and profitable' results. To bring our max- ims to bear upon our present topic, we-bave but to remark, that the cholera, which devastated the cities of the North last summer, and the abolition mania,-which is destined to root them out, and raze them utterly from the face of the earth, if notseason- ably arrested,--have proved, in some degree, highly serviceable, if not Savin g influences, for the people of the South. How many thousand of our wandering idlers, our absentees who peri- odically crave a wearisome pilgrimage to northern regions, in- page: 390-391[View Page 390-391] 390 SOUTHWARD TO! stead of finding greater good in a profitable investment of thought allnd curiosity at home-who wander away in mere listlessness: and return wearied and unrefreshed-were denied their usual inane indulgences by the dread of pestilence. And how many other thousands, capable of appreciating the charms of nature, and the delights of a glorious landscape, were, in like manner, compelled to forego the same progress, by the patriotic sentiment whch revolts at the thought of spending time and mloney among a people whose daily labor seems to be addressed to the neighborly desire of defiaming our character and destroying our institutions. (' The result of these hostile influences has been highly favor- able to the development of the resources of the soil. We have, in the South, a race of ' soft-heads,'--a tribe that corresponds admirably with the 'dough-faces' of Yankee-land. These are people born and wedded to a sort of provincial servility that finds nothing grateful but the foreign. They prefer the stranger to the native, if for no other reason than because they are re- luctant to admit the existence of any persons, in their own pre- cincts, who might come in conflict with their own importance. In like manner, and for a similar reason, they refuse to give faitlh to thleir own possessions of scenery and climate. Their dignity requires foreign travel for its proper maintenance. It is distance only, in their eyes, that can possibly' lend enchantment to t le, view.' They are unwilling to admit the charms of a region which might be readily explored by humbler persons; and they turn up their lordly noses at any reference to the claims of mountain, valley, or waterfall, in their own section, if for no otl er reason than because they may also be seen by vulgar people. To despise the native and domestic, seems to them, in theil in- flated folly, the only true way to show that they have tastes in- finitely superior to those of the common herdlings. "For such people, it was absolutely necessary that they should speed abroad in summer. The habit required it, and the self- esteem, even if the tastes did not. It is true that they were wearied with the monotonous routine. It is true that they were tired of the scenery so often witnessed; tired of the flatness of northern pastimes, and outraged constantly by the bad manners, and the unqualified monstrosity of the bores whom they con- stantly encountered, from the moment that they got beyond the 891 CIANGCES IN SOCIETY. lin e O o Nasnn a ll Dixon o. All the social training of a polishef soiety tt lmome; w as disparaged, by e reckless obsveness by Wlfeh. th of moneyed Vulgwarity, or Ge insolent as- fre, fi1milil'r pertness o monebeel su]tlions of a class Whose Fort unes h Sve b een realized at the expen se of their edlucafion . A tlosanld offensiv e traits in the nocialda Wh ich they sought, added to the atter d eficiency of freshness in te associations which thperiodically mae , ,coin e to I ess en or d estroy e verything like a p ositive attrac- tion in the regions to which they w anerea; but, in spite of all , co, I to lesset '"* ae h?hev e'*Ie(I; bllli s ' ty went. Habit was too inflexible for sense or taste; and, possiblS, te fear tlwat re woda might not get on so well eforeunlests ey appeared as usual at the open if the season in Broajlwy,anfo un taemselves, for awe at least eah year at atewport and Saratog a, seemed t o ake i a duty that they shou ld, at large pecuniary sacrifice smit to a rery penance every summi er , But the cholera cam e in toniewith th e habit. It unsetfie/ the routine wfich was only encurable in te absence of thought ta enegy. It suggeste d unpleasant associations to tose who, phs,n oua suffe r unter anya sort of excitement, the whole- some as well as t he pernicious and the idea of eting lerries mna creamll at the Peri of utter revolution in the abdominal aomain, had the effect of startling into thougt aa speculation tle inane intellect hich, hitherto, had taken no share in regula- ting the habits of the wanderer. W hen, at thesame t time, it was foun[ that tha e pestilence confined its ravages Nortli,--that either the climate of the South was too pure, or the labits of its people too proper, to yield it the requisite field for operation,-and that Clarleston, Savannah and other cities in the lowlatitudes, were not witlin the reach of its ter- rors,--then- it w--as that patriotism la d leave to suggest, or the frst time, the beauties aind attactions ofe home, and e to ate most of them. Hert argument founa sluecor, as founa that fmo o t her influences. Ou ' , oft-heads' no longer limited deferene and servile acklnovledgente societies they visited had uniformly shown, in return for thi i patronage. Society at tho e North was in revolution Old ting iwere' about to pass away;- all things were to become new. Prop v. , page: 392-393[View Page 392-393] P 392 SOUTHWARD o! i : ertywasto ndergo general distribution in equal shares. man, it vas argued, had a natural rght to a rstead, E gpoulht-yard; s eery woman, not holly past bearing, 1a 'Eght to a husband. The old Pttroons of Albany ivere not per mitted to rent, but must s ,ll t and t pes Pesche by the buyer, or the tenant. Debto liqted thei r bonds ic n tliy blood of their credito. The law of divore gaye evrt sort of liberty to wife and husband. Te wife, if she did not avail to^Uof (,e extreme privileges Y wle if8el ta herself of t I extreme pivilegs accorded'to her by this benev. olent enactment, was, at all events, allowed to keep her own purse,and to spend her money, over viciously, without counting to her lord. If he was lord, shewas lady. Soe a no-t ipy his masbt', ,1: w y. 81,e n ot simply his master, but her own; anc a precious osehold l they made of it between , them. Churces multiplied, mostly, t the ver hevTmoment when a restless and powerful party---avoedly losfle, to all re]iin , T" p*ef- a hostile to all religson --was denouncing and striving to abolisli the Sabbath itself as immoral, and in conflict with the privileges of labor and the citizen . t "In this universal disorder in laws and morals-- this confision plaes, hotels, and haunts of smme r estiity, in which tloe and policy, if not charity and -oo -l i, gen er"i aec those* whicI1(Ila I1 .." ^yhhgoddle&Jome^'" ' nlres-"e that everythlnTg should be foreorne,of an/e r -a th be offensive to ay sensibilities. But the clou ad blindness hotels and haunts Of stimmerfest- - which evesywhere overspread sofatnroo r'nd I a beoi n sv t o n e sh r ,t a ih 4 cty,wa fng to forea any shjet .adnes s too s' - *e*hit i n. emry, malice, conceit, and Cewh aontent, could tlnd ex - -tter ee neighlbor. I esto-rc,i..e se a lexpne of oile's ncjornest i ,lestro . r, t 1,me, the securities of religion, the domearle peace of families; the inviolability of the laws, the gum'- antees of the creditor-nay, taking his life, as that of an inso- lent, when he presumed to urge his bond-t-lse rccless incen- diaries (ike the Fr1encht, exactly) must carry thir beautiful sys- tem to the hearts of other cmm nitie. Tlry re by no mea nsy- 'efish. They ,^ut commreities :^ ,Theyar by no nietil s--nelt share 'their admirable blessings with others -ay, force them, even against tjeir desires, to partake of their drunrken mixtures No situation, ccordgly, 2n, accordinly,;s sacred fron HOW THE DOGS BARK, 393 their invasion. No refuge is left for society, unembarrassed by their presence. They rage in all places, fireside, street, ex- change, hotel, and, not so much seeking to" reform and teach, as to outrage and annoy, they studiously thrust upon you, at every turn, the picture of the miserable fanatic, whose vanity prompted him to fire'a temple only that he might be seen in its blaze. F c Our' Soft-heads,' who have been busily engaged, for the last thirty years, in feeding these fanatics, by draining the prof its from their own soil, are, at length, beginning to feel some- what uncomfortable, sitting cheek-by-jowl, at Saratoga, and' other places of vulgar resort, and hearing themselves described as robbers and wretches by the very people whose thieving an- cestors stole the negro with whom to swindle, our forefathers. They begin to suspect that their pride is not wholly unimpaired, when they hearken quietly to such savory communications. A lurking doubt whether they are not the persons meant, all the while, begins to stir uneasily within them; and in a half-drowsy state, between dozing and thought, they ask themselves the question, whether it were not much more to their credit to re- solve, henceforward, neither to taste, nor touch, nor commune with a people, who, in mere wantonness and insolence, are ma- king so free with all the securities of their country, its reputa- tion, and its property! The Soft-head,' it is true, is not without grateful- assurancesy from one class of his neighbors, that his assailants are very sorry fanatics who deserve no sort of consideration; that, though Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart bark at him furiously, yet he, Dick, and his brother Tom, and his cousin, Harry, all tavern-keepers, living in the broad route of southern travel, are his fiMends- are the true, sturdy buthler's dogs, who, will keep the curs in proper fear and at a proper distance. But, after a while, ' S oft- head' asks himself-having asked the question fruitlessly of Tom, Dick, and Htrry-- why do these curs, which are said to be so despicable--why do they continue this barking? nay, why, when the barking becomes biting-why do not these famous butcher's dogs use their teeth for the protection of their friends? Why are Tray, Blanche, an d Sweetheart--worthless puppies as they are- -why are they in full possession of the 1i7 page: 394-395[View Page 394-395] 894: SOUTHWARD HO! ' roast? The fanatics of abolition are said to be few; but why do they shape the laws, dictate the policy, control the whole ac- tion of society? ' Soft-head' gets no answer to all this; andl now naturally begins to suspect that all parties either think en- tirely with the offenders, or possess too little courage, honesty, or proper sympathy with the south, ever to be relied upon as allies. In fact, our ' soft-head' discovers that, whether guilty or otherwise, the party denounced as so weak, and worthless, wields, in reality, the entire power, and represents wholly the principles and feelings of the north. The thing is not to be gainsayed. Your merchant, having large dealings with the 'soft-heads,' makes little of it; your hotel-keeper, entertaining large squad- rons of 'soft-heads,' 'for a consideration,' every summer, gravely insists that it is nothing but the buzz of a bee in a tar- barrel; your Yankee editor, crossing the line of Mason and Dixon - a northern man with southern principles! who teaches the 'soft-head southron,' from 'hard-head northern school- books'-he is potent in the asseveration that there is no sort of danger-that it is the cry of 'wolf,' only, made by the cunning boys, who wish to see the fun of the false chase; and that, in his hands, as grand conservator of the peace, everything that's worth saving is in a place of eminent security. Your thorough slave of party, wlhig or democrat, who hopes for a secretaryship, or a vice-presidentship, or a foreign mission--or whlo, with com- mendable modesty, resigns himself to a postmastership, or a tide-waitership -'all these come in'to the assistance of our ( soft- heads,' and take monstrious-pains to reassure them and restore their equanimity! Governed by self, rather than by nation or section, they cry 'peace'-all--when there is no peace! When there can not be peace, so long as the south is in the minority, and so long as the spirit and temper of the north are so universally hostile to our most vital and most cherished insti- tutions. Until you reconcile this inequality, and exorcise this evil spirit, that now rages rampant through the Northern States --allied with all sorts of fanatical passions and principles- Agrarianism, Communism, Fourierism, Wrightism, Millerism, Mormonism, etc.,-you may cry peace and union till you split your lungs, but you will neither mrke peace nor secure union. "Well, our' soft-head' begins to discover-this. He has been SOFTT-MAD A pE ERON O O SOFT EART . 8 95 wea ek an lazy-listles s t-i, a dl e kea ry, and wawerer ; but he still has latent s ympa thies tha t earynd a him f h is home , anl he is not blind to the warnings hi i tell him thathe I os a property hic is threate llne, and ?nbc te-, bl de sttoea. i-e rubs his eyes , Icl h A lSe him IJy possiblybe He .i: to b estir himself. It is high time. te is no longer in the condition to say with the sluggard, A little more see a little more fol t he ars t o slumber . , TraY , Bl ane, and Sweet er, the fl abolition cu rs, are at his h eels, and , with their incessant b arking , they suffer nbd tose s , Soft-heac d' soon finds t sLt they are not satisfied to bs lk -simly, Thcey are anxious to U se t her not satisfied to bam sil s t His wie ad S,11lY teeth upon him as well as t hei r tongues . is wife's maid, Sally, persuaded to leave his bonds, for a condition of unexampled human felicity is r in the neighborhoo of the huFive Points;i and his man , C, . ..alks off with two loving ivite broters, ant. soon show h m .o v m ch more moral it is to become a burglar than to remin a .atve Sft-lwesO himv soon hea of both in their new Utopia. Sally writes to im soon hears of both acll's Island, and Charley from Sing- f iomn Thombs or Blatci amost orid nratlve of their condition;- ate a most II their folliesg. heir cries, the sfferings an abuses they have un- their follies, their crimes he biAt, -, oh. dergone at the hands of their sympathizing brethren, Close ob- *eet has been, not the good of the wretched slave, but the inury and annoyance of the soft-head' owner. They declare their repentance, and entreat s assistance. They beg at he w il re - lease them from prison, and make tem once more umnbly happy in the condition which was so justly suite to their intellect and morals. The heart of ' softl-hea' is touclle In this regon he is q ite as tender as in his cranium. ee Obtains their ischarge, gives bail, pays fees, and suffers a world of trouble and expense, in helping the poor etches intodaylight But, will the aboli- tionists snffer this rinh Will they let the rey escape them at the last Oh no! ey t btwen, a mob thi thei heels, and rend C(3arley "ndl Sally away one morgg ting ti' by violence-the Poor a ,kies ll'the wai0 e sttugl ing aga(tSs the cruel fate of freedom, for hich thetly delaing, with tears in their eyes, how infinitely t eing slves to a gntlema, than brethrn of Such a gang page: 396-397[View Page 396-397] ' -' 896 896 SOUTHWARD HO! blackguards. 'Soft-head,' himself, barely escapes by the skin of his teeth. ie is compelled to cast off the indolence tvhicil he lhas hitherto fondly conceived to form a part of his dignity, and, with all baste, to throw the Potomac between lhim and the pursuing curs of abolitioni. "Growrling over the popular sentiment at the Northl, which thus dogs their footsteps and disturbs their equanimity, or grum. bling at the sudden invasion of cholera, hvlicll makes them trem. ble for their bowels, it is probable tlat more than twenty t'ou. sand Southrons forebore, last summer, their usual route of travel. /Mason and Dixon's line, that season, constituted the 6ulti&a tAzl e, to ill. h they looked vitl: shiveings only. Ths barred are banne ,' almost .opeless of eijoyrment, but eompelled to seek freatiohe ll ongere, and to find tleir summer routes and r'c- reaions in long-neglected precincts, it was pelrfectly delightful to beliolad the sudden glory wlich possessed them, as t!ley opened their eyes, for the first time in their lives, npon tle charming scenery, the pure retreats, the seet lquiet, and the surprising resources whichl welcomed them--at llome 1 thy had they not seen thlese thngs before? How was it that such glorious mountain ranges, such fertile and lovely valleys, such mighty and beautiful cascades, sucll broad, lard and ocean- girdled beaches and islets, had been so completely hidden from their eyes? By what fatuity was it that they lad been so blinded, to the waste of millions of expenditure, iso the ngrate- ful regions in which they had so long been satisfied to find re- treats, which. afforded them so little of pleasure or content? Poor, sneakling, drivelling, conceited, slavish provincialism never received such a lesson of unmixed benefit before; and patriot. ism never a happier stimulus and motive to future enjoyinent as well as independ ene. "It is a too melancholy truth, and one tlat we would fain deny if we dared, that, in sundlry essentials, the Southern people have long stood in nearly the same relation to the Nortern states of this confederacy, that the whole of the colonies, in 1775, oc- cupied to Great Britain. A people wholly devoted to grazing and agriculture aie necessarily wanting in large marts, which alone give the natural impulse to trade and manufactures. A people enlgaged in staple culture are necessarily scattered .re-. ESSENTIALITY OF ART TO SAFETY. 839" motely over the surface of the earth. Now, the activity of the common intellect depends chiefly upon the rough and incessant attrition of the people. Wanting in this attrition, the best minds sink, into repose, that finally becomes sluggishness. As a nat- ural consequence, therefore, of the exclusive occupation of agri- culture in the South, the profits of this culture, and the sparse- ness of our population, the Southern people left it to the Northern States to supply all their wants. To them we looked for books and opinion-and they thus substantially ruled us, through the languor which- we owed to our wealth, and the deficient self-es- teem naturally due to the infrequency of our struggle in the ,common marts of nations. The Yankees furnished all our man- ufactures, of whatever kind, and adroitly contrived to make it appear to us that they were really our benefactors, at the very moment when they were sapping our substance, dtegrading our mminds, and growing rich upon our raw material, and by the la- bor of our slaves. Any nation that defers thus wholly to another is soon emasculated, and finally subdued. To perfect, or even secure, the powers of any people, it requires that. they shall leave no province of enterprise or industry negiected,.which is available to their labor, and not incompatible with their soil and climate. And there is an intimate sympathy between the labors of a people, and their higher morals and more ambitious senti- ment. The arts are all so far kindred;, that the one necessarily prepares the way for the other. The mechanic arts thrive as well as the fine arts, in regions which prove friendly to the lat- ter; and Benvenuto Cellini was no less excellent as a goldsmith and cannoneer than as one of the most bold and admirable sculptors of his age. To secure a high rank in society, as well as histhory, it is necessary that a people should do something more than provide a raw material. It is required of them to provide the genius also, which shall work thl e material up into forms and fabrics equally beautiful and valuable. This duty has been neglected by the South; abandoned to her enemies; and, in the-train of this neglect and self-abandonment, a thousand' evils follow, of even greater magnitude. The worst of these is a sla- vish deference to the will, the wit, the wisdom, the art and inge- nuity of the people to whom we yield our manufactures; making it the most difficult thing in the world, even when our own peo- page: 398-399[View Page 398-399] 898 SOUTHWvARD HO! pie achieve, to obtain for them the simplest justice, even among themselves, We surrendered ourselves wholly into the hands of our Yanlkee brethren---most loving kinsmen that they are- and were quite content, in asserting the /rank of gentlemen, to forfeit the higher rank of menn. We were sunk into a certain inmbecility-read from their books, thought from their: standards shrunk from and submitted to their criticism--and (No! we have not yet quite reached that point--Walker still holding his ground in the South against Webster), almost began to adopt their brogue! They dictated to our tastes and were alone al- lowed to furnish the proper regions for their exercise. Above all, theirs was al the scenery; and the tour to Saratoga, West Point, Newport, Niagara, almost every season, was a sort of pilgrimage, as necessary to'the eternal happiness of our race of 'soft-heads,' as ever was that made, once in a life, to Mcca, by the devout worshipper in the faith of Islam! "But, owing to causes, already indicated, the change has come over the spirit of that dreamln hich constituted too -much the life of too large a portion of our wealthy gently; and the last summer, as we said before, left them at liberty to look abott their own homes, and appreciate their own resources. The dis. coveries were marvellous; the developments as surprising as those which followed the friction of the magic lamp in the hands of Aladcldin. Encountered, onl the opposite side of Mason and Dixon's Line, by the loathsome presence of Asiatic cllolera and Africean abolition, thiey averted their eyes firm these equally of- fensive aspects, and foulnd a prospect, when looking baclkward upon the South, at once calculated to relieve their annoyances, and compensate admirab!y for all their privations. The tide of travel was fairly turned; and, througll the lengtl and breadth of the landc, in the several States of Virginia, the two Carolinas, Georgia, and even Floridl, nothing was to be seed but the chariots and the horsemen, the barge and the ear, bearing to new and lately discovered retreats of health and freshness, the hun- gering wanderers after pleasure and excitement. For such an event, the country wasalmost totally unprepared. A few ancient places of resort excepted, the numerous points of assemblage had scarcely ever been indicated yon the maps. The means for reaching them vere rude and hiastily provided. The roads were I SOCIAL ATTRITION. 