K O
J
By ROB. MORRIS, Awthor of Sketches toy a Traveling Naturalist; Lectures to
a Normal Class 5 Lights asid Shadows of Free-Masonryj &c.
Chapter First.
PRELUDE. — DRAMATIS PERSONS.
>0 Q differences of
opinion exist relative
to the subject of sla¬
very in its various as¬
pects ; but, whatever
Ave may think of its
justice or injustice,
we must still admit
that, as an existing
institution extending over nearly half the
Union, it presents a field of national man¬
ners. which, while it is comparatively fresh,
should be interesting to those who prize real-
life sketches in distinction from highly-
wrought, improbable romance. As such, we
propose to occupy it in the following pages.
We have thrown but a transparent gauze of
fiction over a series of facts that occurred about
fifteen years since. Most of the persons are
yet alive who acted parts in the drama. The
places described still retain the features that
we have endeavored to transfer to these
pages. A change of locality, with fictitious
names and a little twisting of events to bring
them together—that is all we have done.
One word of caution, necesrary in these
days of partizanship. The earnest reader,
if any such there be, will look through this
sketch in vain for any expression of our
opinion as to slavery itself. The subject,
politically and philanthropically considered,
is too weighty for our pen. To display its
rights and its wrongs, forms, we think, no
part of our " mission."
And yet our humble life has not been so
exclusively cast upon either side of Mason
& Dixon's line as to render us very liable
either to the enthusiasm of the pros or the
skepticism of the cons. We find, upon a
mental summing up, that the days of the
years of our pilgrimage have been divided,
with uncommon exactness, between the slave
States and the free.
Perhaps there is a touch of boasting in
the conclusion to which that reflection brings
us, that we are thereby better enabled to view
' the peculiar institution ' without prejudice,
and to describe its operation without partial¬
ity. We shall see.
That feature in slave character which most
surprises the attentive stranger is the pro
found attachment, the spaniel-like devotion
which so many of the Southern slaves dis¬
play toward their masters' interests. This
Entered according to Act of Congress, A. D. 1852, by Ossian E. Dodge, in the Clerk s Office ot th$
District Court for the District of Massachusetts
2
THE .FAITHFUL SLAVE.
will be found ill its highest perfection among
the house servants, and those in general in
whom the greatest trusts are reposed by their
owners. But it is, on the whole, a feature
characteristic of the Southern slave. Many
illustrations of it will be given to the travel¬
er, as he sits with his host and hostess, and
enjoys his summer evening pipe in the cool
area between the two cabins that constitute a
Southern dwelling.
We would ask—why are not these tradi¬
tionary fragments gathered up and preserved ?
They are national, therefore they are his¬
torically important. Does this assertion
bring out a smile ? Then, we inquire, what
is there holier than this in the touching de-
votedness of the feudal serf which makes up
the story of Ivanhoe? What higher motive
than this actuates the private soldier or sail¬
or'? What principle more potent than this
warms and enlivens the sketches of Dick¬
ens ?
Will the reader listen while one of these
incidents is rehearsed, in which the author
bore a part, and to the general truthfulness of
which he hereby offers his personal guaran¬
tee.
" Well, go 'long, Uncle Gabe, if you want
to. Alf and I will feed the mules to-night, if
you want to go. We can do it as well as
you can. Go 'long and kill some squirrels."
These words are addressed by a stout,
hearty-looking boy, nine years old, to the
plantation-hostler, Gabriel. The speaker is
John Anson Enloe, eldest son of my old
friend, Robert Enloe, Esq., whose cotton
plantation it is that stretches out so broadly
before us as we walk from the family man¬
sion through the white gate toward the sta¬
bles.
The lad who has spoken carries but few,
outward marks of authority, for he is both
bare-footed and bare-headed. There is in¬
deed but scanty room for distinction, in the
way of raiment, between him, the first-born
son of this estate, and the gray-haired slave
he is addressing.