899 rough, and, with the vehicles employed to traverse them, admi- rably adapted to give wholesome exercise to rheumatic joints and dyspeptic systems. The craziest carriages were hastily put in requisition, to run upon the wildest highways. Paths, only just blazed out in the woods, conducted you to habitations scarcely less wild, of frames covered with clapboards, -- queer-looking log tenements, unplastered chambers, and little uncouth cabinrs, eight by twelve--where pride, in the lap of quiet, at all events, if not of comfort, might learn upon what a small amount of cap- ital a man may realize large -results in health and independence. It was the strangest spectacle, in Georgia and South Carolina, to see the thousands thus in motion along the highways, and thus rioting in rustic pleasures. Such cars and carriages, as bore the trooping adventurers, never figured in fashionable use before. You might see the railway trains, long and massive frames of timber, set on wheels, with unplaned benches, an interminable range, crowded with the living multitudes, wedged affectionately together, like herrings in boxes-sorted, if not salted masses- without covering, speeding through sun by day, and rain by night, to the appointed places of retreat; .and, strange to say, in the best of all possible humors with themselves and all man- kind. A certain grateful determination to make the most of the novel de'sagremens of their situation, in acknowledgment of the substantial good, in healthy excitement, and moral compensation, which they enjoyed at home, operated to make cheerful all the aspects of the scene, and to afford a pleasing animation to the strangest combinations of society. Here encountered, to the j common benefit, circles and cliques that had never before been subjected to attrition. The reserved gentleman of the lower country, nice, staid, proper and particular, was pleased to receive i a freshening stimulus from the frank, free, eager and salient : manners of the gentleman of the interior.- The over-refined ladies of the city were enlivened by the informal, hearty, lively and laughing tempers of the buoyant beauties of the mountain and forest country. These shared equally in the benefits of the association. The too frigid and stately reserves of the one region were thawed insensibly by the genial -and buoyant, the unso- phistidcated impulse of the other; while the latter, insensibly borrowed, in return, something of the elaborate grace, and the page: 400-401[View Page 400-401] 400 SOUTH'WARD HO! quiet dignity, which constitute the chief attractions of the former. The result has compassed something more than was anticipated by the several parties. Seeking only to waste a summer grate. fully, to find health and gentle excitements,--the simple object of the whole,--they yet found more precious benefits in the un, wonted communion. Prejudices were worn away in the grate. ful attrition; new lights were brought to bear upon the social aspects of differing regions; thought was stimulated to fresh researches; and the general resources of the country, moral as well as physical, underwent a development, as grateful and en- couraging as they were strange and wonderful to all the parties. "The desagremcens of these extemporaneous progresses were not limited to bad roads and clumsy or crazy vehicles, rude dwel- lings, and the absence of the usual comforts upon which the gentry of the low country of the South, trained in English schools, are apt to insist with, perhaps, a little too much tenacity. We are compelled to make oine admission, in respect to our in- terior, which we do in great grief of heart and much vexation of spirit. If the schoolnaster is abroad, the cook is not! Our cuisine is not well ordered in the forest country. The 'Pzysiolo- gie de Gout' has never there been made a text-book, in the schools of culinary philosophy. We doubt if a single copy of this grave authority can be found in all the mountain ranges of the Apalaclian. They have the grace and the gravy; but these are not made to mingle as they should.- The art which weds the vinegar and the oil, in happiest harimonies, so that neither is suffered to prevail in the taste, has never, in .this region, com- manded that careful study, or indeed consideration, which their union properly demands. The rank of the cuisinicr is not prop- erly recognised. The weight and importance of a grain of salt in the adjustment (shall we say comnpromzise?) of a salade, is, we grieve to say, not justly understood in our forest watering-places; and, skilful enough at a julep or a sherry-cobler, they betray but "prentice Ban's' when a steak, or a sauce, is the subject of preparation. Monsieur Guizot, speaking in properly-.dignified language of the common sentiment of France, insists that she is the most perfect representative of the civilization of Christendom. Of course, he bases her claims t9 -this position entirely on the virtues of her cuisine. The moral of the nation comes from the d A DREAMS OF DINNER. 401 kitchen. The 'good digestion' which should 'wait on appetite' must be impossible where the cl7efde cuisine falls short of the philosopher as well as the man of science. Now, of all that philosophy, which prepares the food 'with a due regard, not only to the meats and vegetables themselves, the graces and the gravies, but to the temperaments of the consumers, we are sorry to confess that we have but little in our vast interior. Our mountain cooks think they have done everything when they have murdered a fillet of veal or a haunch of venison,-sodden them in lard or butter, baked or boiled them to a condition which admirably resembles the pulpy masses of cotton rag, when macerated for paper manufacture,-and wonders to see you mince gingerly of a dish which he himself will devour with the savage appetite of a Cumanche! -You have seen a royal side of venison brought in during the morning, and laid out upon' the tavern shambles;-you have set your heart upon the dinner of that day. Fancy reminds you -of the relish with which, at the St. Charles, in New-Orleans, or the Pulaski, in' Savannah, or the Charleston Hotel, you have discussed the exquisitely dressed loin, or haunch, done to a turn; the red just tinging the gravy, the meat just offering such; pleasant resistance to the knife as leaves the intricate fibres still closely united, though shedding their juices with the eagerness of the peach, pressed between the lips in the very hour of its maturity ;-or you see a fine 'mutton' brought in, of the wild flavor of the hills;,ancd you examine, with the eye of the epicure, the voluminous fat, fold upon fold, lapping itself lovingly about the loins. Leg, or loin, or saddle, or shoulder, suggests itself to your anticipation as the probable subject of noonday discussion. You lay yourself out for the argument, and naturally recur to the last famous dinner which you enjoyed with the reverend father, who presides so equally well at the Church of the St. Savori, and at his own ex- cellent hotel in the Rue des Huitres. You remember all the company, admirable judges, every one of them, of the virtues and the graces of a proper feast. The reverend father, hinl:-lf, belongs to that excellent school of which the English clergy still show you so many grateful living examples,-men whose sensibilities are not yielded to the barren empire of mind merely, but who bring thought and philosophy equally to bear upon the page: 402-403[View Page 402-403] 402 SOUTHWARD HO! humble and too frequently mortified flesh. With the spectacle of the venerable host, presiding so gracefully and so amiably- the napkin tucked beneath his cllin, and falling over the ample domain in which certain philosophers, with much s1how of reason have found the mortal abiding place of the soul--you associate the happy action with which, slightly flourishing the bright steel before he smites, he then passes the scimitar-like edge into the rosy round before him. It is no rude or hurried ;Ict. He feels the responsibility of the duty. He has properly studied the rela- tions of the parts. He knows just where to insinuate the blade; and the mild dignity with which the act is performed, reminds you of what you!have seen in pictures, or read in books, of the sacrifices of the- high priests and magi, at Grecian or Egyptian altars. What silence waits upon the stroke! and, as the warm blood gushes forth, and the rubied edges of the wound lie bare before your eyes, every bosom feels relievedl! The augury has been a fortunate one, and the feast begins under auspices that drive all doubts of what to-morrow may bring forth, entirely from the thought. "With such recollections kindling the imagination, our extem- pore hotels of the Apalachian regions will doom you to frequent disappointment. You see yourself surrounded by masses that may be boiled or roasted polypi for what you know. But where's the mutton and the venison? ," You call upon the landlord- a gaunt-looking tyke of the forest, wlho seems better fitted to hunt the game than take charge of its toilet. He is serving a score at once; with one hand heap- ing beef and bacon, with the other collards and cucumbers, into conflicting plates; and you fall back speechless, with the sudden dispersion of a thousand fancies of delight, as he tells you that the mutton, or the venison, which has been the subject of your revery all the morning, lies before you in the undistinguisable mass that has distressed you with notions of the polyplus and sea-blubber, or some other unknown monstrosities of the deep'or forest. But the subject'is one quite too distressing for dilation. We have painful memories, and must forbear. But, we solemn- ly say to our Apalachian landlord:- "' Brother, this tling must beyamended. You have no right to sport thus with the hopes, the heailtlh, the lappiness of your A LOVE STORY. 403 guests. You have no right, in this way, to mortify your neigh- bors' flesh. Have you no sense of the evil which you are doing -no bowels of sympathy for those of other people? Is it pride, or indolence, or mere blindness and ignorance, which thus reni- ders you reckless of what is due to humanity and society, and all that fine philosophy which the Roman epicure found essential to reconcile to becoming sensibilities the mere brutish necessities of the animal economy? You must import and educeate your cooks. You- must appreciate justly the morals of the kitchen. You must study with diligence, night and morning, the profound pages of the Physiologie de Gout; you must forswear those streams of lard, those cruel abuses of the flesh, tihose hard bakings of meats otherwise tender; those salt and savage soddenligs of venison, otherwise sweet; those mountains of long collards, in- adequately; boiled and those indigestible masses of dough, whether in the form of pies, or tarts, or biscuit, which need a yesty levity before they can possibly assimilate with the human systemn. We have often thought, seeing these heavy pasties upon your tables, that, if they could only command a voice, they wotuld perpetually cry out to the needy and devouring guest, in thel langunge of the ghosts to Richard the Hunclhback--'Let us lie heavy on thy soul to-morrow.'" Here was a pause. Our orator had fairly talked himself out. "Have you been speaking, sir?" was the artlessly-expressed inquiry, of Selina Burroughs. "Good heavens, my dear little creature, you do not mean to say that you have been sleeping all the while!" Here was a laugh! "Oh! no, sir,--I merely wished to suggest that there is a story due to us from some quarter, and if you are in voice, sir,--I do not see who can better satisfy our expectation than yourself." "Voice! I never was in better voice in all my life! You shall have a story and, in tribute to yourself, it shall be a love-story." "Oh! thank you-- a love story." "A love story, and of the red man." ("Oh! that will be curious enough." "It shall be as malicious and pathetic, and sad and humorous, and sedate, and fantastical, as Kotzebue himself could have desired." page: 404-405[View Page 404-405] 404 SOUTHWARD HO! And the group composed itself around, and the bilious racon. teur told the following legend:-- "EGEND OF MSSOURI: OR, THE- CAPTIVE OF THE PAWNEE. "A token of the spirit land-- The fleeting gift of fairy hand: A wither'd leaf, a flower whose stem Once broke, we liken unto. them; Thus fleet and fading, ripe ere noon, Alnd vanishing like midnight moon; A rainbow gleam,- that now appears, And- melts, even as we gaze, to tears." INTRODUCTION. THERE'are certain races who are employed evidently as the pioneers for a superior people-who seem to have no0 mission of performance,--only one of preparation,-and who simply keep the earth, a sort of rude possession, of which they make no use, yeilcling it, by an inevitable necessity, to the conquering people, so soon as they appear. Our red men seem to have be- longed to this category. Their modes of life were inconsistent with length of tenure; and, even had the white man never ap- peared, their duration must have still been short. They would have preyed upon one another, tribe against tribe, in compliance with necessity, until all were destroyed;-- and there is nothing to be deplored in this spectacle! Either they had no further uses, or they never, of themselves, developed them; and a people that destroy only, and never create or build, are not designed, fanywhere, to cumber God's earth long! This is the substantial condition upon which all human securities depend. We are to advance. We are to build, create, endow; thus showing that we are made in the likeness of the Creator. Those who destroy only, by laws of strict moral justice, inust perish, without having been said to live! And yet, surveying this spectacle thro' the medium of the picturesque, one naturally broody with sympathy over the fate of this people. There is a solitary grandeur in their fortunes, THE GENIUS LOCI. 405 and the intense melancholy which they exhibit, which compels us, in spite of philosophy, to regret the necessity under which they perish. Their valor, their natural eloquence, their pas- sionate sense of freedom, the sad nobleness of their aspects, the subtlety of their genius, --these forbid that we should regard them with indifference; and we watch their prolonged battle for existence and place,: with that feeling of admirationwith which we behold the " great man struggling with the storms of fate." The conflict between rival races, one representing- the highest civilization, the other the totally opposite nature of the savage, is always one of exquisite interest; and not an acre of our vast country but exhibits scenes of struggle between these rivals, which, properly delineated, would ravish from the canvass, and thrill all passions from the stage. The thousand progresses, in all directions, of the white pioneer;--the thousand trials of strength, and skill, and spirit, between him and the red hunter; --make of the face of the country one vast theatre, scene' after scene, swelling the great event, until all closes in the grand de- nouement which exhibits the dying agonie-of the savage, with tile conqlueinfg civilization striding triumphantly over his neck. Tradition will help us in process of time to large elements of romance in the survey of these events, and the red man is destin- ed to a longer life in art than he ever knew in reality. "Yet shall the genius of the place, In days of potent song to come, Reveal the story of the race, Whose native genius now lies dumb. Yes, Fancy, by Tradition led, Shall trace the streamlet to'its bed, 'And well each anxious path explore, ' The mighty trod in days of yore. The rock, the vale, the mount, the dell, Shall each become a chronicle;- The swift Imagination borne, To heights of faith and sight supreme, Shall gather all the gifts of morn, And shape the drama-from the dream." The sketch which follows might as well be true of a thousand histories, as of the one which it records. It is one which the painter might crown with all the glories of his art; one which future invention may weave into permanent song and story, for page: 406-407[View Page 406-407] 406 SOUTHWARD O! generatlons, to whom the memory of the red man will be nothing but a dream, doubtful in all its changes, and casting doubts upon the sober history. CHAPTER I, THE Pawnees and the Omalhas were neighboring but hostile nations. 'Their wars were perpetual, and this was due to their propinquity. It was the necessity of their nature and modes of life. They hunted in the same forest ranges. They were con- tending claimants for the same land and game. The successes of the one in the chase, were so many wrongs done to the rights of the other; and every buck or bear that fell. into the hands of either party, was a positive loss of property to the other. That they should hate, and fight, whenever they met, was just as certain as that they should eat of the venison when the game was taken. Every conflict increased the mutual hostility of the parties. Successes emboldened the repetition of assault; defeat stimulated the desire for revenge. Every scalp which provoked triumph in the conqueror, demanded a bloody revenge at the hands of the vanquished; and thus they brooded over bloody fan- cies when they did not meet, and met only to realize their bloody dreams. It was soon evident to themselves, if it was not known to other nations, that the war was one of annihilation -that there could be no cessation of strife between them, until one of the parties should tear the last scalp from the brows of his late- ful enemy. Such a conviction, pressing equally upon the minds of both people, forced upon' them the exercise of all their arts, their sub- tlety, their skill in circumventing their opponents, their savage and unsparing ferocity when they obtained any advantages. It prompted their devotions, also, to an intensity, which rendered both races complete subjects of the most terrible superstitions. Their priests naturally fed these superstitions, until war, which is the usual passion of the red man, became their fanaticism. Wild, mystical, horrid, were their midnight orgies and sacrifices.; and, when they were not in battle--when a breathing spell from conflict had given them a temporary -respite, in which to rebuild and repair their burned and broken lodges, and store away the provisions which were to serve them in new trials of strength,- MELANCHOLY OF THE RED MAN. 407 then religion claimed all their hearts, and fed their souls upon the one frenzied appetite which it thus made the decree of prov- idence. The red man's Molocllh has always been supreme among his gods, and he nowabsorbed wholly the devotions equally of Pawnee and Omaha. And thus, from generation to generation, had the fierce madness been transmitted. Their oldest traditions failed to say when the hatred did not exist between the -two na- tions; and the boy of the Pawnee, and him of the Omaha, for hundreds of moons had still been taught the same passion at the altar; and his nightly dream, until he could take the field as a man, was one in which he found himself bestriding an enemy, and tearing his reeking scalp from his forehead. And this, by the way, is the common history of all these Indian tribes. They were thus perpetually in conflict with their neighbors, destined to slaughter or be slain. What wonder the sad solemnity on their faces, the national gloom over -their villages, their passions vlwhich hide darkly, as wolves in the mountain caverns, concealing,- in the cold aspect, their silent wretchedness; their horrid rages, under the stolid, though only seeming, indifference in every visage. Tleir savage god was dealing with them everywhere, after his usual fashion. They were themselves the sacrifices upon his bloody altars, and he lursed their frenzies only for self-de- struction. Gloomy, stern, intensely savage, was the spirit thus prevailing over the minds of both people, at the time of which we speak. The season was approaching, when, their summer crops laid by, they were again to take the field, in the twofold character of warriors and hunters. The union of the two, in the case of people living mostly by the chase, is natural and apparent enough. The forests where they sought their prey equally, harbored their enemies, and for both they made the same prep- arations. The period of theseevents is within modern times. The coasts of the great Atlantic have been populously settled, by the white race. The red men have gradually yielded before their pioneers. The restless Anglo-Norman is pushing his way rapidly into the forests-into the pathless solitudes-into sul- len mountain-gorges, and - dense and gloomy thickets. He has possessed himself everywhere of some foothold, and convclted( every foothold into a fastness. Thle borderers were alrealdy page: 408-409[View Page 408-409] 408 SOUTHWARD HO! known to both Pawnee and Omaha. But, while these raged against each other, they took little heed of that approaching power under which botlh were to succumb. Its coming inspired no fear, while the hate for each other remained undiminished. The autumn campaign was about to open, and the Pawnees and the Omahas were soon busy in their preparations for it. Before setting out upon thel war-path, many things had to be done--mystic, wild, solemn -by which to propitiate their gods, and consecrate their sacrifices. The youth of- each nation, who had never yet taken the field, were each conveyed to thle "Silent Lodges," where, for a certain time, under trials of hun- ger, thirst, and exposure, they were to go through a sort of sacred probation, during which their visions were to become auguries, and to shadow forth the duties and the events of their fiuture career. This probation over, they took their part in solemn feast and council, in orc]'r to decide upon the most plausible plans of action, and to obtain the sanction and direc- tion of the Great Spirit, as ascertained by their priests. You already possess some general idea of the horrid and unseemly rites which were held proper to these occasions. We are all, more or less familiar with that barbarous mummery, in which, on such, occasions, most savages indulge; blindly, and to us insanely, but having their own motives, and the greatest con- fidence in the efficacy of their rites. These proceedings lasted days and nights, and nothing was omitted, of their usual per- formances, which could excite the enthusiasm of the people, while strengthe1ning their faith in their gods, their priesthood, and their destiny. In the deepest recesses of wood the incanta- tions were carried on. Half naked, with bodies black'ened and painted, the priests officiated before flaming altars of wood and brush. On these they piled native offerings. The 'fat of the bear and buffalo sent up reeking steams to the nostrils of thleir savage gods, mingled with gentler essences, aromatic scents, extracted from bruised or burning shrubs of strong odorous prop- erties. The atmosphere became impregnated vith their fumes, and the audience-the worshippers, rather--grew intoxicated as they inhaled. The priests were already intoxicated, drink- ing decoctions of acrid, bitter, fiery roots of the forests, the qualities of which they thoroughly knew;. Filled withl their Y-LYVV IL LV LV rZ 409 THE AUGURY. exciting fires, they danced, they sang, they ran, and sent up, meanwile, the most horrid howls to their demon. Filled with a sacred fury, they rushed hither and thither, smiting them- selves unsparingly with sharp flints, which covered their breasts and arms with blood. Thus maddened, they divined, and the nation hung trembling, as with a single heart, upon the awful revelations from their lips. The scene is one for the most vivid and intense of the melodramas. Talk of your Druid sacrifices, asseen in your operas. They are not, for the picturesque and terrible, to be spoken of in the samle hour with those of our aboriginal tribes. InII the case of both nations, as might be expected, the priests aivinea arnd predicted general success. They took care, how- ever, as is usually the case with the prophets of the superstitious, to speak in language sufficiently vague to allow of its application to any sort of events; or they rested solely upon safe predict tions which commonly bring about their own verification. They did not, however, content themselves with prophesying the events of the war.. They consulted as well the course of the action to be pursued-the plans to be adopted-the leaders chosen; and this, too, in slchl manner as to leave no loopholes for evasion. Thus they encouraged their favorites, rebuked and kept down leaders whom they feared, and kept the nation snbject wholly to their own exclusive despotism. 