But for all that, he wears that indescribable
air of command to which they are born who
are born masters of their fellow-men. His
words, kind and friendly as they are intended
to be, have a sound of authority which
smacks strongly of the quarter-deck and the
parade-ground; and, young as he is, they are
received with that entire deference which in
old Gabriel's case is the habit of sixty years'
servitude.
" Go 'long, then, Uncle Gabe, if you want
to," is John's kind response to a hint of the
old negro that he would like to go down to
the " new ground " corn, and kill a mess of
squirrels for his supper. "Pa will be glad
for you to thin them out a little, for they're
mighty bad on the corn. And you can look
round the field for the gap where the hogs
got in last night."
"And, O, Uncle Gabe!" is the demand of
another hearty-looking fellow, two years
younger, who rejoices in the abbreviation of
Alf, and a still greater abbreviation of shirt •
and trousers; " bring me some hazle-nuts,
Uncle Gabe; there's a heap of 'em. in the
hazle-patch below the field, but ma's afraid
I'll get snake-bit."
Gabriel smilingly undertakes the various
commissions of the lads, and enjoining upon
them sundry precepts of stable lore, such as—
" Don't shook down more'n free bundles
a-piece for de mewels, Marser Johnny; and
mind, put de poles 'tween em, else dey'll fight
like Samson; you'll see it!" he shuffles
away with the peculiar motion of his c}ass
toward the negro " quarters "; thence, after
securing his gun, through " the cotton-patch "
to " the new ground," as the place where the
rich corn harvest has drawn together a perfect
grand lodge of squirrels.
The boys mount to the stable-loft in frol¬
icsome spirit, " to shook down de fodder for
de mewels," as directed. This being done,
it is suggested by the elder, behind whose
merry eye there dwells a mint of fun, that
they go on and founder the stranger's
horse."
\ " The stranger," no other than myself, h6n-
ored reader, called an hour back to spend the
night with his old friend, Enloe. He has
consigned his favorite horse, Potnpey, to the
hands of the experienced hostler, Gabriel,
and as he walks down the long lane, past the
stables, he little imagines the trick these ju¬
veniles are about to play on him by over¬
feeding his greedy brute even to a " founder."
But so it is.
The merry chaps have their jest. Pom-'
pey, in the gratitude of his heart, eats all
THE FAITHFUL SLA YE.
3
that is set before him, though the sum total
be sixty ears of corn and a corresponding
amount of fodder.
The penalty of this shocking gluttony
follows. He is seized with an acute colic,
equal in torture to a whole Inquisition. He
is up with a " a founder " which detains his
master, and likens himself in stiffness to the
wooden horse of Troy, for the next four days.
" Uncle Gabe," as the veteran slave is fa¬
miliarly denominated, shuffles along through
the cotton-patch, and crosses the heavy ten-
rail fence that separates it from the county
road. Pausing awhile to rest himself—for fifty-
five years' Lard labor have not improved his
power of locomotion—his attention "is at¬
tracted to one of those sights which more
than all others awaken tenderest sympathies
in the human breast.
It is that of a beautiful girl leaning fondly
upon the arm of her lover, and listening in¬
tently to his words; so intently, indeed, that
the noisy mocking-bird, which shakes the
oak-branch above her head, cannot find a
note in all his store that will win her ear as
she moves slowly on.
Caroline Enloe is only seventeen; but sev¬
enteen under the sun of Mississippi is more
than equivalent to twenty passed in the less
grateful clime of Massachusetts.
In person, graceful and womanly but not
slender ; in features, sunny-fair but all health¬
ful ; in speech, plain but without any of that
grossness too often the result of rural asso¬
ciations ; in movement, light but firm, this
sweet young lady is an acceptable type of
the country belles of her land.
There might possibly be detected a shade
of timidity in that manner—of timidity which
the sparkling creatures of Saratoga or New¬
port would indignantly repudiate—but there
was no clownishness.