'le response especially made by the Pawnee priesthood, a when consulting their gods, with reference to the approaching campaign, annlounced the victory to rest with that nation which should first succeed in making a captive. This captive was doomed to the torture by fire. Such a response as this, how- ever cruel and barbarous it may seem, was yet of a highly mer- ciful tendency, calculated really to ameliorate the horrors of war, and to promote the safety of human life. The effect upon the Pawnees--a people eager and impetuous-was to restrain their appetite for battle. Their great policy was- to escape unnecessary risks of anly sort, while employing all their sub- tlety for the possession of a native Omaha. To this the war- riors addressed themselves with wonderful unauimity, but to the grievousf sacrifice of their chief appetites, all of which indi- cated the fiercer conflict as their true delight. 18 page: 410-411[View Page 410-411] "O SOUTHWARD HO! CHAPTER II. THE Omahas, on the other hand, had their favorite auguries also, and the response from their gods was not dissimilar to that which had been given to the Pawnees. It said that the nationl should infallibly succeed in the campaign, which- should receive thefirst blow. But nothing was said of captivity. Similar, but in conflict, were the predictions. In both cases, as in battles usually, everything was made to depend upon the first blow. While, therefore, the policy of the Pawnees was to escape from everything like conflict, that of the Omullias was to provoke action and hurry into danger. Their warriors -assembled, ac. cordingly, at all points, and issued from their lodges and towns, taking the trail for the enemy's country. This they soon pen- etrated. But the Pawnees were very wary. They stood only on the defensive, and wholly avoided action; retreated before equal numbers, and simply contented themselves with keeping out of danger, while keeping the Onmahas for ever vigilant. Their caution, which was a very unwonted virtue, provoked the Omahas to desperation. Their effrontery was prodigious. They exposed themselves to the shaft on all occasions, rushing be- neath the fastnesses of the Pawnees, striking their naked breasts, and defying their enemies to shoot. But the latter lay perdu, quietly, if not calmly, looking on, and apparently satisfied to keep their towns and camps in safety. They neither invited attack nor awaited it, and resolutely avoided giving--what the Omahas solicited--that first buow! It is true that the young Pawnee braves felt sorely the necessity to which they-were required to submit. Bitterly, in their hearts, they cursed the decree which kept them inactive; forced to subminit to taunts, reproaches, and invectives, from a people whom they loathed, and affected to despise. It was scarcely possible to restrain the young Pawnee bloods under such severe trials of their temper;---but the voice of the priesthood was paramount; and, blindly believing that safety lay only in their predictions, they were persuaded to suspend the thirst of blood, and to substitute subtlety for valor. To circumvent the enemy--to make the captive,--not to slay, not even to wound-: this was the great duty and the eager desire with the warriors of the Pawnee. AWE-KIONK. 4" But this was no easy matter. The Omahas longed for the con- fict. Thley desired to be smitten. They- would struggle to receive the stroke. They would -force the captors to strike the blow, which was to defeat the one prophecy and satisfy the con- ditions of the other. They were not to be ensnared. They exposed themselves but seldom singly, and they were always armed for battle. Turn where the Pawnees would-set what snares they might--employ what arts,-still they found them- selves met and foiled by their now strangely insolent and assail- ilg ellemies. But t'he Pawnee warriors had some long heads among them, and they cogitated earnestly, and planned with equal delibera- tion and method. Among these was a fellow of great renown, with the unelphonic name of ionk, or as he was sometimes called, Awe-Kionk. He was as shrewd and sensible as he was brave and active, and was full of energy and spirit, being just about thirty years of age. He was what we might call a splen- did looking savage-a sort of Mark Antony among the red men-fond of good living- a rather merry companion for an In- dian, but in battle a genuine Birserker-becomig drunk and delirious with a Hunnish rapture at the sight or taste of blood. Such was the chief Kionk. He had his devices, and after a se- cret conference with the head men of the nation he suddenly disappeared with a small but select party of warriors, to put them into execution. What was this famous project about which so much mystery was thrown? So secretly did Kionk and his followers -depart, that nobody dreamed of their absence, even whel they were far away; and so wide was the circuit which they took that they passed unseen and unsuspeeted, meeting not one of the cloud of spies whom the Omahas had set to watch along the line separating them from their enemies. The object of Kionk was the captive, unhurt, unwolundedj whose agonies, reserved for the fiery torture, were to satisfy all the demands of their gods and secure them the victory. Within the whole wide ranges of a country which boasts an almost perpetual spring, the Omaha village occupied one of the sweetest and most beautiful situations that could anywhere be seen. Their principal settlement was upon a small island, em- bosomed in a broad and glassy lake, which empties into the page: 412-413[View Page 412-413] "2 SOUTHWARD HO! river Platte. The Pawnees had long looked with eager ana lustful eyes upon this lovely abiding place. It seemed to real- ize to their imaginations the dream of the India, heavens. It was so cool, so solitary, and, though an island, so sliady :ith noble groves. There the banks seemed to wear the green of a perpetual summer. Never were there such flowers as bloomed bor them by the wayside ; and the singing birds loved the re- gion, and dwelt there, cherished choristers, throughlout the year. There were other luxuries in that little island hoe o f ti e ma. has which were even more precious and wooing in the sight of the hungry Pawnees. 'The fish inhlabiting t! e lake were il abundance, and of surpassing fatness and flavor. No wonder thiat the Lups hated a people in the exclusive possession of sclel a delicious homee! The ,great scheme of Kionk was to effect a descent upon the island, and car off one at least of the inhabitats. This, it was assumed, it Was quite easy-to do, provided the utmost cau- tion was observed, and that nothing happened to render the Omahas suspicious of their object. Mionk reasoned rightly, when be urged upon the chiefs that, while invading their enlle my's countlry, the Omahas would never dream of anlly foray into their own! Their clhief strength was well known to be in the field, hovering all about the Pawnee settlements. It was argued that the secluded situation of the village-its remoteness fromt the scene of active operations--and its natural securities would, in all probability, render the Omahas over-confident of its safety; that they had probably left few men uponthe island, and those mostly the infirm and timid. Tlese would offer but a weak de. fence; but as assault was not the object, only surprise, even this was not apprehended. Kionk, aswe have seen, succeeded in persuading the chiefs in council, and departed with his chosen band, making a successful circuit, which enabled him to pass the scouts of the Omallas, his progress entirely unsuspected. CHAPTER III. MEANWHLE, the Onahbas labored in vain to provolre their enemies to action. Never did walrtiors show themselves so solici- tons of beiig beaten-struck at least--and never did Christianll THE CHEF ENEMOYA. 413 warriors show themselves more reluctant to bestow' the much desired chastisement. This sort of strategy could not last for ever. Our Omahas began to be very- impatient, and to; curse the priesthood and its prophecies, in their heart of hearts.' It is true that they were not kept idle, but constantly watchful and busy; true, also, that they kept their hands in for war, by prac- tising a very slaughterous campaign against bear, buffalo, and buck. But this did not satisfy the national appetite for the blood of their hated rivals. And they groaned with impatience at the difficulty of complying with the conditions of the war, which the prophets had prescribed, in consequence of the most unnatural forbearance displayed by the Pawnees. Among the young warriors of the Omahas who suffered from this impatience, there was one, a gallant youth, little more than grown to manhood, who had already made himself famous by his excellence in all the qualities of warrior and hunter. A more daring or acconmplished fellow than Enemoya, the nation did not possess. Though quite young still, he had Ibeen tried in frequent battles, and had acquired such a reputation for equal spirit, skill, and understanding, that he took a foremost rank among his people, whether in action, or in the preliminary de- liberations of the council. But Enemoya, though brave and savage in war, had yet his weaknesses. He was not insensible to the -tender passion. There was a young woman of his- tribe, known by the pretty poetical name of Missouri; and the first symptoms which Enemoya had that this young woman ,was of any importance in his eyes, consisted in his sudden discovery of the great beauties of this name.-- The Indian warrior, like Rich- ard Cceur de Leon, and the knights most famous of Provence, is something of a Jongleur.-At all events, every chief of the red men sings his war song, his battle hymn, his song of rejoicing, and his death chant. Of the quality of these songs, as works of art, we have not a syllable to say. They were probably not any better than those of Coeur de Leon and his brother bard- knights of Provence. Perhaps, metrical harmony considered, they were not half so good. In making songs for the fair Mis- souri, Enemoya did by no means set up for a poet; and that his song has been preserved at all, is due to the fact that it has been found to answer the purposes of other lovers among the page: 414-415[View Page 414-415] "4 SOUTHWARD HO! red knights of the Omaha. It has even found circulation among the Pawnees, and, by the last advices from that tribe, it is said that this people actually claim the original verses for one of their own warriors--a claim .which we need scarcely assure you is totally unfounded. Perhaps, however, it matters very little with whom the authorship properly lies. It is certain that Enemoya, stealing behind the lovely Missouri, while shhe played with her sister's children in a stately grove on the borders of the beautiful lake, clhanted the following ditty in her ear. We make a close translation from the original, putting it, however, into good English rhymes, in the hope that it may be adopted by'Russell, or some other popular singer, and become the-sub- stitute for the poor, flat, puny, mean-spirited love songs, which are at present so discreditable to the manhood of the Anglo- Saxon 'race. We are constrained to add that Enemoya,'tholgh he had a good voice, and could scream with any eagle, was yet rather monotonous in singing his ditty. "OVE SONG OF ENEMOYA, ONE OF THE GREAT WAR CHEFS OF THE OMAHAS. I. FAWN of the forest isle, but see The gifts that I have brought for thee, To please thy heart and win thine eyes, Here are the loveliest beads, as bright As flowers by day, and stars by night, All collreNih the prettiest dyes!- Oh! take thefm, grl1 of Omaha! II. Take them, with other gifts as dear, Which thou wilt make more bright to wear: This robe of calico but view-, From pale-faced trader bought, who siwore The world ne'er saw the like before, So softly red, so green, so blue- Oh! take it, girl of Omahat! "I. This shawl of scarlet, see-to fold About thy neck, when days are cold-- "OVE-SONG OF THE OAAHA. 4! How soft, and warm, and nice!-- A dozen beaver skins, three bear, A score, and more, of fox and deer, . It cost;-a swinging price! Yet, take it, girl of Omaha! IV. And here are other gifts-this bowl, Of tin-a metal, by my soul, Most precious and most rare; These little bells,.but hear them ting-- Ting, tingle, tingle!--bird on wing Ne'er sung so sweet and clear! - Oh! take them girl of Omaha! V. Take them, and me ! For I'm the man To make you blest, if mortal can! I'm six feet high and strong As bull of all the buffaloes ;4- I'm good for any thousand foes, As I am good for song. So, take me, girl of Omaha! VI. Take me if you are wise; and know My lodge is ready ;--such a show Of skins, and meat, is there! I've thirty venison hams and more, Five buffalo humps are in my store, And twice as many bear! They're yours, sweet girl of Omaha! VI I. Take me!-and know before we part, No other shall possess thy heart;- I'll take his scalp who tries: Nay thine--before I see thee won, By any but my father's son, So listen, and be wise, And take me, girl of Omaha! This will be called rather a rough style of wooing, in our softly sentimental society, but, among the red men, the chant of Enemoya, on this occasion, was deemed the very perfec- * page: 416-417[View Page 416-417] "6 SOUTHWARD HO! tion of a love song. It dealt frankly with the maiden. It told her all that she ought to know, and warned her of what she had to expect, whether she took him or not.' The lover never thought of the damsel's fortune; but he freely tendered every- thing that he himself, possessed. It was herself only that he wanted. Hie was no fortune-hunter. He was a man, and he talked to her like a man. "( See what provision I have made for you. Look into my lodge. See the piles of meat in yonder corner. They are humps of the buffalo. These alone will last us two all the winter. But look up at the thirty venison hams, and the quarters of the bear now smoking, hanging from the rafters. There's a sight to give a young woman an appe- tite. They are all your own, my beauty. You perceive tlat there's much more than enough, and in green pea season we can give any number of suppers. Lift yon blanket. . That is our sleeping apartment. See the piles of bear skins: they shall form our couch. Look at the tin ware-that most precious of all the metals of the white man--yet I have appropriated all these to culinary purposes. As for jewels and ornaments, the beads, of which I have given you a sample, are here in 'abun- dance. These are all your treasures, and you will do wisely to accept. Now, my beauty, I don't want to coerce your tastes, or to bias your judgment in making a free choice ; but I must say that you shall never marry anybody but myself. I'm the very man for you; able to fight your battles and bring you plentiful supplies; and feeling that I am the only proper man for you, I shall scalp the first rival that looks on you with impertinent eyes of passion; nay, scalp you too, if you are so absurd as to look on him with eyes of requital. .I'm the only proper person for you, I tell you." We need scarcely say that this performance made Enemoya as famous as a poet, as he had been as a warrior and hunter. It is now universally considered the chef d'ce'vre of the Omahas. As a matter of course, it proved irresistible with the fair Mis- souri. It had an unctuous property about it, which commended the lover to all her tastes. She suffered him to put his arms about her, to give her the kiss of betrothal, which, among the Omaha women, is called the " kissy of consolation," and the re- sult was, an arrangement for the bridal, withl the close of the INDIAN DREAMINGO. 47 present campaign, and the opening of the spring-that is, taking for granted that Enemoya does not happen, by any chance, to leave his own scalp along the war-path. But neither party thought of this contingency, or they made very light of it. The courtship occurred that very autumt, 'and just as the wanlols were preparing for the winter campaign. It was during the ,windy month" (October), and they were to wait till May. And Enemoya was to be absent all the winter! It was uite a trial even for a Birserker Omaha 1 CHAPTER IV. Hls new relations with the damsel Missouri, and the impossi- bility of forcing the Pawnee Loups to make the assault, rendered Enemoya very impatient of the war. Day by day he became nore and more restless--more and more dissatisfied--more and more troubled by the strongest longing to steal away, and take, if only a look, at the dusky but beautiful damsel, by the lake side, anid among the thickets. He had picked up certain spoils among the villages of the Pawnees-for the decree of the Omaha prophets aid not denounce the spoiling of the Egyptians; only the slaying of them--and, now that he was a betrothed lover, Enemoya was qlite as avid after spoils as ever feudal chieftain in the pallly days of c hivalry. Alndvhy should he not draw off from the camp, and carry home his treasures and his trophies . What wras there to be doae '. The Pawnees would not fight--would not strike, at all events-and eluded all efforts to bring them to blows, and. dodged admirably every sort of danger. He could do no more than he had done, and the business of te war having subsided into a question of mere-vigi- lance an d patience, he felt that this could be carried on quite as well by ordinary warriors as by the best. As forhunting; why should he fatigue himself in this business . Had he not alreaedy shown to Missouri the rafters of his cabin reeking of the nmost savory meats Thus thinking, lhe daily grew more and more convinced of the propriety of returning home. His meditations- influenced his dreams, and these filled him with trouble. An Indian is a great dreamer, and has a great faith in the luality of dreams. The practice of oneirocronancy is a favorite among O ^^7 ^^^^^^ page: 418-419[View Page 418-419] "8 SOUTNHWARD HO! his priests and prophets. The orientals were never such famous interpreters in the days of "( the Elders." Being a poet also, Enemoya shared in the dreaming endowment of the priesthood. His sleep was wholly occupied with dreams. In all'of these, Missouri was a conspicuous feature. Now he saw her in flight; now in tears, -add trembling; anon he beheld her fettered; and again she seemed to- float away from his embrace, a bleeding . spectre, melting away finally into thin air. In most of these dreams, he beheld always, as one of the persons of the drama, a warrior in the hateful guise of a Pawnee. How should a Pawniee dare to hover, even in a dream, about the person of Missouri, the betrothed of a great chief of the Omahas? What had he to do there? and why did the spectre of one unknown, whom indeed he only saw dimly, and always with face averted, and looking toward Missouri-why did he presume to thrusthimself between his visions and the object so precious and ever present to his -dreams? The heart of the young warrior became uneasy, as lihe could conjecture no reasonable solution of his difficulty, unless, indeed, one of which he dared not think. Was Missouri the captive of the Pawnee? He recoiled at the notion-lhe laughed, but rather hollowly, and with great effort--and became more uneasy than ever. His waking dreams, shaped by those that came to him in sleep, became still more troublesome, and he re- solved to- depart secretly for the dear islet in the little lake, if only to disarm his doubts, and get rid of his vexatious fancies. An opportunity soon enabled him to do so. A large party of the Omahas had resolved upon a long hunt, and they applied to Enemoya to join them. The sport in no way promised to inter- fere with the quasi warfare which was carried on; and, finding it impossible to bring the Pawnees to the striking point, the Omahas contented themselves with the warfare upon the quad- rupeds of the forest. Enemoya joined the hunt, but soon dis- appeared from the party. They did not miss him till nightfall, i and in the meantime he had sped, fast and far, pushing back- ward along the paths leading to the little island, and the dusky damsel whom he loved. But the young warrior was late, though no laggard. His enemy had been before him. That subtle and enterprising Kion k had led his party with surprising address, and had succeeded in THE PAWNEE SPY. Retching such a compass as brought him entirely without the ,lignaent of spies and scouts, which the Omahas had stretched across'the country, and, without impediment or interruption, ha made his way successfully to the borders- of the little lake in which the blessed island seemed to be brooding upon its own bosom in a dream of peace. - Nothing could look more calm, m ore inoffensive, m ore winning. One w ould think that, to be- lold it only, would disarm the hostile passions of the enemy. There lay the quiet groves beyond. There rose the soft white curling smokes from the little cabin; anud see beneath the trees where the young damsels and the children are skipping gayly about, as little conscious of care as danger. The prospect did not disarm the Pawnee chief. On the con- trary, it lather strengtlened his resolve, and stimulated his enterprise. "If we obtain this captive," he thought to himself, , we conluer these rascally Omahas; and then we take possession of this beautiful island, this fine lake always full of the sweetest fish, and these broad green meadows, where I can keep a score of horses without sending them out to grass." And the eye of Kionk already selected a particular site for his own future set- tlement, and by no means stinted himself in the number of his self-allotted acres. But he did not, while thus thinking of his own projects of plunder, become neglectful of the duties which he had undertaken. He looked about him, the better to prose- cute his objects. We need not to be told that this inquiry was prosecuted with as much caution as energy. Everybody under- stands that the red men kept themselves well covered in the woods, so that none of the innocent children and the thoughtless girls, sporting alongthe banks of the islet, on the opposite shore, could get the slightest glimpse of their persons or their projects. The marauders stole up the stream, for the lake was simply formed by the expansion of a river, which the islet-divided in tlhe middle. The Pawnees kept under cover till they almost lost sight of the islet. At length they emerged upon the banks of the river. tlere they found a canoe, with which they put out from shore, leaving it to the current to take them down to the islet, and using their paddles simply to shape their course, so as to touch the point aimed at only where its shrubs and willows would afford concealment. The whole affair was well managed, page: 420-421[View Page 420-421] 420 SOUTHWARD HO! and Was quite successful. The Pawnee warriors found them- selves, for the first time, on the blessed island of the Omahas. The reptile was in the garden. He crawled, and crept, or sneaked, crouching or gliding from cover to cover, from thicket to thicket, and stealing from side to side, wherever he thought it most probable that he should happen upon the victim he sought. More than once Kionk might have caught tp a child, a nice little girl of seven or eight, or a stout, chunk of a boy of similar age; but he had his doubts if such juveniles were con- : templated by the oracle. He must do his work thoroughly, and having gone thus far in lhis enterprise, peril nothing upon a i' miserable doubt. : CHAPTER V. "TTLE did the beautiful damsel Missouri fancy, as she sat singing that evening by the shore of the quiet lake, while the infant child of her sister, Tanewahakila, was rocking in a case of wicker work from the boughs of an outspreading tree, that : danger hung about her footsteps., She sung, in the gladness of a young warm heart, scarcely knowing what she sang, and ! musing, in delicious reveries, upon the sprifhg season, which it is ? so pleasant to think of when one is lonely in cold weather, and which was to bring back Enemoya to her arms, a triumphant t warrior. Alas! what a happy dream the Fates are about to mock with their cruel performances. What a lovely picture of peace and felicity is about to be blackened with the thunderbolt - and storm! ' While Missouri sang, or mused, lost in her sweet reveries, the . hand of the fierce Pawnee chief, Kionk, was laid upon her shoul- der. Before she could turn to see who was the rude assailant, f his shawl had been wound about her, mouth, shutting in her cries. In another moment she was lifted in his powerful arms and borne into the thickets. The infant was left swinging in his basket rocker from the tree! ! The lightfooted Enemoya, meanwhile, sped with all the im- petuous diligence of a lover toward the precious little islet, so : full of treasure for his heart. Putsuing a direct course, he was not long in consummating his journey, and at the close of a fine DESPAIR OF ENEMU1 A. ,y in November we find him once more on the borders of the tle takle, and looking across to the happy haven which he n, ught. He paused for an instant only to take from the bough om which it depended: the clear yellow gourd, such as was v erywhere placed conveniently for the wayfarer, and scooped p a sweet drauglt -from the flowing waters. Then he sought ,t a ittle canoe,-one of many which lay along the shore,-- ad paddled out into the lake, making his way toward the well- emembered headlands, where Missouri was wont to play with he children of her sister, Tanewahakila, the wife of his cousin, he grim warrior of Otlanawega-poree. It somewhat surprised nemoya that he seemed to be unseen by the villagers, of whom he himself beheld none; and it was with a feeling of inquietude that he looked vainly to the headlands he was appraching for some signs of Missouri herself.-But, when he reached the island, and his little boat shot up along the silvery beach, he began to tremble witl a strange fear at the deep and utter silence which prevailed everywhere. He pushed rapidly for the lodge of Ta- newalakila, but it was silent and untenanted. Thle fire had gone out upon the hearth. He was confounded, and hurried off to the village. Here he found the women and children gathered within the picketed enclosure, and, from a score of tongues, he soon learned the disaster. Missouri had disppeared. She had been seen borne upon strong Paw iee shoulders to the boat at the upper end of the island, and, before the alarm could be given, she had been carried safely to the opposite side. Not knowing how many of the subtle Pawnees were about, the old and de- crepit warriors of the village had all set of on the route said to be tlaken by the enemy. As yet, there was no report of the result. But what report, or what result, could be anticipated- unless that of disappointment--from a pursuit against young and vigorous foes, undertaken by the superannuatedl Poor Ene- moya listened with the saddest feeling of hopelessness and deso- lation. "One stupid moment motionless he stood ;" then, having heard all which the women had to tell, he darted off in pursuit, resolved to perish or rescue his dusky beauty from the talons of her- cruel ravishers! While Enemoya was thus with all his soul and strength, urging the pursuit, i o nk, with his captive and his companions, page: 422-423[View Page 422-423] 422 SOUTHWARD n O!. was equally earnest in pressing his retreat.- But, to make this safe, he was compelled to make it circuitous. He had to fetch a wide compass, as before, -to escape the scouts and war parties of the Omahas. Though indefatigable, therefore, in the prose- cution of his journey, Kionk made little direct headway. But he was in no hurry. He could afford to lose time now that he had his captive. It was only required that he should keep his trophy. To do this needed every precaution. He knew that he would be pursued. He gave sufficient credit to his enemies to assume that they would not give slumber to their eyelids, nor rest to their feet, in the effort to rescue his prey, and to revenge the indignity which they had suffered. He also took for granted that they would bring to the work an ingenuity and skill, a sagacity and intelligence, very nearly if not equal to his own. iHe must be heedful, therefore, to obliterate all traces of his progress; to wind about and double upon his own tracks; to take to the streams and water-courses whenever this was possi- ble, and to baffle by superior arts those of his pursuers. That there would be much energy in the pursuit, whatever might be its sagacity, he did not apprehend; for he knew that the guardians of the village were mostly superannuated, and a cold scent is usually fatal to enterprise. He knew that they would fight, perhaps as-well as ever, upon their own ground, and in defence; but for a war of invasion, or one which involved the necessity of prompt decision and rapid action, old men are nearly useless. He was therefore cool, taking his leisure, but playing fox-work admirably, and omitting- no precaution. He contrived to throw out the veterans after a brief interval, and to shake himself fiee of their ,fttentions. But he did not dream of that fierce wolf-dog upon the scent--the young, strong, and audaciously-brave chief, Enemoya. CHAPTER VI. IT was not long before Kionk began to take a curious' interest in the looks and behavior of his captive. Very sad and wretched, indeed, was our dusky damsel; but she was very patient withal, and bore up firmly against fatigue, and never once complained, and seemed to show herself perfectly insensi- CAPTOR AND CAPTIVE. 423 ble to danger. She had been chosen as the wife of a great warrior, and she was resolved to show that she possessed a soul worthy of so proud a destiny. Kionk beheld her patience and endurance with a grim} sort of satisfaction. Such a woman, he thought, deserves to have a famous husband: she will do honor to the fire torture. And yet, again, he mused upon the grievous pity of burning up so much fine flesh and blood; such a fine figure, such a pretty face; a creature of so many graces and beau- ties; and one who would bear such noble-looking men-children, gladdening a warlike father's heart. Kionk began to think how much better it would be if he could pick up another cap- tive, and save Missouri from the fire-torture. She would make such a commendable wife. But Kionk had a wife already; for that matter, it must be confessed that he had three, and did not enjoy any great reputation as an indulgent husband. But great chiefs have peculiar privileges, and a chief like Kionk might as safely repudiate his wives as any of the Napoleons, or any of the Guelphs of Europe. Positively, the thought began to grow upon the mighty Kionk, of the beauties and virtues and excellent domestic nature of Missouri. More than once he caught; himself muttering: 1"What a pity such a fine figure should be scorched and blackened by the fire!"He watched her pitifully as he muse'd. 'When they paused for food and rest, he attended kindlily to her wants. He brought her the food himself; he chose the ground where she slept, and threw his buffalo'robe over her, and watched at her head during the brief hours at midnight which were accorded to rest. When, long before dawn, the party was again in motion, he himself gave her the signal to rise, and helped her up. He was curiously attentive for so rough a sort of Birserkir. Could Enemoya have witnessed these attentions! Could he have seen what thoughts were passing through the brain of Kionk-what feelings were work- ing in his heart'! But his jealous and apprehensive spirit con- jectured all. What lover but apprehended the worst of dangers from a charming rival 1 While such were the relations between the captor and the captive, Enemoya pursued the search with as much rapidity as consisted with the necessity of keeping on the track of the fugitives. He encountered the party of exhausted veterans at page: 424-425[View Page 424-425] 424 SOUTHWARD HO! the spot where they were thrown out of the chase; and, while they returned sorrowfully to the little islet, no longer safe and happy, he contrived to catch up the traces .which they had lost, and once more resumed the pursuit with new hopes and spirit. Under any circumstances, the free step, the bold heart, the keen eye, and prompt sagacity, of Enemoya would have made him fearful as a pursuer; but now, with jealous fire and a fierce anger working terribly in his soul, all his powers of mind and body seemed to acquire greater vigor than ever. Passion and despair gave him wings, and he seemed to carry eyes in his wings. Nothing escaped his glance. He soon per- suaded himself that he gained upon his enemy. There are traces which the keen vision of the hunter will detect, even though another hunter shall toil to baffle him; and, in spite of the care and precautions of Kionk, he could not wholly succeed in obscuring the tracks which his party unavoidably made. Besides, anticipating pursuit, though certainly not that of her lover, Missouri had quietly done all that she might, in leaving clues of her progress behind her. She was not allowed to break the shrubs as she passed, nor to peal the green wands, nor to linger by the way. Where she slept at night the care- ful hands of her captors stirred the leaves, and smoothed out all pressure from the surface. But the captors were not always watchful, and Missouri noted their lapses very heedfully. As Enemoya hurries forward over a little sandy ridge, what is it that sparkles in the path.? It is one of the bright blue beads which he himself has wound about the neck of the dusky maiden. His hopes rekindle and multiply in, his breast. Anon he sees another, and another, dropped always on the clear track, and where it may imprison the glistening rays of the stin. Now he hurries forward, exulting in the certainty of his clues. Toward sunset he happens upon the clearly-defined track of a man's moccasin. The foot is large and distinct. There are other like tracks, set down without any reserve or seeming apprehension. Enemoya at once concludes that the Pawnee party, deeming themselves secure, no longer continue their precautions. This encourages him still further. He will now catch them napping. Again he darts forward, following the obvious tracks before him. But night came down, and he could only travel under the THE CAMP OF THE PALE-FACES. 425 guidance of a star, chosen, as pointing' in the seemingly given direction. Thus, for an hour or more after night, he followed on through the dim forest. Suddenly, as he rounds a water- course, which he can not wade, lhe is startled by the blaze of a camp-fire. "Such a fire," quoth Enemoya to himself, " was never made by Pawnee warrior. He would never be the fool so to advertise hs sleeping place to his enemies." The prospect which would have cheered the white man, disap- pointed our chief of Omala. He now knew that he had been misled, and had turned aside from the true path indicated by the beads of Missouri, to follow upon one which had been evidently made by quite another party. But, though mortified with him- self at this blundering, and in allowing himself; to reason from a false assumption-- his pride as hunter and warrior being equally. wounlded-- he cautiously approached the fire, around which the outlines of a group of persons, dimly seen by the blaze, were crouching. They proved to be a party of white men, and were busily engaged in the discussion of a supper of broiled venison and smoking hoecake.-The intercourse of Enemoya with the white traders, had, as we have already seen, been rather con- siderable, and the larger profits had not certainly lain with the red man. The chief had learned some little of the English tongue in this intercourse, however, and he suddenly stood among the strangers, introducing himself with a softly mur- mured: "Huddye do, brudder; I berry glad to see you in my Country." Our pioneers were fellows of "the true grit," to employ their own verbal currency,- as big-limbed, muscular, hardy, and dare- devil scamps, as ever came from "Roaring river." They were taken by surprise, but were on their legs in the twinkling of an eye, each brandishing his rifle, club-fashion, and feeling that his knife was convenient to his grasp. They were on the old route looking for a new route; had drawn up stakes in a too thickly settled neighborhood, having three neighbors in a square league, and were seeking where to plant them ,anew in a less-crowded region. The gentle language of Enemoya reassured them. "No fight- good friends--brudders all. The Omaha chief is a friend to the pale-faces." page: 426-427[View Page 426-427] 426 SOUTHWARD HO! And he extended his hand which they promptly shook, all round, andcthen frankly bade him sit and share of their provis- ions. Enemoya's heart was not in the feast, nor yet with his new companions. Hle would much rather never have encounter- ed them, but still kept on the track of the true enemy, as pointed out by the occasionally dropped bead of the poor Missouri. Many were the secret imprecations which he muttered against the big feet of the pale-faces, which had diverted hi m from the true course. Weary, almost to exhaustion, he was for the moment utterly desponding. The last feather breaks the camel's back. Now Enemoya's spine was still, inl sooth, unshaken, but the con- viction that he had lost ground which he might never be able to recover, made him succumb, as the hardiest man is apt to do, for a time, under the constantly accumulated pressure of mis- fortunes. He did as the Kentuckians bade him, and sat down with them- to the supper, but not to eat. The white men noted his despondency, and, little by little, they wound out of the war- rior the whole history of his affairs - the present war between Pawnee and Omaha the predictions upon which the result was to depend--the secret foray of the Pawnees, and their capture of the dusky beauty whom he was to carry to his lodge in the spring. He narrated also the details of his pursuit thus far, and confessed in what manner he had been misled, never dreaming of the moccasin track of a white man in the country of the red, at such a moment. "Well, now, yours is a mighty hard case for a young fellow; I must say it though I'm rather an old one myself," was the remark of one of the elders of the white party-a grisly giant, some forty-five years of age, yet probably with a more certain vigor than he had at thirty-five. "It's not so bad to lose one's wife, after he's got a little usen to her; but where it's only at the beginning of a man's married life, and where it's nothing but the happiness of the thing that he's considerin', to have the gal caught up, and carried away by an inimy, makes a sore place in a person's feelings. It's like having one's supper snapped up by a hungry wolf, jest before he's tasted the leetlest morsel, and when he's a-wiping his mouth to eat. I confess, I feels oneasy at your perdicament. Now, whatydo you say ef we lends you a hand to help you git back the gal." "TABMS"WITH THE SQUATTERS. 427 Enemoya was cheered by the prospect, and expressed his ,4 WelI, that's pretty well said for a red-skin. We are the boys to help you, my lad, for there ain't one of us that can't double up an Ingin in mighty short order. With these pretty little critters here," touching one of the ri fles, "we can .see to a mighty great distance, and can stretch the longest legs you ever did see after an inimy. And we're good at scouting, and can take a track, and sarcumvent the heathen jist as well as we can sarcumvent the b'ar and buffalo. --And we will sarve you, ef we can make tarms upon it." Enemoya was willing to admit the prowess of the white men; but he didn't altogether comprehend the latter part of what was said about the " tarms." ("Oh! don't make out that you're so green as all that comes to. You've been trading with our people, and ought to know at w re mean by ' tarmIns.' But, ef you don't, it's only to make it cl'ar to you by using sonme easier words. Tarms is conditions -that is, the pay, the hire, the salary-what you're to give us for helping to git the gal back, sound iind and limb, and other sarcumnstances. No cure, no pay-no gal, no tarms." Enemoya was not long in comprehending the stggestion. He felt the importance of such an alliance, and well -knew that the proffered assistance was highly valuable. .It filled hm with new hope and courage. He was accordingly as liberal as the sulshine in his gratitude and promises. He had deer, and bear, and buffalo skins, which were all at the service of his allies, if they were successful in the chase. "Ay, ay, all them's mighty good things; but the gal's worth' a great deal more. Now, you jist now spoke of this being your country. Ef we chose, 'twould be mighty easy to dispute that argyment; for what made it more your country than mine . It's all God's country, and God grants no pr'emptions to any but a Christian people. The heathen's got to die out, any,-low, some, day. But I won't dispute with a man when he's in a peck of troubles, so we'll leave that argyment over for another time. We'll take the skins, but you'll throw in some rifle-shots of land Vith 'em, won't you, ef so be we gits back your gal l" Enemoya required some further explanations, and finally page: 428-429[View Page 428-429] 428 SOUTHWARD HO! agreed that our pioneers, if successful in recovering Missouri, should have as much territory of Omalia, wherever they were pleased to locate, as they could sAoot round in a day. HHe did not calculate the number of acres that could be thus covered by a score of long Kentucky rifles. The bargain was concluded. And here we may observe that such leagues were quite frequent from the earliest periods of our history, between the red men and the white pioneers. The latter most commonly took sides with the tribe with which they hunted, harbored, or trafficked. The trappers and traders were always ready to lead in the wars between the tribes, and their presence usually determined the contest. They were in. fact so many bold, hardy, fighting men, and were always active in the old French war, in subsidizing the Indians for their respective nations, against French or En. glish, as it happened. Let them fight as they pleased, however, the red men were losers in the end. The rifle shots invariably resulted in the absorption of their acres. But the bargain was concluded, and the. supper. The squatters leaped to their feet, girded thlemselves up for travel, reprimed their rifles, and set off, under the guidance of Enemoya--now refreshed by rest, and a new stimulus to hope-to recover the trail of the fugitive Pawnees, which he had lost. CHAPTER VII. WHLE Enemoya was thus strengthening himself for the pur- suit, passions of a strange and exciting character were slowly kindling in the camp of the Pawnees. The growing sympathy which Kionk showed for the beautiful captive, became intelligi- ble to his comrades a little sooner' than to himself. They had no such feelings, and they were a little resentful of his, accord- ingly. Besides, one of his companions was a brother to one of his many mwives, and was particularly watchful of those peculiar weaknesses of his kinsman, which were sufficiently notorious among his people. Like Mark Antony, to whom we have. already compared him, Kionk had too tender a heart--he was a born admirer of the sex, andwould cheerfully lose the world any day for any dusky Cleopatra. He suffered his companions to see the progress which Missouri had made in his affections, TROUBLE IN CAMP. 429 by gravely proposing to them, as they rested in camp, tie very hour- that Enemoya was making his bargain with the white men, to i" seek for another captive." He was not quite sure that a woman sacrifice was contemplated by the gods, or would be ac- ceptable to them. He very much doubted it himself. Indeed, how should it be so. It was the war-god to whom the victim was to be offered, and what should the victim be but a warrior. T'hey had seen the defenceless condition of the islet. It would surely be easy to cast the snare about the feet of some one of the veterans, and carry him off, as they had carried off Missouri." The brother-in-law answered with a sneer:- ( Is my brother prepared, when he hath -taken the old war- rior, to leave the damsel behind him g" This was a puzzler, by which Kionk began to see that he was suspected. But he was a bold fellow, who did not care much to offer apologies or excuses. He answered with equal pronmptness and determination:- "No, indeed; the captive woman is comely, and would be, the mother of many braves to a chief among the Pawnees." "As if the. Pawnees had no women of their own," was- the reply of the other;, and his sentiments were clearly those of the larger number of his companions.