Her words may not be marked with an
Italian or French accent, but they are such
words as Shakspeare and Sheridan used,
such words as her father's old Bible taught
her, and the pronunciation is such English as
"Webster himself would have approved.
She leans, O ! how trustingly, with what a
guileless faith she leans upon her lover's
arm. 13 there not in this very act, this fem¬
inine yielding to a stronger frame, and a more
detex*mined will, an indication of the Creator's
design that the woman should be subject to
man ? How can we avoid the conclusion
when we look upon such a scene as this ?
At times she glances up into his face—it is
the very heaven of her hopes—and ever is
the hue on those soft cheeks made deeper as
she withdraws her eye and fixes it again, but
all abstractedly, upon the ground.
The old hostler, resting upon the fallen
tree, his gun lying neglected at his feet, ob¬
serves the act, and brushes something from
his bleared eyes, while he mutters a few
words to himself, tenderly and softly.
Her companion has numbered about thirty
years of life. Could we examine him with
the eyes of Caroline Enloe, we should doubt¬
less see a well-formed figure, fully developed,
strongly knit together, and somewhat above
the medium size. We should doubtless ad¬
mire the chestnut hair so exuberantly massed
above his forehead, and the small, graceful
hand that presses hers, while both are spark¬
ling with the jeweled rings of their betrothal.
We should certainly be thrilled with the mu¬
sic of his voice, clear and sweet, almost em¬
ulating the middle tones of the flute. Al¬
together, we should acknowledge that in
Oliver Colston are comprised all the manly
graces that conspire to win gentlest hearts.
But if we lay aside such partial judgment
as hers, we could not avoid noticing that his
eye, bent so fondly down upon her, has yet
an uneasy cast; we observe it most strikingly
when it first falls upon the old negro ; then,
in its impulse of surprise, it flashes up like a
meteor, and in the curl of his lip there seems
to us a sensual expression, undefined, yet
deeply impressed, and we cannot but feel that
his" sweet, flute-like voice is artificially tuned.
May we not admit, however, without dis¬
crediting our own manhood, that, in spite of
ourselves, there exists within our breasts a
kind of jealousy of our own sex when we
see one of them so happily situated ?
If this confession be an honest one, then
our judgment is not less partial than Caro¬
line's, and the defects wc have noticed are
but beams in our own eyes.
They come slowly on, this loving pair,
basking in the spring-time of life, and the
old negro rises to greet them.
Mr. Colston, whose uneasiness of • look,
if there were any, has quite vanished now, ac-
4
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
HBR/CH£rSC'
'• IT IS CLEAR THAT THERE IS NO FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN THESE TWO MEN.
knowledges his courtesy with a word or two,
and urges his companion forward. It is clear
that there is no friendship between these two
men.
But Caroline resists her lover's hand, until
she can ask the old negro a few pleasant
questions, not designed to be answered, and
offer him some merry advice relative to his
squirrel-hunt, not designed to be followed,
and demand a share in the prospective fruits,
not designed to be obeyed. And then, with a
laugh at his awkward attempts to answer a
dozen thoughts at once, and with a pleasant
blow upon her lover's arm, which has been
all the time endeavoring to draw her forward,
this vision of life and youth moves on.
Is that a tear-drop which rolls down the
withered check of old Gabriel'? Is that a
sigh which comes from his laboring breast 1
Does that cruel expression, " d—d racskal."
which he indulges in, apply to the polished
gentleman with the chestnut hair and flute¬
like voice, who has just left him ?
The latter inquiry is unexpectedly pro¬
pounded to Uncle Gabriel by a queerly-
clothed individual, who catches the expletive
as he steps into the road from a small school-
path that meets it at the precise point where
the negro had sat down to rest.
" What, what, Uncle Gabe! " he observes,
in a quick, nervous voice, that reminds one
of a frog; " swearing at Mr. Colston, eh ?
What do you think brother Leever will say to
that at the next class-meeting ? Crying, too !