-Kionk, bold as he was, was not prepared to take the bull by the horns at that moment. iHe saw that public opinion was against him, and he must wait events. And thisTforbearance became much more essential, when his sav- age brother-in-law deliberately urged upon thed party " to subject AMissouri to the fire torture where they then were, and thus ren- der the matter certain. They would thus free themselves from an incumbrance; would be better able to turn upon their ene- mies; could then strike and scalp with impunity,-and revenge themselves fearfully for all the taunts of their impudent assail- ants, made safe by'the oracle, to which they had found it so painful to submit. The requisitions of the oracle once complied' with, they would be free to use their scalping-knives on every side." It required all the logic' and eloquence of Kionk to silence this terrible suggestion, one which better taught kim to under- stand the extent of his newly-awakened passion for his beauti- ful and dangerous captive. His argument proved conclusive page: 430-431[View Page 430-431] 430 SOUTHWARD HO! with all but his savage brother-in-law. He urged that the sac. rifice could only take place under the immediate sanction and sight of the high-priest. But before the decision of his comrn. panions could be made, the party had nearly come to blows. In the midst of the discussion between Kionk and his kinsman, and when both were nearly roused to madness, the latter sprang suddenly upon Missouri-who had tremblingly listened to the whole dispute-seized her by her long black hair, whirled her furiously around, and actually lifted his knife to strike, before any of them could interpose. Then it was that the whole lion nature of Kionk was in arms, and tearing her away from the brutal as- sailant, he hurled him to the earth, and, but for his companions, would have brained him with his hatchet on the spot. But ihe warned him with terrible eye, as he suffered him to rise, that if he but laid his finger on the damsel again, he would hew him to pieces. The kinsman rose, silent, sullen, unsubdued, and secretly swearing in his soul to have his revenge yet. These events de- layed the party. It was long that night before they slept. It was late-after daylight, next day--before the journey was resumed. This gave new opportunities to the pursuers. It was not difficult to retrace the steps of the white men, which Enemoya had so unwisely followed, until hle reached the point where he had turned aside from the true object of pursuit. To this the squatters themselves, who were as good at scouting, any day, as the red men, very easily conducted. This brought them to a late hour in the night, and here our whites proceeded to make their camp, though, this time, rithout venturing to make a fire. The Omaha chief would have hurried on, but his companions very coolly and doggedly refused. He soon saw the wisdom of curbing his impatience, not only because of the inflexibility of his allies, but because, as they showed him, his impatience would only cause him again to lose the trail, which it was not possible to pursue by night. With the dawn, however, the whites were on the alert, and one of them soon appeared with a bead in his hand, the certain indication of the damsel's route and providence. Enemoya readily conjectured the gen- eral direction which would be taken by the Pawnees, and an occasional bead, glistening uponythe sandy spots, sufficed every now and then to encourage the pursuers. At this period, the WOODCRAFT. 4381 better knowledge of the country possessed by Enemoya, ena- bled him, by striking an oblique course for the' head, of a creek, which the Pawnees would be compelled to cro'ss, to gain con- siderably upon them, ignorant as they were of this shorter route. The suggestion was fortunate; and, never once dreaming of the events which had delayed the fugitives the last night, the Omaha chief with his allies came unexpectedly upon them about I midday, where, squat beside a brooklet, they were taking a brief rest and a little refreshment. This pause had become es- pecially necessary for Missouri, who, with incessant travel, and the terror of the scene of the previous night, had succumbed, and actually fainted that morning along the route. Kionk was compelled to carry her, at various stages, in his arms--which he did with the greatest tenderness-till the moment when the party stopped for nooning beside the little brooklet, where En- emoya and his white allies came upon them. The Pawnees were overtaken, but not taken by surprise. They did not certainly expect to be overtaken, but they had relaxed in none of their vigilance, and their scout reported the enemy before the latter had discovered the quarry. The Paw- nees were sitting upon the ground, scattered around a small cir- cuit, Missouri in the centre of the group, resting against a tree. Her long hair was dishevelled, and lay heavily upon the leaves; her face was 'sad and anxious, weary and without hope;-so woful was the sight that the impulses of Enemoya, as he beheld her, got ford a moment the better of his prudence, and he rushed out of the covert, shouting his war cry, and bounding forward with uplifted tomahawk. It was with no scrupulous 'or gentle hand that the elder of the white men caught him in his sinewy grasp, and drew him back into the thickets. With the signal whistle of their scout, the Pawnee warriors were at once upon their legs, each covering himself with a tree; and a dozen arrows were rapidly shot into the wood where our squatters had taken harbor. But they were as quick and as practised in woodcraft as the Pawnees, and laughed at this demonstration. In numbers they exceeded the small party of their enemies, and could have overwhelmed them probably by a sudden rush from opposite quarters; but they were warnned against such audacity by beholding the danger of the &disky page: 432-433[View Page 432-433] 432 SOUTHWARD HO! maiden, who was seized by the hair by one of the captors as soon as Enemoya had shown himself, while a knife lifted over her bo- som threatened her withl instant death at the first demonstration of attack. Never had Enemoya before found himself in a situ- ation in which he was so little capable of resolving what should be done. But the squatters who accompanied him were persons of as much shrewdness and experience as daring. While they felt that confidence and boldness were prime qualities of the warrior, they also well knew that rashness and precipitance would be fatal to their object. They held counsel amonog them- selves, never consulting: the red chief, though lle stood up and listened. The Anglo-Norman has profound faith in parliaments. "We must argyfy the case with these red devils," was the con- clusion to which they came. They had profound faith in thleir ability for t" argyment." The restult of their deliberations was to send forth one of their number, accompanied by Enemoya, bearing a white handkerchief at the end of, his rifle, and a long pipe in his left hand-both signs of truce and amnesty--the calumet that of the red men, the flag that of the white. The object was to ascertain upon what terms the maiden would be given up. Of course they did not know what issues hung upon her fate, or what was her destiny, or that she was the subject of an awful oracle. CHAPTER VIII. AT the appearance of the flag and the Omaha chief, Kionk, followed by three others, emerged from his place of shelter. They advanced to meet the flag without apprehension, though both parties kept their weapons ready, and their eyes bright. Treachery is a warlike virtue among the savages, and our squat- ters well understood the necessity of covering an enemy, each with his rifle, while their comrades were engaged in conference. How shall we report this conference? It would be impossible to follow step by step the details, as developed in the broken English of the one party, and the half savage Pairwlee of the other. But the high contracting parties contrived, after a fashion, to make themselves separately understood. Our squat- ter embassador had little hesitation in coming as promptly to the THE STRIFE BEGUN. 433 point as possible. We sum up much in little, when we report the following:-- , 'Taint a manly way of carrying on the war, catching a poor young woman. What's the sperrit of a man to lay hands upon a girl, onless for love and affection? And now you've got her, lhat's the use of her to you? You have plenty of gals in your own nation. What do you want with this Omaha ." The Pawnee acknowledged that his people were by no means wanfting ill specimlens of the tender gender. They had enough, -Ieaven knows, even if all their chiefs were of the Kionk temper. , Well, then, let's have the gal. We'll buy her from you at a fair vallyation. What do you say now to half a dozen toma- lihawks, a dozen knifes, two little bells, a pound of fishhooks, four pounds of beads, and a good overcoat, handsome enough for aking." The goods were all displayed. Kionk acknowledged that tlhe offer was a liberal one. But-and here lie revealed the true difficulty-the captive-girl was the subject of an oracle. The fate of Pawnees or Omahas dependedl upon her life. She was doomed to the fiery torture. In her "ashes lay the future triumph of his people over the accursed tribe of the Omaha! There could be no trade; no price could buy the captive; no power save her life; he would forego his hold upon her only with his own life; and in a few days she should undergo the torture by fire. Such was the final answer. "May I be etarnally burned myself, ef I stand by and see her burned; so look to it, red-skin! I'm a human, after all; and my rifle shall talk like blazes before you take her off!" The conference had reached this point, and Kionk had been made to comprehend the fiercely-expressed declaration of the representative squatter, when Missouri, arousing from her stupor, caught a glimpse of Enemoya. The sight seemed to restore in- stantly her strength and energies. With a single bound, and a wild passionate cry, she darted suddenly away from the savage who stood over her, and[ who had somewhat relaxed his vigilance in the curiosity which hel felt with regard to the conference. She flew, rather than ran, over the space which lay between, and Enemoya sprang forward to receive her. But before they could meet, a blow from the fist of one of the savages felled her to the earthll. I page: 434-435[View Page 434-435] 434 SOUTHWARD - HO! In a moment the work of death had begun. The hatchet of Enemoya cleft the skull of the brutal assailant. Then rose his war-cry--then came the fierce shout of Kionk and the rest. Every arrow was drawn to its head. Every rifle-bead rested with dead aim upon the tree which gave shelter to an:enemy. The'eiarge d'affaires of the squatters, quick as lightning, tore the white kerchief from his rifle, and dodged into cover; while Enemoya, no longer capable of restraint, dashed forward to gather up the beautiful damsel from the ground where she still lay, stunned by the blow of the Indian. But he was not per- mitteld to reach his object. It was now Kionk's turn. He threw himself into the path of the young chief of the Omahas, and to- gether grappling they came together to the earth. It was the death grapple for one or both. In their hearts they felt mutually the instinct of a deadly personal hiatred, apart from that which belonged to their national hostilities. Closely did they cling; sinuously, like serpents, did they wind about each other on the earth, rapidly rolling over, fiercely striving, without a word spo- ken on either part. But one weapon could either now use, and that was the scalp-knife which, each bore in his belt. But to get at this was not easy, since neither dared forego his grasp, lest he should give his opponent the advantage. Meanwhile the rest were not idle. The Pawnees, highly ex- cited by the death of one of their number, and seeing but two enemies before them--never dreaming. that there were no less than six Kentuckians in ambush-darted, with terrible yells, into the foreground. Two of thlem, in an instant, bit the dust; and the rest recoiled from the unanticipated danger. The Ken- ; tuckians now made a rush in order to extricate Enemoya, and to brain Kionk; and the aspect of affairs was hopeful in the last degree; when, at this very moment, one of the Pawnees darted out of cover. He was the brother-in-law of Kionk--the sullen chief whom he had overthrown, and whose black passions medi- tated the most hateful of revenges. Before the squatters could reach the scene of action, the murderous monster, whose ptrpose was wholly unexpected, threw himself upon the crouching Mis- souri, and with a single blow buried his hatchet in her brain. With a howl of mixed scorn arid exultation he Ihad shrouded himself in the woods, and among his comrades, a moment after. THE BLIGHTED WARRIOR . 435 The wretched Enemoya beheld the horrid stroke, but, grap- pling with his own assailant he had not the power to interfere. In striving to loose himself for this purpose, he gave his enemy the advantage. In a moment both were on their feet, and Kionk already brandished hs scalp-knife in his grasp. But the eyes of Enemoya swam in a blind horror. He had seen the whizzing tomahawk descend, crushing into the head of the dusky beauty whom he so much loved. He saw no more; and the uplifted knife of Kionk was already about to sheathe itself in his bosom, when a rifle bullet from one of the squatters sent him reeling to the earth in the last agonies of death. When Enemoya sunkl beside the poor damsel, her eyes were already glazed. She knew him not. She looked on him no more. He took the scalp of Kionk, but it gave him no consolation. He fought like a demon- he slew many enemies,--took many scalps,-but never felt a whit the happier. His hope was blighted -he loved the dusky beauty of the blessed islet, nmuch more tenderly than we should suppose from the manner of his wooing-: and he never recovered from her loss. He moved among his people like a shadow, and they called him the ghost only'of the great warrior. The campaign that season was indecisive between the rival nations of the Pawnee and Omaha. Neither had succeeded in complying with the requisitions of the oracle. The Pawnees had forfeited their hope in failing to bring their captive to the torture of fire. The Omahas had been equally unfortunate in being compelled to strike the first blow. The first life taken in the war was that of the savage Pawnee who smote Missouri with his fist, and whom Enemoya immediately slew. But the campaign of the ensuing winter went against the Omahas. They had lost the soul of Enemoya; who ceased to exhibit any enterprise, though he fought terribly when the hour came for conflict. 3leanwhile, our squatters from Kentucky were joined by others from that daring region. Their rifles helped the Omahas for a long time; but the latter were finally defeated. The remnant of the nation were ready to disperse; they knew not wheF to turn. The blessed island was almost the only territory remain- ing in their possession. But for this there, suddenly appeared a new claimant. "These are pleasant places, boys," said the head man of the page: 436-437[View Page 436-437] 438 SOUTHWARD HO! squatters, looking at the lovely region around; ^it seems to me to be good if we drive stakes and build our cabins here-here by this quiet lake, among these beautiful meadows.-What say you,- shall it. be here? I don't want to go further, 'till it comes to be crowded." "But this is the abiding place of my people, my brother;- here is the wigwanm of Enemoya, -yonder was the dwelling which I built for the wife of my bosom, the beautiful Missouri." "Look you, Infimowya," answered the white chief, u" the argy- ment of territory, after all, lies at the eend of my rifle. As I told you once afore, when we first met, I could dispute with you that pr'emption title, but I wouldn't; and I won't now; considering that you've had a bad time of it. But what's the use of your talking, when you see the country's got to be ours. Why, you know we kin shoot round it every day"-again touching his rifle.- "But that's not the argyment I want to use Wvith you. Your brown gal, who was a beauty for an Ingin, I'm willing to allow, is a sperrit now in the other world. What sort of heaven they find for the red-skins,is unbeknowing to me; but I reckon she's living thar. Thar's no living for her hyar, you see, so what's the use of the cabin you built. But .that's not to say I wants to drive you out. By no possible means. I like you-- all the boys like you. For a red-skin you're a gentleman, and as you hev' no nation now, and hardly any tribe of your own, why squat down with us, by any man's fireside you choose, and ef you choose, you kin only set down and look on, and see how we'll take the shine out of these Pawnee cock-a-doodles. You kin share with us, and do as we do, with all the right naiteral to a free white man; but as for your getting this island from us, now that we're all ready to plant stakes, it's a matter oonpossible to be argyfied except with the tongue of the rifle. Thar's no speech that ever was invented that shall make us pull up stakes now." And the rifle butt came down heavily upon the earth, as the chief of the squatters declared himself. Enemoya regarded him witlt a grave indifference, and said calmly:- "Be. it so: the island is young; the country! Why should you not -have it? I need it not! neither I nor Miissouri! I thank you for what you say. But thoigh your cabin door is wide for my coming, I do not see Missouri beside the hearth." ONLY FOR THE AXING. 437 " 011! for that matter, as you are quite a gentleman for a red- skin, there's mally a pretty white gal that would hev you for the axing." ,' No I shall follow my people to the black prairies, and wait for the voice of that bird of the Spirit, that shall summon me to the happy valley where Missouri walks." 4 Well, as you choose, Inimowya; but let's to supper now, anld: you'll sleep under my bush to-night." The chief silently consented. But at the dawn he was no- where to be seen, nor have the hunters ever heard of him since. M-Ieanwhile the country of the Omaha, which includes the lake- and the beautiful islet, has become the possession of the pale- faces, but they call it still after the dusky damsel of Omaha, the lovely and loving Missouri. , . . . page: 438-439[View Page 438-439] CHAPTER XVIII. "( WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?" '"WE are now within the atmospllere of your southller Hotspur," Isaid our Gothlamite. "Come, sir," a ddressing oar cynical orator from Alabaman, come, sir,; and let us have your portrait of the South-Carolinian. You have dealt freely with Vir- ginia and lNorth Carolina, showing us thleir more salient features, which are rarely the most comely for boast; let us see if you can not-depict their southern brother with as free and dashing a pencil." The Alabamian smiled, aild looked to iss Burroughlls, as hle "I dare not; in this instance there is a lady in the case." t "Oh! most unlooked-for and most unseasonable gallantry!" exclaimed the lady. "Do you forget, Sir Orator, those wicked ! and scandalous ballads, to t!e grievous disparagement of the sex, wlich you not only sang to us of your own motion, a v0l unteer performance, but wricllyou sang with such unction and ? effect, as if the execution were a sort of labor of love, wlichll yo - would not escape, even if you might?" i ' Ah! forgive the offence. It was in evil mood thlat I sang, and not because of any love for the subject." - "Ie's been kicked, I reelon, by some lady only t'other ?i day," said the Texan, roughly, and the shins of his affections are still sore with the bruises." ! The shins of his affections! That is surely new. What admirable cropping, in the way of metaphor and figure, might our young ballad-mongers find in the fields of Texas! Well, [ will submit to the imputation of the recent kicking, as an ac- knowledgment of the merits of thdt phrase. 'The shins of the iffections!' We shall next hear something touching, Ithe ten- SCRUPLES OF THE ORATOR. 439 derness of the corns on the big toe of the heart.' When shall there be a Texan poet." "Lord save you; we've got a matters of more than fifty-five already. We've got a Texan Hiemans, and a Texan Tennyson --nay, we've got three Tcnnysons, and more than thirteen By- rons. Oh! we are not so badly off for poets as you think. In Galveston there's a poet who weighs more than two hundred an1d eighty pounds, and he has sighed out love poetry enough to fill the sails of a California clipper. It's the opinion of some of onur people that we owe most of our woethies to his loNve poems. Latterly, he's gone into the elegiac; anai since Tennyson's In Memoriam,' he has done nothing but write' In Memoriams.' He has mourned the loss of more dear friends since the date of that publication, than le ever knew pe ple. In fact, not to be irrev- erent, speaking of poetry, there,? ardljy a person in all Texas that would lend him a picayune, though it should save his soul from the gallows." "( Save his soul from the gallows! A new idea of the punish- ments employed in Tophet. Fancy the soul of a poet weighing two hundred and eighty pounds hung up to dry in the devil's clothes garden!" "But all this talk," interrupted the son of Gotham, " must not be suffered to deprive us of our portrait of the South-Carolinian." "You get no such portrait from me," answered the Alaba- mian, abruptly. "(And why not2" interrupted the North-Carolinian. "You had no scruples in dealing with the Old Dominion and the old North State." "Very true: but,-there are reasons why I should have scru- t ples when we come to South Carolina. I know the faults and the foibles of that little state as well as -any person in this crowd, and I am as well able, I reckon, to describe them. But I will not. In the first place, I look to that same state to set us right yet in this confederacy. I feel that she will be the first to dare and brave the struggle when it comes, and I will in no way, however small, do or say anything to weaken her hands by dis- paraging her features. Besides, Miss Burroughs--this to you-- I owe my mother to South Carolina, and the cradle which has )s page: 440-441[View Page 440-441] "O SOUTHWARD HO! rocked a mother sliould be an ark of the covenant to a lovig 1 Our Alabamian, by showing himself sentimental for a single moment, had once more put himself within the pale of the vul. gap umanity. It was very clear tlat we should get nothing further out of him on the one subject. Our North-Carolinian1 endeavored to supply tie desired portrait, Ibut the limning was --"contradictory--qin fact, the moral portrait of South Carolina is one of many difficlties, which it requires a rare and various knowledge, and no small skill of the artist to manage and over- come and gradually, the embarrassments of the subject were felt, as the discussion of her traits proceedecl, and the subject was finally abandoned as one totally unmanageable. Of coulrse mtuch was said of her Iusury, her pride and arrogance, her pre- sumption in leading, the vanity of her boasts, her short-comings in a thousand respects; all of vlwhich provoked keen retort, par- ticuiarly firom otr secessionists-the Alabamian scarcely seem- ing to heed the controversy, and taking no part in it till its close, when he said briefly : "One. word, gentlemen. South CGrolina is the only state in the Union which grants no divorce. If there were nothing else, in the catalogue of her virtues to show the character of her virtues, this-would suffice. It says two things. It declares for the steadiness and constancy of both sexes, and for the virtues that render such a measure-unmecesssary. Her morals prevent, instead of pampering, the caprlices of the affections-," "Yes, but there are some crirnes! It would be monstrous to keep parties fettered, one of whom is a criminal " " I understand you! They lo not kIeep togetler. In Caro- lina, in all such cases, the criminal dies disappears, at all events, and the social world never mentions again the name of the offender." - "Very Roman, certainly." Tle Alabamialn dida not heed the sneer, but proceeded- South Carolina is the only state inwlich thllere is anythng like loyalty to the past remaining She preserves ervenera- tion. Thestateis protected fromnthe people." ' ' . "How is that? Is not the statq the people.' , "No! very far firom it. Thlle state is a thing of thlonsands of THE STATE. 441 years, past and future, constituting a moral which is to be saved from the caprices of the people. People change daily, and in their daily change, filled with novel hopes and expectations, and urged on by eager passions and desires, would easily forego a thousand absolute possessions which no people at any one time sufficiently values. In trUth- it is only when we tremble at the onward and reckless course of a majority, that we are awakened to the fact that there are some things which they have no right to sacrifice. It is then that we see that the possessions and ac- cumulations of the past are not an inheritance, but a trust; and we who occupy only a moment of time, in the general progress of the ages, are tautght by this fact that we have no absolute rights over possessions which belong to generations yet untold in the future, and but partially recorded in the past. To guard the state from the people, we resort toga/thousand devices, such as constitutions, bills of rights, &c., none of which is satisfactory for the sufficient reason that the subject is one of singular subtilty which escapes practical definition. It is, however, within our instincts, and these work in a thousand ways, and in spite of us, for its preservation. When these fail us, the state is gone, and the people soon follows. They are then without God or country. The French revolution was an instance of the sacrifice of the state--that vague- and vast idea, growing out of the gradual ac- quisitions of thousands of years of a common fortune in the fam- ily, or race-by a mere generation just passing off the stage. Look at the summary-in France to-day. Where is the liberty, the equality, the republicanism, which were all their avowed objects? 'What is left them of sacred tradition, of past loyalty and acquisition, of moral security--which nust precede if it would maintain pl!ysical--of all that was deemed certain in the characteristics of the race? The guardian securities and virtues of a people lie in that social ideal which is embodied in the no- tion of the state as a thing permanent, contradistinguished from a mere generation or government- things which contemplate only passinngecessities, and continual fluctuations, and are re- quired to contribute in passing only a certain portion of capital to that grand stock which has been already put away safely ! within the securities of Fhe ideal state. The state is a guardian ideal, and the conservative check upon the caprices of time. page: 442-443[View Page 442-443] "2 SOUTHWARD HO! The state represents the eternity of a race-its whole duration whether long or short. Cut the sinews of the state, in obedience to the caprices of a generation, and they must perish. A ll this is Ai very obscure, I know, and it can not well be otherwise, with such a subject, and in a mere casual conversation. It must ne- cessarily elude all common demonstrative analysis, particularly as it lies based on great but mysterious secrets, in the general plan of Providence, which it is scarcely permitted to us to explore. The subject belongs to the spiritual nature in high degree and is not to be measured by the common rules of argument. It constitutes a study for the metaphysician who is at the same time, a religious man. It is one of those problems which the rulers of a people have need carefully to study, as it is upon the due knowledge and appreciation of ' the state,' that every peo- ple's future must depend. -Nations perish really because of their simple failure to recognise this distinction between state and people: and it is thus that a capricious generation, perpetually bent on change, restless and impatient because of its atrocious vanity, still wrecks all the ideal morals of their ancestors, and all the hopes, born of those ideals, which would conduct their posterity to power." "I confess this transcendentalism is quite too much for me. I do not see the meaning yet of your distinction. It appears to me only a dreamy sophism." "Precisely, and if you will show me the man to whom a met- aphysical subtilty is for the first tinme presented, who is prepared on the instant rot only to argue it but to judge it, I shall be willing to attach some importance to your present cavalier dis- missal of the topic. Your process seems to be that of one of our western members of Congress, who, some years ago, began his speech with,' I don't know nothing, Mr. Speaker, of the sub- ject hyar before us, but I intend to go on argyfying it ontil I gits all the necessary knowledge.' But even he,- bold and brave and candid as he was, never ventured to decide. He only proposed to use ' argyment' as a means of getting his ' edica- tion." "Why, you are perfectly savage." "No; searching only.--To resume our subject for a moment longer. There is a passage from one of our southern poets,. who THE IDEAL STATE. 443: has endeavored to express something of this idea of 'the state' as it appears to my own mind. Like all others, who- lhave spo- ken and written on the point, the subtilty still eludes him; but enough is said to give the clues into the hands of the metaphy- sician; and no other person, by the way, has any right to pass upon it." 4' Let's have the passage." The Alabamian delivered it, from memory, to the following effect :- "THE STATE. "The moral of the race is in the State, The secret germ for great development, Throughl countless generations:- all the hopes, The aims, the great ambition, the proud works, Virtues, performance, high desires and deeds, With countless pure and precious sentiments, Nursed in some few brave souls, that, still apart From the rude hunger of the multitude, Light fires, built altars, image out the God That makes the grand ideal: -which, unknown, Unconsciously, the thoughtless tribes conceive In a blind worship; which is still content To follow Duty through the bonds of terror, And learn its best obedience through its fears. A state's the growth Of the great family of a thousand years, Witlh all its grand community of thoughts, Affections, faith, and sentiments, as well As its material treasures. These are naught, If that the faith, thie virtues, and the will, Be lacking to the race. The guardian state Keeps these immaculate. They are not yours, Or mine; nor do they rest within the charge Of[ the mere feeders at the common crib, Of all the myriads, keeping pace with us, Some seventy years of march. We are but links, In a long-banded,lmany-fibred stock, Branching and spreading out on every side, With every day some change of hope and aim, Rule, province and division of our tribes, Each with a moment purpose, to pursue Some passion or mere fancy-some caprice- Whichll, as even evil works out ways for good, Must, in its turn, contribute to the truths, page: 444-445[View Page 444-445] "4 SOUTHWARD HO! That are still garnered safely in the state. Our march maklies little in the grand design Save as a natural incident that grows, Inevitably, out of natural progress, Leaving its moral in its very loss. Our change must work no changes in the state, Which still maintains the original ideal-germ, Sacred within its keeping, as the Romans, The sacred shields that fell to them from Heaven As in all nations there are fabled treasures, Shrined awfully apart, to which men look,. For safety, when the temple rocks in fire, And the walled city totters in the storm. --March as we may and govern as we may, Change with what sad or wild caprice we may, The indisputable majesty which makes The sovereignty which harbors in each race, Knows never change of attribute, till ends The mission, which the endowment still declares' " The orator paused. "Is that all? Why, we are no nigher to the solution of the problem than before." "I suppose not. Poetry, the profoundest of all human stud- ies, itself requires the abstract mind and the contemplative mood; and the necessity for these is the greater when it deals in metaphysics and politics. Perhaps, if you weigh well this passage, you Will gradually see the light through the cloud and curtain. Precious things rarely lie upon the surface. In pro- i portion to the glory is the'necessity of obscuration. God showed r himself to the -Jews only through clouds and fire. They could see him only through some material medium. It was the poet prophet only who could discover his awful features through less ' terrible agencies." 2 "You are getting more and more obscure. Now, pray tell us, what have all your metaphysics to do with South Carolina " ' ' Nothing, that 1 can- show you, unless you can take the first step with me-which, as yet, you can not. It may be enough to say of South Carolina, that it is a sufficient merit of hers, in my eyes, that ier revolutionary spirit (so called) has been the result of her loyalty; that it was to check revolution that she interposed the state veto, and threw down her gauntlet to fed- eral usurpation. You all feel and see, now, that she was right. SOUTH CAROLINA. 445 You are all in possession of free trade and a prosperous progress, the result of her course, which leaves the condition of the coun- try unexampled in history for its growth and prosperity. Her conservatism, not her resolution, prompted her action; and she still- adheres to her conservative tendencies, while all other states are rocking with the conflict of revolutionary ideas. She still preserves her veneration. There are still many classes within her limits, who maintain the morals of her dawn-who seek to b preserve sacred that capital of ideal in the state which, kept always in view as a guiding light, renders progress a safe and natural development, and not an inane and insane coursing in a circle where, we, for ever come in conflict with one another. Hlere you find, still of force, the manners and customs, the senti- ments and traditions, that she held to be great and glorious eighty years ago; and which have enabled her, thouvgh one of the smallest states in the confederacy, to contribute a large pro- portion of its greatest warriors, its noblest and wisest sages, its purest and most venerated men. You can not bully her out of her propriety, for she has unshaken Courage; you can not buy her with any bribe, for she has always shown herself scornful of cupidity. She, maintains still the haughty sentiments of. a race of gentlemen who never descended to meanness. She has a thousand foibles, faults-nay, follies-perhaps, but she has some virtues which power can not crush out of her, or money buy: and she will be the state, let me tell you, who will save all that is worth saving in this confederacy, even when the con- federacy itself perishes." "Why, old Blast," interposed the Texan, "you must be thinking that you're on the stump. You do put your horns into the bowels of the argument, just as if you knew where you was a-going all the time. Lord, how Sam Houston would laugh if you was to tell him of such prophecies as that." "Sam Houston! Sir, don't speak to me of Sam Houston. He's beyond the reach of prophecy, which is never addressed to any but living souls!" "Well, I must say that's a settler for Sam. But he'll take the change out of you, I reckon, when he comes to be president. You'll never get a foreign appointment from him, I'm a-think- ing; and I reckon Sam's chance for the presidency is about as good as that of any man going.". page: 446-447[View Page 446-447] "6 so UTHWARD HO! We put in here, several of us, to arrest the partisan tendency of the discussion, which evidently began to "rile" some of the parties; and our excellent captain came to our assistance, with his jest and smile, his quip and crank, which have always proved so effective in curing the maladie du mer among his passengers. "I'm president here, gentlemen," said he, " and I hold it to be good law to declare that it is high treason to discuss the suc- cession. As there is some talk of appointments, I .beg to say, that if any of you wish office, the governorship of Bull's is vacant." And he pointed us to the island of that name which made the rim of the horizon for us on the north. "There is an island, gentlemen, upon which a man might be a sovereign. Solitude in perfection, game' in abundance, fine fish of all sorts, oysters to beguile even an alderman to fleshy and fishy inclination-such a realm as would satisfy Alexander Selkirk, and make Robinson Crusoe dance with delight. I have often thought of Bull's as an island upon which a man might / be at peace with all the world, and with fortune and himself in particular." "A sort of heaven on earth." "And sea. It has fine .harborage, too. The coast survey has made it a harbor of refuge, and we are soon to have a light- house upon it." "The pirates knew it as a place of refuge a hundred years ago and more. Here Robert Kidd, 'as lhe sailed,' and that more monstrous ruffian Blackbeard, and a hundred other fierce out- laws of the same practice, found their place of refuge and rol- licking. Nor here alone: all the range of islands which run along the coast, between which and. the main there- are nu- merous islets of great beauty and interest, are- distinguished by traditions of wild and sometimes terrible attraction. Many of these have been marked as spots conspicuous in history, and all of them possess their legends and chronicles, which only need to be hunted up and put on record, to render all of. them classical and interesting, apart from their natural attrac- tions. The whole of this region was the favorite resort of the pirates, and at periods longy anterior to the Revolution, -those periods when, as the phrase ran through the marine THE PIRATES. 447- . of Great Britain, 'there was no peace beyond the line!' In ; these snug harbors and safe retreats the mousing robber found his coverts. Here he lay close until he beheld, from afar, the white sails of the fair trader. Then he darted forth like the shark, a little black speck upon the waters, ana tore his victim with angry and. remorseless jaws, and dyed the blue waters in his blood. To these islets he hurtied back to divide and to hide lis spoil; and dark and terrible are the thousand stories which, could they speak, they might narrate of the wild orgies of the cruel bands by whichi they were infested-of the bloody sacri- fices which they witnessed -and of the fate of the victims guilty of- the inexpiable offence of possessing treasures which their neighbors coveted. Young eagles must be fed, and the eagles of the sea are proverbially the most voracious of all the eagle tribe. 'These were merciless. They hovered about the mouth of Charleston for long periods, and it was in vain that Britain kept watch with her frigates and guarda costas for the protec- tion of her trade. Her wealth, as a colony, was at that time superior to-most of the .colonies,- and demanded powerful protec- tion. But so swift of foot, so keen of sight, so fierce of appetite, were these marauding wretches, that they too commonly evaded pursuit, and not only succeeded in capturing the outward-bound vessels continually, but sometimes laid the infant city, itself, under contribution. "Our friend from North Carolina has bestowed upon us a very interesting narrative of the 'Ship of Fire.' The tradition is well known, in portions of South Carolina; and to this day certain families are pointed out as the descendants of those cruel mariners who so mercilessly slaughtered that little colony of German palatines. Our traditions point out the progeny of these pirates as still under the avenging danger of the fates. They are marked by continuous disasters.. The favorite son perishes, from some terrible accident, in the moment of his very highest promise; the favorite daughter withers away in con- sumption or some nameless disease, just as she nears that bloomy period when the mother thinks to place within her hair the bridal flower. The neighbors shake their heads and look know- ingly :hen the bolt descends suddenly upon those families, and express no surprise. 'It must be so,' they say. 'The fates page: 448-449[View Page 448-449] "8 SOUTHWARD HO! must have their prey. The blood of that massacre must be washed out in blood. All these families, the descendants of the murderers, must die out, till not one man-child shall survive. Their ill-gotten wealth doe's them no good. Their fruits turn to ashes on their lips. The sword, suspended by a single hair, hangs for ever over their heads, and the bolt strikes them down from the bosom of an unclouded sky. So well has tradition retained these memories, that people will even give you the names of the families, still living, over which this terribly uner- ring destiny impends. I have had one or more domestic chron- icles of this sort put into my possession within five years.- Of course, the doomed victims have no sort of knowledge either of the fates reserved for them, or of the familiarity of their-neigh- bors with the unwritten tradition. Old people'point them out- to their children; they repeat the story to their sons, and their fingers point always to the illustrative catastrophe. Every stroke of Providence is keenly observed and dwelt upon which touches them; and it may be safely affirmed that the tradition wrill survive them all, and point to the grave of the last supposed victim of a crime committed two hundred years ago or more." "How very terrible!" ' These- several islands which we approach after Bull's, De- wee's, Caper's, Long, and Sullivan, and the islets which lie within, between them and the main, are all thus fruitfiul in ancient pirate legends. One of these occurs to me at this moment; and, as I believe I am the next person chronicled on your list for a story, I may as well pursue the vein upon which we have struck, as it were, by chance." "O, let us have it, by all means. I confess to a passion for such stories, which even the reading of the Book of the Bucca- neers has not totally overcome." THE STORY OF BLACKBEARD. "i THE narrative," said our raconteur, t which I am about to give you, was related to me by one of our oldest inhabitants, a planter who is still living at the advanced period of eighty years, BLACKBEABD. 449 and who ranks not lessvenerably from worth than age. He heard it from -those who claimed to have known personally some of the parties to the history, and who fully believed' the truth of the story which they told. The period of the narrative was, perhaps, a quarter of a century before the Revolution. "You are all aware that from 1670 to 1750, using round num- bers, the buccaneers, leagued of all nations, no longer confining themselves to the Spanisli galleons, which were always held to be fair prey to the British cruisers, made the commerce of Britain herself finally their prey, and literally haunted with daily ter- rors the coasts of Virginia and the two Carolinas, as well as the West Indies, making spoil of their riclh and but little pro- tected productions. Their crews, composed of the scum of all nations-British, French, Dutch, Portuguese, and Spaniards discriminated in behalf of none; and so loose were British and American morals, at that period- (have they very much inlproved since?)-thlat the people of the provinces thlemselves-their very governors-were greatly inclinled to countenance thelibus- tiers (French corruption of freebooters) in all tlose cases of piracy where they themselves were not the immediate sufferers. They drove a profitable trade witlh the marauders, who were sometimes to be seen walking the streets of the Atlantic cities with the most perfect- impunity. Captain Kidd, for a long time, was the great master-spirit of these wretches. His successor in atdacity, insolence, and crime, was the infamous BlackbeaId, the nom dlu guermre by which hle preferred-that the world should read his character. His proper name, Edward Teach, was, ii itself, innocent enough. "Blaclkbeard particularly affected the coasts of I Carolina. The waters over which we now go were the favorite fields of his performance. Harbored among these islands-Bull's, De- wee's, Caper's, Sullivan, Seewee, and others-he lay in close watch for the whte sails of copmerce. He explored all these bays and harbors, and knew their currents and bearings well, from the cape of Hatteras to that of Florida reef. He had oommand of a complete squadron, including vessels of nearly all sizes. His flag was hoisted upon a forty-gn ship, the crew of which consisted of more than a lhundred mnen. His captains were Vane, Bonnet, Warley, and others, inferior to himself only , . .i page: 450-451[View Page 450-451] - 450 . SOUTHWARD So! in hardihood and skill. Somewhereabout 1713, a proclamation had been issued by the king in couneil, promising a pardon to all the pirates who should surrender themselves in twelve months. Blackbeard was one of those who, either through a cunning policy, meant to delude the powers whichl he feared he should not so readily escape, or under a sudden uneasiness of conscience, presehted himself before Governor Edent of North Carolina, pleaded the king's pardon, and receivci the governor's certifleate. Eden, by the way, was one of thllose governors of whom history speaks, as having received the bribes of the pirates, and kept up a criminal but profitable connecion with Blackbeard in particular.' "Blackbeard, the better to prove his resolve to demean him. self for the future V with Chlristilan propriety, married his tirteent wife, a young gir of Puplico. But'he could- not long forbear his riotous habits, or forego his passion for adventures upon the sea. He was soon again on board a smart cruise, and reaping the fields of ocean with the sword. He sailed upon a cruise, carlying his .new wife wit him, and shortly retuprned with a valuable rize, a French ship laden with sugar ad cocoa, wh l ad no difficulty in persuading the ourt of admiralty lhe had found at sea, abandoned by ller crew. She was adjudged as a lawful pize to. her unlawful captors. Here our narrative begins. Thus far, our facts are stictly historical-except, per haps, in regard to the fact stated, tlat his new wife, the gil of- Pamplico, accompanied him on this cruise. But the fact, omit- ted by history, is ssnpplied by tradition, whiell asserts that the girl herself figured somewhat in the incidents connected vith the c apture of the Frenchprlize. "Blaekbeald steered south whell hle left the river of Cape Fear. The season was mild, late spring-the seas smooth.- the winds fr esh and fav rale. Soon they espied the F41rencll brigantine laying ler couise, due east from the tropical islands. "As he beheld his new prey, the savagecief- I i taking the oatl and receiving the king's pardon from th e royal governor, had not' denuded himself of a single hair Of tltt enormQus forest of beard which literally covered his face, leard, and breast, and from which hle took his name-lchucked his new wife under the chin, and sworea terrible oath thlat the girl should l . .q q/ ,- THE YOUNG MERCHANT. 