Why, old man, what's got into you ? "
" Ah, Marser Blote," sadly responds the
veteran, " is dat you ? Sorry I said sich a
word. Never knew what I was sayin', to be
sure. Was holy and soly destracted, to be
sure. Didn't mean nuffin desrespekful to
THE FAITHFUL SLA YE.
5
Misty Colston. But to think of his d—d
Thar 'tis agin. Can't talk of Miss Carline
marryin' that no-'count feller, but what it
swars, whether or no. Ruther die than have
her. You'll see it."
" O, tut, tut, Gabriel, that's all very wrong,"
mildly responds the old schoolmaster—for
such he is, if ink, pens, and paper are any
sign of one; " that's all a notion you've got
into your old head. Everything will come
right. Mr. Colston loves your young mis¬
tress dearly, as you can see,.and he will make
her a good husband."
But the prophecy so confidently advanced
by Mr. Blote is contradicted, as well in the
uneasy glance he casts after the happy nair
as in the shake of the old negro's head.
" Never'll come to no good, Marser Blote.
You'll see it. All he's arter is old Marser's
money. You'll see it. Dat sort of men's no
'count, no how. You'll see it."
"With this sad prognostic upon his tongue,
and in his face, and in the vibration of his
gray head, the negro continued his journey,
while.Mr. Blote crossed the fence to join the
trio consisting of the overseer, Mr. Allansby,
Mr. Enloe, and myself, who are in warm dis¬
cussion as to the probabilities of the present
cotton crop. Interesting subject, which that
very hour was probably agitating an hundred
thousand merchants, from Texas to Maine,
as many in Europe, and all the manufactur¬
ers who twirl a thread or weave a warp in the
wide world. Our sketch may follow the mo¬
tions of old Gabriel.
A few hundred yards brings him opposite
the last clearing, styled in plantation parlance
" the new ground." This is a tract of thirty
acres, cleared and fenced the winter before,
and planted in corn. Having its forest moist¬
ure and mould still remaining, it is better
adapted to that product than the older soil of
the cotton-fields. Being contiguous to the
uncleared woods, it affords a favorite resort
for bird and beast, of which tribes the par¬
tridge (quail), raccoon, and squirrel are the
most extravagant depredators. At the corner
of " the new ground patch" Gabriel meets
another person, who (as we intend to intro¬
duce our leading characters in this chapter)
must claim the reader's attention.
It is a negro girl, probably fourteen years
old, but as no record is kept of a slave's birth,
we can only judge of the fact by her general
appearance as she comes toward us. She is
pure African in blood, with only a portion of
that superfluity of nose and lip, however, that
is so deforming in the majority of her race.
Her figure is graceful and small, even to
slenderness, though a skillful eye may detect
evidences of maternal fullness scarcely to be
expected in one of her age, did we not know
that many of her people become' mothers
even earlier in life.
She wears no bonnet or head-dress of any
kind, though the evening sun is still hot
enough to crimp the corn-blades which the
noontide rays have curled so tightly up. But
as the polished ebony of her countenance
gleams like a mirror under her closely-knot¬
ted hair, we feel that she needs none. Her
only ornament is a string of red coral beads
about her neck. She is barefoot. Her dress
is a closely-fitting frock of home-made stuff,
covering the single garment beneath.
On her head is a large tub filled to the
brim with water, and balanced with a skill
surpassing that which travelers attribute to
the Egyptian women. It does not deviate in
the least from its level, though its bearer
walks as rapidly and confidently forward as
though she were totally disencumbered. In
each hand there is a .bucket filled with the
same.
The person we are describing is Loogy,
only child of Gabriel, the hostler, and like
himself a slave of Mr. Enloe. She is by
office a waiting-maid of Caroline's, and a
great favorite of the whole family. Her
mother died a few months before the com¬
mencement of this sketch.
As they meet, she sets down her various
burdens, and a conversation commences be¬
tween them which is carried on in a low tone
of voice.