451 ; see sights, should drink of the wine of the Indies, and enjoy thlleir fruits, and be clad in the beautiful silks of the Frenchman. ( All sail was clapped on for pursuit. The Frenchman knew llis danger, at a glance. Not more certainly does the flying-fish know his enemy the dolphin, or the tunny the swordfish, or the sailor the shark, than the simple trader the deadly danger of that pirate foe, who combined all the terrible characteristics of these several mnarauders of the sea. Fleet was the Frenchman in flight, but, aInhappily, fleeter far was the outlaw in pursuit. Very pre- cious was the Frenchman's cargo; one more precious still, among his passengers, was the fair creole wife of the young merchant, Louis Chastaign, now, for the first time, preparing to visit the birthplace of her husband. They, too, were soon made :aware of the danger, and, while the wife watched, and prayed, and trembled, the young husband got his cutlass and his cara- bine in readiness, and prepared to do battle to the last in defence of the precious treasure of his heart. "Ittut his resolution was not to be indulged. The captain of the merchantman had no adequate tforce for resistance, and he prepared for none. He shook his head when Louis Chastaign spoke of it, and appeared on deck with his weapons. "'It will not do, Monsieur Louis.' "' And shall we yield tamely to these wretches? They are pirates!' "' I fear so. But they are two to one. We have no arms. What can a dozen swords and pistols do against a hundred men?' " i Better die bravely fighting than basely to offer our throats to the knife.' "'Nay, our hope is that they will content themselves with 'obbing us of our treasures.' "The young merchant turned With a look of agony on his . beautiful creole. He knew what the appetites of the pirates were. He feared for the one treasure, over all, and-thought - lotling of the rest; though the better portion of the ship's cargo ; vas his own. The chase was nearing fast. The Frenchman i :ontinued to try his heels, but- in vain. "'He gains rapidly, Monsieur Louis. Put away your weap- : -A'" ' page: 452-453[View Page 452-453] 452 SOUTHWARD HO! ons, my friend; the very show of themn may provoke him to cruelty.' "The poor yotiig man was compelled to submit, yet, in put- ting his weapons out of sight, 1he felt as if his treasure was already gone. "t'TIs there really so much danger, ouis?' asked the trem- bling woman of her husband. He could only shake his head mournfully in reply. Then she kissed the cross which she had in her handq and hid it away in her bosom, and followed her young lord upon the deck of the vessel. "'At that moment, the cannon belched forth its fires from the pursuing pirate; the iron missiles shot thhrough the rigging of the Frenchman, and with a groan he ordered sail to be taken in. and prepared for submission to the enemy from whom there was no escape. II. "VEnY soon the pirate vessel came alongside of the peaceful trader. Her wild and savage crew were ranged along the bul- warks, each armed with cutlass and half a score of pistols con- spicuous in belt and bosom. Very terrible was the exhibition which they made of wild beard and brutal raspect. With a tor- rent of oaths, Blackbeard himself hailed the Frenchman, wlo put on all his politeness in responding to, the insolent demands of his assailant. Thl;e vessels were lashed together by grap- plings, the pirates-streamed on board, and a general searchl was begun. Meanwhile, the young creole bride of Louis Clhastaign kept at her prayers below. Here she was found, and dragged up to the deck at the command of the pirate-chief. Thle pas- sengers, all, and crew, were made to gathelr on the deck, under the pistols of a score of the marauders, while the rest ransacked the hold and cabin. "The examination lasted hot long. Blackbeard soon discov- ered that the cargo was one for which he should have to find a market. Its treasures were not readily portable, nor easily con- verted into money. The gold and silver, jewels, and precious stones, found in the trunks, of the young French merchanlt, though of considerable value, bore no proportion to the value of the cargo, the bulk of which rendered it necessary that the ves- THE GIRL OP PAMPLICO. 453- " sel should be carried into port. This necessity implied another. The crew and passengers must be disposed of. As the scheme presented itself to the mind of Blackbeard to have the vessel condemned by the court of admiralty as a lawful prize, it needed that he should be prepared to report that she was found aban- doned by her proper owners. This resolve required that he should suffer no witnesses to live who might expose the true na- ture of the transaction. He had no remorseful scruples, and- ftie decree was soon pronounced. The unllhappy captives were doomed to walk the plank. ,That is to say, all were thus doomed who should refuse to join the pirate party.; There was this terrible alternative to be allowed them.. Accordingly, having seen what were the treas- ures of the ship, and fully satisfied himself of what she con- rtained, he reascended to the deck, where the unfortunate crew were held in durance, pale and trembling, in waiting for their fate. Brief consultation had been needed among the pirate- chiefs. Blackbeard had given hIis opinion, in which the lieuten- ants all concurred: and there was ho consultation necessary when they reappeared on deck. "( The terrible cllief, closely followed by his new wife, the girl of Pamplico, confronted the group of captives in all his terrors of aspect, costume, and furious speech. His wife was scarcely less a terror in the eyes of our young French creole woman. She was habited only in part like a woman. -She wore a skirt, it is true, but the pantaloons of a man appeared beneath, and she wore a sort: of undress uniform frock-coat covered with rows of massive golden buttons. On her shoulders were heavy epau- lets; on her head a dashing cap of fur, with a feather.- Her belt contained pistols, -and a middy's dirk with glittering handle. She lacked nothing but a heavy mustache to make her as ter- rible in the eyes of the young French husband as in those of his wife. To make the portrait more revolting, we must add that her face was reddened and bloated with free use of the wine cup,' and her eyes fieky, yet moist, from the same unnatural practice. The rest of the pirates need not be described. It will suffice to say, that in their costume and equipment nothing had been omitted which might exaggerate to the mind of the captives, the terrible character of the profession they pursued. page: 454-455[View Page 454-455] ; 454 SO UTAWARD HO! !" - '"The pirate-chief addressed the captain of the Frenchman with words of blood and thunder. The latter answered with o words of weakness and submission.. The former without scruple declared the only alternative to death which he allowed. "' Are you prepared to join us against the world? We are free men of the seas. We are of no nation. We own no laws except those of out own making. Swear to obey our laws, join our crews, sail under the black flag and the bloody head, and take your share with us, of the cargo of your ship!' "A dead silence answered him. (' Swear!' and the black flag was waved before their faces. "'Will my lord pardon us ' answeredPthe captain for the rest. 'Will my lord take what we have and suffer us to go in peace? I only plead that our lives may be spared.' (' Your lives are our deaths, unless you join with us. You have five minutes for deliberation. Swear, by the black flag,- kiss the bloody head, and, on your knees, take the oath, or you walk the plank every mother's son of you.' 4"A dead silence again followed. Mieanwhile, the Creole wife, crouching in the rear of her husband, who stood immediately behind the captain, involuntarily took from her bosom the cross of black ebony, and, sinking silently upon her knees, pressed it to her lips, while they parted, in unuttered prayers to Heaven. 1"The movement did not escape the ruffian. Het was now re- minded of the woman whom he had sent up from below. Ill the dim light of the cabin, he had not distinguished her features. A single glance now sufficed to show him their loveliness. "'Ha!' he exclaimed- 'who; have we here ' and passing rapidly through the group of captives he -seized her where she ' -- 'knelt. With a- shriek she held up the cross. He tore it from her hand, looked at it but an instant, then dashed it to the deck, and crushed it-under his feet-accompanying the profane act with a horrid oath. The captain of the Frenchman groaned aloud. The pirate-chief still held his grasp upon the lady. She struggled to free-herself, and cried out:- "( Save me, husband!' "The appeal was irresistible. Desperate as was the attempt, the young French merchant, drawing forth a pistol concealed in his bosom, levelled it at the head of the pirate and drew the ' ' ** . TO THE SHARKS. trigger. The bullet only ruffled the monstrous whisker of the, ruffian. It had been aimed well, but, in the moment when the trigger was pulled, the arm of the young merchant had been struck up by one of the nearest pirates. Baffled in the desperate deed, the merchant dashed upon Blackbeard with the famishing cry of the panther striving for her young; and strove, with more certain dagger, to mend the failure of his first attempt. But he mighlt as well have cast his slight form against the bulk of a mountain. His blow was thrown upward, the stroke parried, and he himself stricken down with a blow firom the butt of a carbine, which covered his head and face instantly with blood. My husband! oh! my husband!' cried the wretched woman, now seeking again to break away from that iron grasp which never once relaxed its hold upon her. In vain. "Fling the carrion overboard. Sharks are not made to go hungry.' "He was remorselessly obeyed; and, partly stunned, but con- scious, Louis Chastaign was lifted in half a dozen stalwart arms, and thrust over into the yawning sea. Then the wife broke away;-but, ere she reached the side of the vessel, she was again in the grasp of the ruffian. She never saw her husband more. His head appeared but a moment upon the surface-his hands were thrown upward, then his shriek was heard-a single piercing shriek of agony; and when the French captain looked upon the sea, it was colored with blood, and he could -erceive the white sides of the glancing sharks, a dozen of them, as they were tugging, below the surface, at their living victim! "I. THERE are some scenes which art does not attempt to delineate -some agonies which baffle the powers of imagination. Such was the terrible, thoughl momentary, horror and agony, of the wretched wife of the young merchant. In such cases,Nature herselfseems to acknowledge the same necessities with art,- acknowledges her own incapacity to endure, what art lacks the power to delineate; and interposes a partial death, to spare to the victim the tortures of a horrid dying. Pauline Chastaign swooned and lay unconscious upon the deck. page: 456-457[View Page 456-457] 456 SOUTHWARD HO! Menwhile, the miserable captives stood silent, incapable, par- alyzed with their own terrors at the dreadful tragedy which had been so suddenly, conceived, and so rapidly hurried to its catas- trophe. The French captain shrugged his shoulders and pre- pared for his own fate. "' You have seen!' said Blackbeard addressing him and the rest. 'Trample on these colors'-pointing to the flag of the Lily; which had been torn down and thrown upon the deck;- 'spit upon that cross!'--that of poor Pauline Chastaig4n which lay half crushed before them;--' and swear on the bloody head obedience to the laws of the ' Brothers of the Coast!'-such was the namne which the pirate fraternity bore amnong themselves;- 'or you share the fate of that young fool, and find the sharks their supper this very night. Speak! You!'-addressing the captain of the Frenchman. The days of Rousseau, Voltaire, and Robespierre, had not yet wned.- The Frenchman had not yet prepared to spit on Cihrist, and substitute himself for God! Our captain knew his fate;: and was prepared for it. He took the -broken cross rever- ently, and kissed it, then, with a faint smile, he politely bowed to the pirate-chief--in these gestures accorditlg his only answer. (' To the plank with him!' was the command of Blackbeard in a voice of thunder. A dozen unscrupulous ruffians seized upon the Frenchman to hurryhim to his doom. Then, for the first time, the rest of the crew seemed to awaken to a sense of desperation, as by a common instinct. -With a wild cry they rushed upon the pirates, striking right and left with muscular arms, and all the reckless violence of despairing nature! Un- happily, the timid policy of their captain had denied them weap- ons. They had nothing upon which to rely but their own sinews; nevertheless, so sudden, so unlooked for was the as- sault, that the pirates bearing the captain, were overborne; he rescued; and, with a cheer,they all together darted again upon the foe, picking up knife or cutlass where they might. Alas! the brave effort but shortened the pang of dying. A new flood of ruffians from the pirate vessel poured in upon them, and fin- ished the struggle in a few moments; but Blackbeard himself, nmeanwhile, had been wounlded with a knife, and his smart ren- dered him less than ever disposed to mercy. Mainmed, slain, or NEW PROVOCATIONS. 457 only wounded, the captives were all hurried into the deep ;-but one male being suffered to survive--a poor cabin-boy who, in the last moment, grappled the knees of Blackbeard, swore alle- giance to his authority, and was admitted to mercy! a IV. t B ," BUT one captive remained living in the hands of the pirateS. This was the young wife of the unhappy merchant, poor Pauline Chastaign. She had been taken to the cabin in her swoon, and had been laid, with a certain degree of tenderness, which had given no satisfaction to the girl of Pamplico, upon the couch of that Amazon.' It was with a curious interest, which still further displeased that person, that Blackbeard hung over the uncon- scious woman, and scanned the beauties of her face and figure. His second officer and himself conferred upon her fate together, in the tfearing of the wife of the latter-the thirteenth wife, as you will remember. The conversation was not of a sort to gratify her. She had no small portion of the green infusion in her system- against the indulgence of which Iago counsels Othello, and the eager appetite, speaking in the eyes of Black- beard, warnedl her of her own danger from a superior rival. The lieutenant of the pirate had :his passions also. He boldly pre- ferred his claim as custodian of the young widow. " You!' answered the chief. You?' "' And why not me V was the reply in a tone approaching defiance. The pistol of Blackbeard was at his head in a moment and, with a horrid oath, he ordered the other on deck and to his duties. The lieutenant slowly, and with a growl, submitted. When he had gone, the girl of Pamplico interposed with the same ques- tion whichh had been uttered by the lieutenant. i , And why not he . Why should he not have this thing? "'Because it does not please me that he should, my beauty!' , And why should it not please you.' , "' I prefer that the woman should keep my cabin for a while. " I Ha! and what of me .' , You! al-lh You may go to his cabin for a while.' "' What! Tou fling me off, do you, for this bloodless orea* page: 458-459[View Page 458-459] : 48 SOUTHWARD HO! ture! And such as she is to pass between us? That shall nevel be. Don't think that I am a thing of milk and water, without strength or courage. No! you shall see that I have blood, and that I can take it too! I'm not afraid of your black looks and thundering oaths. No! indeed! You are mine; and while I am yours, I shall see that no living woman shall pass between ns. ?ou would fling me off, and quarrel with your best officer for this ragof a woman, would you. But you shall not!' "With the words, quick as lightning, the unsexed creature shot round the little table that stood beAeen herself and the seemingly insensible wife of the young Frenchman, her dirk flourishing in her grasp directly before the eyes of Blackbeard. She had rounded the table, and occupied a place between him and E the threatened victim, before he could possibly conceive her pur- pose, and heave up his huge bulk from where he lay, to inter- 'lpose for the prevention of the mischief. He roared out a terni- ble threat and horrid oath, but the Amazon never heeded a syllable, and the poor captive would have -sunk beneath her dagger-stroke, but for the fact that, while the dispute was in progress between Blackbeard, his lieutenant, and the girl from Pamplico, the captive lady was slowly coming to her senses, and understood it all. She saw the mo- vement of her wild assailant, and darting up from where she lay, gave one piercing scream, and rushed up the cabin steps to the deck, closely followed by the Amazon and the pirate-chief. They reache. the declk only to behold the white flash of a glancing form as it shot over the side of the vessel, and to hear a single plunge into the gulfing billows of the sea. When they looked over the bulwarks, there was nothing to be seen. The wife of the young merchant had joined him in the deep. "' It is just as well!' growled Blackbeard, turning away. ' It prevents mischief! Ha! you young devil!' he continued, throw- ing his arms about the neck of the she-demon who stood con- fronting him, you are a girl after my own heart; but if I served you rightly, I should pitch you over after her. No more of this. Do you hear! Another such piece of meddling, and I shall slash this pretty throat with a sharp dagger. Do you hear!' She laughed impudently andY returned his caresses, and the deadly vessel-went on her midnight course. THE PIRATE- HOARD. 4659 V. i"SUCH was the true history of the captured Frenchman, whom our pirate-chief persuaded the court of, admiralty to adjudge to him as a vessel picked up at sea, abandoned by its proper own- ers. Blackbeard was soon at sea again. He was even more successful in the results of his next cruise ;! gathering Spanish gold, ingots, and jewels of great value, the treasures equally of east and west. - But he carried in no more vessels for the juris- diction of the courts. -He employed the shorter processes of firing and scuttling. He seldom found any prisoners. He kept none. The sea locked up his secrets--for a time at least; and his cruise was a long one in proportion to its successes. "But news reached him of a suspicious character. He heard rumors of ships-of-war preparing to search for pirates. He was advised from North Carolina, that his own virtues were not be- yond suspicion, and that, some!how, certain rumors had reached Virginia affecting his securities. It became necessary to hide away the- treasures already procured, before again venturing within the waters of Cape Fear and Ocracocke. He must cleanse the aspect of his craft, so that she should be able to en- dure examination as a fair trader, and secure the bloody spoils of previous ventures, beyond the grasp of law and civilization. We all know how common was the practice among the pirates of establishing hoards in unfrequented places. All these islets, according to tradition, from the capes of Virginia to that of Flor- ida conceals some buried treasure. Onlthis occasion our pirates put into Bull's bay, the avenues to which they well knew. In this region, they selected a spot, either on Bull's island, or Long, or some one of the islands immediately contiguous-all of which were then uninhabited-in which to hide their treasures. Here, at midnight, they assembled. The hole was dug in the earth. The pirates all gathered-around it. They bore the glittering piles--in kegs, boxes, sacks, jars. They saw them all deposited. Then they clasped hands, and each swore, severally repeating the horrid oath which Blackbeard dictated. "There was a pause. The rites were yet unfinished. The hole remained opened. Something was yet to be done, accord- page: 460-461[View Page 460-461] "O SOUTHWARD HO! ing to which alone, in the superstitions of the pirates, could the treasure be securely kept. Meanwhile, there had been voices crying to them from the woods. The devil had been adjured by the terrible chief of the crew, and he had answered with aw. ful sounds from a neighboring thicket. They could, most of them, believe in a devil, and tremble, where they tacitly re- nounced all faith in a God. Of course, this mummery had been devised by the cunning for the especial benefit of the ignorant. They had imprecated a horrid destiny upon their souls, in the event of their fraud or infidelity to their comrades, and the audi- ble answers of the fiend declared their oaths to be registered in hell. Such was a part of the scheme by which the pirates bound each'other to forbearance, and for the common security ofttheir hidden treasures. "But something more was necessary to the completion of these horrid rites. There was a needed sacrifice which murder always found it necessary to provide for superstition. But this portion of the ceremony was, of course, a mystery to all those whom the pirates had lately incorporated among their crews from among the captives they had taken. "'And now that we have all secure, brothers of the coast, it still needs that one of us should remain to watch the treasure till our present cruise is over. Food he shall have in abun- dance, drink, and shel1ter. A boat shall be left for him with which to fish, and weapons with which to procure game of the woods and wild fowl talong the shore. - It must be a willing mind that must undertake this watch. Who volunteers? Let him speak boldly, like a man.' "An eager voice answered -- "'I will remain and watch the -treasure l' It was that of the poor cabin-boy, the sole survivor of the French merchantman. The trembling creature had shuddered with daily aMd nightly horrors Since the hour of his captivity. He eagerly seized the present opportunity of escape from an as- sociation the terrors of which oppressed his soul. Blackbeard looked at him grimly, and with a dreadful smile. He saw through the wretcheI boy, and readily conjectured all his hopes. They were those -of all who ha4 ever consented townatchll the treasure. But it did not matter to the pirate's object whether / * * THE HUMAN SACRIFICE. 461- the volunteer were honest or not. It was enough that he should volunteer. According to their laws none could be compelled to I take this watch; and it was one of the secret tests, that of the volunteer, by which to discover who, of the crew, were in secret disloyal, and likely to prove treacherous. "' You!' repeated Blackbeard. 'You, then, willingly choose to remain and keep watch over the treasure .' i"I do!' ("Then remain, and see that yourwatch well!' "And, with the words, lifting the pistol which, all the while, had been secretly prepared in his grasp, he shot the wretched boy through the head. So sudden was the movement, that the miserable victim was scarcely conscious of his danger a single moment, before the bullet was crashing through his brains. He fell into the hole above the treasure, and the earth was shoveled in upon the victim and the spoils he had probably fancied he should be able to bear away. "' There-see that you -keep good watch, good fellow"!' "( A wild howl of demoniac joy from the adjacent covert star- tled the superstitious of the crew. The sacrifice to the fiend in waiting had been graciously accepted; and a tacit pledge was thus given by the demon that, with his aid, the treasure should be kept safely by the vigilant spectre of the victim. VI. , THE horrid orgies which succeeded to this murder, among the pirates, that night--their dance of maniac frenzy over-the grave of their victim, aud upon the spot of earth which concealed their buried deposite-exceeds the possibility of description, as it would be greatly offensive to propriety were we to describe it. They drank, they danced, they sang, they swore, they howlead, they fought; and it was long after dawn of the day following before they proved able to return to their vessel, which lay at easy anchorage a short distance from the shore. Before leaving the island, they had obscured with trampling, then with turf and leaves, all external signs of the burial, which they had made.' The orgies of drunkenness which followed bad served still more effectually to obliterate from :the memories of most of, page: 462-463[View Page 462-463] "2 SOUTHWARD HO! themn the impressions of the locality whichh they had gathered from tl'ei scene. It was.-with this policy that their more cun- ning clbfs had encouraged their bestial debauchery and excess. They, hwever (the former), had taken the precaution to estab- lish certain guide-marks to the spot which nothing could oblit- erate. The extended branch of one tree was a pointer to tohe place; the blaze of another was made to bear a certain relation also to the spot, and so- many paces east from the one, and so many paces west from the other, intersecting with a third liine drawn from the position of another bough, or tree, or blaze, and the point of junction of the three was that under which the treasures lay. We are not required here to be more precise in- its delineation. Their work done effectually, as usual, and our pirates all pretty well sobered, they sailed away upon another cruise, the fortunes of which we need not recount. But this time they were not long at sea. After awhile they returned to the waters of. North Carolina, and gavS themselves up to a week of riot in Pamplico. "But, along with the evil deed are born always three other parties-the accuser, the witness, and the avenger! It is now difficult to say by what means the later crimes of Blackbeard became known. He had certainly obliterated all his own tracks of blood, almost as soon as he had made them. Still, these tracks had been found and followed, thougll covered up with earth and sea: as if the accuser and the avenger were endowed with a peculiar faculty, such as, in the case of the hound, ena- bles him to detect the odor of blood even through the mould. Blackbeard, with the instinct of guilt, was soon aware that a secret enemy was dogging at his heels. So it was. "There had suddenly appeared a stranger at Palmplico, who threw himself more than once in the way of Blackbeard's last wife, the-Amazon. He was a fine-looking young fellow, of martial carriage, wearing the loose shirt of the Virginian hunterv carrying a rifle, and followed by a dog. He was tall, erect, and very powerfully built. There was a laughing mischief in his eye, a sly, seductive humor upon Yhis tongue, and a general something in his free, dashing, and buoyant manner, which is THE VIRGINIA HUJTER . vO - Ipt to be rather pleasing to the women. At all events, the ,tranger found favor in the sight of the girl of ,amplco, md she invited him to her cab-' Ut without Blackbeard's ae, stranger did not hesitate to accept the invitation; blthe ook c1 e to visit the woman only when he knew that the pIate- chief fleas pyesent. The' girl was a little dashed w hen le sud- denly pushed; open the door of the dwelling, and stood in his orest-ostume before -th e parties. With an oath Bla ckbeard demande fo what he came. The stranger had his 1 answer ^ ^ f. :vyte ^. eral ac1 -^ 60aua w"ishea ready. He had peltryfor sale-several packs-naud he wished to barter it for powder nad ball. Regardin g the pirate only in his shore haracter, as a fair' trader, theie was nothing in the visit to occasioncsur prise. Blackbea rd regrded te stranger with eyes of curous admiration. He observed with delight the magnificent propor- tions of' the litter. You are a big fellow,' said he -'strong as a horse, no doubt, and as active as a uild cat.' "'A matcht,' was the reply, 4 for any man of nmy inches.' "4I 'e'll see that!' exclaimed the pirate, suddenly rising ana We sethat b" excrlaim- grappling with the strangei afriendly wrestle. The muscu- lar and buliq forms of the two rockeed to and fro,breast to breast for awhile, until, by an extra exertion of strength) the hunter aid the outlaw on his back. The-latter was nowise riffled. Gus You don't loqllthe lanto do it,' said'e, 'but it was well done. You're a man, every inch of you. -Have you ever beent upon the sea? That's the field for such a man as you. Come! wat stay You' to a v'yage withme Cood pay,good liquor, Here, the pirate winrked at l1is wife, and pointed her out to the stranger., .The latter seemed disposed to entertain the project. Blackbeard became earnest. He was anxious to in- crease, the nuxiber of his marines, and he held out0libera prom- ises aLnd prospects to our hunter but without suffering him to suppose that his vocation at sea was anything but honest. In those dayrs, the fair traders ,quired sometling of a warlike rmament for diefence, and usually had it to a certain extent. ,7imet fo eru page: 464-465[View Page 464-465] "4 SOUTHWARD HO! "Our hunter offered only such objections as were easy to overcome; and the result of the conference was ean arrangement between the parties to meet the next day on board of Black- beard's vessel, when they should come to a more definite under- standing; our hunter only insisting upon seeing the sort of world to which he was to be introduced, and the accommoda- tions and the fare designed for him. 'This understood, they, separated for the night-the stranger refusing to drink or eat with the pirate, much to the latter's annoyance. How much more would this- annoyance have been increased, had he known how tender was the squeeze of the hand which, at parting, the girl of Pamplico had bestowed upon their guest! "' With such a chap as that to lead the boarders, and I shall sweep every deck that ever showed it's teeth,' said Blackbeard when the stranger had gone. "' All's well so farP!' quoth the latter, as lie passed from hear- ing of the cabin. ' All's well. To-morrow! to-morrov.' "With the morrow the parties again met, and Blackbeard's welcome was singularly cordial. He took the hunter on board his vessel, showed him her appointments, her strength, and di- lated upon the profit of the trade he carried on. The stranger looked about him, noted well what he saw, took particular heed of the pirate guns and sailors, -their number, their character; yet pursued his watch so casually as to occasion no suspicion. He was pleased with everything, and only forebore to drink, to eat, or to make any positive engagement, as before. He left all things in a fair way for arrangement; but it ieeded that he should bring in his peltry and secure his various hunter effects, in his distant foreign home. "' Wg shall meet in seven days!' "' Be sure of it,' answered the other, 'for in ten I must prepare to be at sea. But, by the way, you haven't in all this time told me your name, or I've forgot it.' "'Well, when I go to sea, I must get a; name. To confess, to you a truth, the one I have borne, is rather in bad reputation.' "' Ah! ha! I see then why you are here. You've been using your rifle on meaner brutes than buck and bear. Well! I don't think the worse of you for that. 3out give yourself a name that we may swear by.' * ; "5 REOBERT MAYNARD. "Or at! well, as I am to be a sailor, I'll take my name from the ship. Call me Mainyard, for lack of anything bter.' , So they parted. "Iainyard! IMainyard!' muttered Blackbeard to himself. , Where have I heard a name like that only a day or two ago! It was from that bloody booby, (oleman. There's something about the name that--pshaw! what an ass I am. as if there should be anything strange to a sailor's ear in such a name. Yet, there is something!' ,' And with a vague memory of--he knew not what,-- run- ning in his mind, Blackbeard felt mystified and curious for a good hour after the departure of the Hunter. lIad he not been- half drunk and very furious when Coleman' brought his, story to his ears, his doubts would have assumed a more definite form, and might have led to other results than followed his oblivion. , Meanwhile the hunter had disappeared. What follows, al- most literally drawn from history, may serve to put into your hands the clue which was all tangled in those of the maudlin pirate. VII. ,4 BLACKBEARD, as the fair trader, Edward Teach, had provoked the hostility of the planters in and about Pamplico. The stran- ger hunter had been among them before he sought the pirate. He Iad gathered all their evidence, had learned, like them, to distrust the justice of the ruling authorities of North Carolina in their dealings with the pirates, and had secretly sought the suc- cor of t he- government of Virginia. Governor Spotswood had used his influence with the British commodore on the Virginia station to employ an adequate force for the capture of Blackbeard. For the command of this enterprise a volunteer had been found, in the person of one Robert Maynard, a Virginian, but a lieute- nant il the- royal navy. To catch Blackbeard was no easy matter; and Maynara found it aavisable to make himself per- sonally acquainted with the force of the pirates, his place of hart borage, and to plan, on the spot itself, his mode of operations. We have seen the progress which he has made, thus far, in the character of the Virginian hunter. ",Wtile he thus employed himself two sloops were go 20* page: 466-467[View Page 466-467] "6 SOUT'iHWARD HO! readiness with equal secrecy and expedition. Blackbeard, as we have seen, was not left unapprized of his danger. But, in his debauch, he had made light of the intelligence, and moreover, it was not thought by those who bore the tidings that the expe- dition would have such early despatch. In those days enter.- prises were undertaken as pilgrimages, with great deliberation, the adventurer stopping to get himself well shod, to provide himself with a select staff, and, only after protracted meditation and perhaps devotions, to take the field. The enterprise of young Maynard proved an exception to the common practice, and his sloops were ready to go to sea, while he was discussing' with Blackbeard the preliminaries and the profit of future voy- ages which they might take together. "Beginning thus vigorously, Maynard did not relax in his ex- ertions. His sloops left James river on the 17th November, 1718. When fairly at sea, he broke the enterprise to his followers, all of whom were picked men. He read to them the proclamation of Governor Spotswood, offering a reward of E 100 for the ap- prehension of Blackbeard, 0E15 for every officer, and O 10 for every common sailor made captive with him. The proclamation was received with three hearty cheers, and all parties braced themselves up for the conflict which, it was very well understood, would be anything but child's play. On the 21st of Novem- ber, Maynard passed the bar of Ocracocke, and rapidly drew near to the pirate. At this period, his force was small, consist-- ing of twenty-five men; the rest were at sea, with his other ves- sel, under the command of Vaughan and other lieutenants. "Blackbeard was taken by surprise. He certainly would never have waited at his anchorage and with so small a force, had he dreamedb of his enemy's approach so soon. In truth, he had been waiting for his hunter, fainyard,- whom lie looked to supply the place of his captain of marines, one Hornsby, who was very sick on shore, and not expected to recover. He did recover, as we shall see hereafter, but not in season to take part in the conflict. "Though thus caught napping, Blackbeard was a man of re- sources; and prepared himself for defence. Maynard standing directly for the pirate, received his fire which was delivered with terrible effect. Unfortunately, his own vessel run aground, in THE PIRATE'S HEAD. 467 the shallow water of the river, and this increased the odds against him. Before he could extricate himself, he had lost twenty of his men, and the pirate prepared to board him. Seeing this, Maynard hurried his men below, with orders to keep ready for the hand-to-hand conflict which was impending. Blackbeard bore down upon him, threw in liis granades, and, seeing the decks bare of all but the slain and wounded, he boarded without hesi- tation. Then Maynard rushed upon deck, followed by his crew, and they fell together upon the assailants. Maynard's costume, on this occasion, was that in which he had made the pirate's ac- quaintance. Blackbeard knew him at a glance. ", Ha! traitor! Ha! villain!' he cried as the young lieutenant confronted him; and with the words both of them fired. Then they closed with their dirks. Blackbeard was now reminded of the wrestle they had had together, and the recollection made him desperate. It was ominous of the result in the present contest. He was overmatched, and slashed almost to :pieces, but fighting to the last, he fell at the feet of his conqueror, who immediately smote off his head with his cutlass, and lifted it, all reeking and streaming with blood, in the sight of the remaining pirates. As the black and bloody mass, with its wilderness of beard was raised on high, the horrid eyes glaring, and glazing even as they glared, the spectacle overwhelmed the pirate-crew. They threw down their weapons, such as still survived the combat, and were ironed on the spot. The capture of the pirate-vessel fol- lowed, but had nearly proved a fatal conquest; since a desperate negro stood over the magazine, stationed there by Blackbeard's orders, with a blazing match, prepared to apply it at a given signal. It was only when the gory head of his master was thrust before his eyes, that he consented to resign his torch and leave his perilous duty unattempted. The victory of Maynard was complete, and he sailed up to the town of Bath, and finally re- turned to James river, with the head of the pirate, in terrorem, hanging at the bowsprit of his vessel." page: 468-469[View Page 468-469] CHAPT'E XIX. FROM SHP TO SHORE- ofTs," continued o u"aconze.., thfus ended the career of one o f tHle most terrible pirates that ever-ifested these wa- ters. t/e has left memorable traces, incurious and startling le- gends, all along these shores There is a sequel to this narrative which I have related, in; the further historly of tlat horde of treasure, of which we have seen tie bria/." the- narrator was sharply interruptod with a cry from one of "There's the light!" "The Charleston light " And the group of listeners wre no longer to be spelled by the raconteur. They broke caree straining his eyes for the p ale star-like b e con, stea th ea geal ters. 'civilzation e star-like betison, set by thee gnar - dian civilization, on the e ldges ofi the great deep, for the benefit of the benighted mariner Heanwil, the sarthy beaty, Night, enveloped in dark mantle,as pssin it all her train of starry servitrs; even as some waueenly mourner, followed by legions of gay and brilliant courtiers, gliles sloTly and mourn- fully, in sad state and solemnity, on a duteous pilrimage to some holy shrine. And, o0ee the watery waste, that sad, sweet, doubtful light, such as Spenser dscribes in tl9e cathedral wood ies in te cathedral: "A little gloonling light most like a slade." showed us the faint line of shore upon our right. "Theatre is Long Island which we are so rapidly passg. There it was that Sir tenry Clinton marshalleel his array, gren- adiers and marines, in order to make their valiant demonstra- tion upon the little army of rifles, under Thompson, on te ver- famous 28th of J&ne, 1776, while 8ir Peter Parker was ham- Mering away at Fort SUllivan vihin the harbor. The wlite GLIMPSES ALONG SHORE. 469 mass which you see at the extremity of the dark line, shows you what is called 'the breach,'- where' the ocean breaks through with foam and roar, and separates Long from Stlrlivan's island. To cross this 'breach' was Clinton's necessity. It was sometimes fordable; but on this occasion, according to the British report, a miracle took place in behalf of the Carolinians, not unlike that which divided the sea for the Israelites, yet raised it up, immediately after, in mountains to overwhelm the pursuing Egyptians. Here, the waters on ' the breach,' rose in the twinkling of an eye from two feet to seven. It ceased to be fordable to the grenadiers who, strangely enough, contended that they could not possibly hope to do, fighting, to sight a carabinfe, or charge a bayonet, with their eyes under the water. In that only half-civilized period, the average height of a gren- adier corps did not exceed six feet." "But Clinton had his vessels for the passage." "Oh!1 to be sure! And he did try to cross. But the rifles of Thompson proved an obstacle no less potent than the arm of the sea. Two little six-pounders, besides, planted on the oppo- site sand-hills, were 'mischievously'stuffed with grape and can- nister. Under the two fires, Sir Henry's rafts, flats, and schoon- ers, were swept of their crews, and after two desperate at- tempts the assailant drew sullenly off, and waited the result of that more terrific conflict; which was going on, the while, within the harbor, and which continued throughout the day till nine at night." " There you get a faint glimpse of thewsand-hills on Sullivan's, crowned sparingly with shrubs, among which the rifles were posted. Behind those sand-hills there is quite i forest. The white line which you mark, fringing the dusky plain of the sea, is that famous beach, so broad, so hard, so long, of which the Charlestonians boast as so beautiful a seaside drive. It is sec- ond to few or none in the country. Now you see the houses dot- ting the sandy shores. That long dusky building is the Moultrie House, cool,-airy, ample-a delicious retreat in the hot season. The darker compacter mass which you note west of it is the famous fort, formerly Sullivan, where the stout old patriot Moul- trie, pipe in mouth, at the head of his little regiment, beat off the British fleet. From this point you perceive that the settle- page: 470-471[View Page 470-471] 470 SOUTEWARD HO! ment grows denser; the white cottages standing out, distinctly, though rather crowded, in the pleasant starlight." "( What line of shore is this upon the left 2" asked Duyckman of Miss Burroughs. Our Gothamite never left that young lady's side, and preferred evidently to get his information from a femi- nine source. "That is Morris island, upon which the lighthouse stands. It is also a pleasant and healthy retreat during summer, and be- yond the sand-hills there is a little hamlet. "Morris is divided by a creek from James island. Let your eye move alongshore in this direction, and you see Fort Sum- ter, a new fortress, raised upon a mole in the sea. It confronts Fort Moultrie obliquely, and the fires of the two combined would serve to keep an approaching fleet in hot water for a while. We are now passing between the two, and have reached a point where the whole harbor opens upon the eye. To the left, you follow the water-line till it brings you to Ashey river, descend- ing west of the city to the embraces Twith the deep. Look across now, due north, and you see another long sandy tract stretching away till lost in the distance. This is Haddrill's, or Mount Pleasant village-a third retreat for the citizens in summer. Just before you, Castle Pinckney looms up, forming another for- tress for the protection of the harbor. It lies within half a mile of the city, the long line of lights of which you see stretching up Cooper river, which passes down from the north between Haddrill's and the city." "The harbor is an ample one," said Duyckman. "Few more so, and few in this country more beautiful. The effect at this moment is very fine. The seas are as placid and subdued as the happy slumber of childhood. The breezes swell gently over these slight elevations of land along the south, and stoop down to the little waves, creasing them with rippling beauties, which the luminous brightness of the stars enables us to follow in long lines that are unbroken till-they subside from sight in distance." "I should like to explore these- islets and rivers, and visit all the places you have named. Can this be done safely in midsummer?" "Thisseason-yes! Charleston isnoweryhealthy. Were ,.nwr elh Wr THE CHARLESTON CURFEW. it ayellow-feve season, you shoul not bte ee If y ou say so, w will take a week or so for the city a the island, before ytCiuregion k 'e go to tfle iraonin io ou think to , Ite m! AI& W -'- .-'ss 'Brrou v ereao Y "I ri o r 6 " 6 " 1 1 u i i l leave the city for your excu'soa theY m man of the lady. , ,' O, not for a week or tvo. GotLam noaaea to me as if tosay-- , That will just suit us. "e inal n s ,ark the gun! Captain Bery s a privat iWel ,ny his arrival which he commicates o all the public Wellm friends, our voyage is over. In te intes e shall be aspore."r- "tI hear the ringing of bells," saiiil D ynan i "Awfire,pe- haps or possibly the salutation. of the, city and its urelome, bapsor pos * Your ethoa frd un in response to the gun:of te captin o metoa o return- inga That I rins for ten o'.lock It No! it is our curfew theyhat beted is a signal to SambeO an Cuffy, the acrkies, that they had bet- Ster retire to tesvalogfor the night; ean he n ite ter retire to th11! Severcllan begins, at a quarter befor e the stroke of ten, the parties thus especially notifiea egin to ae tracs hoewar . It is quite an amu singo picture to see them, at tlat hour, scotteplug, e ach akng P-t ,a to" - huries home, bearing a string taking heis separnt anticipations of fry that night. Aof boljac lfist e ;lle wth a variety; le wi scarcely piryes bl A thl ka has A illin g thaert y o oula see wil at he carries. thir has ott f whishng tat 'yo SM sn poun of tohacco in th be whi I nl clarged, tha o wey linger with tiheh bottle of whisjr-eY inoe apckt, (I ,argd ta stoked oft0ci other. And, thus ameabout t streets, till the strke o cotera. ana ,and ntance about alif the hande a, comrades hurrieccsbaket of tlohat curfe w bell. A last word, a riesake of the ha, a they meet and pass, an they retir om te sit a the be ceases,- -or rather, when the tattoo ceases ich always beaten when the tinging Closes. hiut of i C hleston--m S %; ^en the ill^ ^ anon. Give your arm to Biss urroughs" This is her broth oanon. e uIer carrie ison the wharf. Iwillse who approaches. ca ours." ^iptea Thewaot Our onile, for the present, i comple. Theaont :, .clt. ;nt e, cirleoisispease . The spirits have nothing' page: 472-473[View Page 472-473] 472 SOUTHWARD Ho-! ther to reveal, of the secrets of their prison-house, at the pres. ent sitting. But, doubtless, we shall re-form the circle, and have new revelations. We shall seek new sources of inspira- tion-new media-and fresh materials; andfsoothe, for the reader as for ourselves, "as humor prompts," the "idle vein" of both. We shall assemble, among our southern forests and mountains, a portion at least, of our present company-perhaps add others to our circle. But we shall make no definite prom- ise; being resolute not to fetter ourselves to hard conditions. We need say no more; and, just now, ouIr Alabama cynic is at our elbow, with a courtly entreaty that we shall do him grace, ere we part, " over a coil of snake and tiger." THE END.