"Are you sure, gal, that 'twas him you
seed ? "
" Yes, daddy, right sartin sure. I seed him
hangin' round de place all Sunday mornin',
when de folks to de house thought he was
gwine to meetin'. And al-ter you'd left yis-
serday, he come all along here and looked
round for your tracks. What he's arter I
don't know, but 'tain't no good, sure."
" 'Tain't no good that Misty Colston wants,
no how. . You'll see it, gal, and Miss Car-
6
THE" FAITHFUL SLAVE.
line'll see it some day, too. I mus tote de
money off 'fore he fines it. To-morrer I'll
hunt up a good place. Is old Missis done
gi'n you dat picayune yit ? "
" Here 'tis, daddy. She guv it to me las
night, and she ax me how much money you
had now. Misty Colston was in de room and
heern her ax it. When I telled old Missis
how much, I seed him look right keen at me.
0, he's a no-'count somebody."
" I tell you, gal, he's good for nuffin't all.
You'll see it. But it's time to go 'long to de
house. Old Missis will be waitin' for de
water. And mind, gal, don't you say nerry
word 'bout de money to nobody, no matter
who ax you. It's dangerous, gal. You'll see
it."
With this caution, the negroes separated;
Loogy resuming her heavy burdens as if they
■were but empty vessels, her father pursuing
the errand, whatever it was, which had
brought him from the house. Our story shall
, still embrace his personal movements.
At the further corner of " the new ground
patch " Gabriel leaves the road, first carefully
looking round him lest he might be watched,
and then darts into the hazle-thicket with
more activity than his acquaintances, in gen¬
eral, give him credit for. When fairly con¬
cealed amongst the dense bushes, he searches
for a small gully whose channel is entirely
arched over with the thicket. This he pur¬
sues for a quarter of a mile or more, until
by the accession of many others like itself it
forms a ravine large enough to conceal a full
grown man.
At a certain point in this dark place he
pauses, crawls cautiously out to take another
survey, returns to the hollow, and at a place
where a large flat rock protrudes edgewise
from the bank, he commences digging with
his hands. He does not suffer a crumb of the
dirt to fall into the ravine. The earth is so
soft that he soon makes a cavity large enough
to thrust his arm under the rock, and then he
brings to light what appears to be an old
woolen cap filled with some heavy metal.
Fumbling in his pocket, he draws out a few
dimes, the gifts of the many visitors at his
master's house, and drops them into the sack,
together with the smaller piece his daughter
had handed him. To judge from the coins
that compose the upper stratum, -the whole
amount must have consisted of such mites as
these.
Carefully re-tying the precious cap, he lays
it down and takes out three others of like size
and appearance. It does not appear that any
miserly disposition to gaze upon his hoard
prompts this examination. But from the
anxious look he wears while he is weighing
the bags in his hands, and examining their
fastenings, one would suppose that he sus¬
pected some unlawful visitor had preceded
him there.
Keassured, however, he replaced them one
by one in the cavity, and carefully erasing all
marks of his visit, even to the prints of his
feet, he strikes down the ravine, which soon
enters the bed of a considerable stream, and
returning another way to " the new ground,"
proceeds to fulfill the request of little Alf, by
gathering a pocketful of the hazle-nuts that
swing in big clusters through all the thicket.
Then, as the feeding hour of the squirrels has
arrived, he commences the work of slaugh¬
ter. While he is killing his intended half-
dozen, we will conclude the chapter by ex¬
plaining the meaning of this out-of-the-way
money deposit.
Old Gabriel had been remarkable from his
youth for a burning desire for freedom.
When first arrived at manhood, he several
times ran away, and endeavored by every
plan that his limited information but large
native shrewdness could supply, to reach a
non-slaveholding State. Being baffled and
retaken in every instance, he finally changed
his mind, gave up the effort to escape as im¬
practicable, and then for twelve years applied
himself with wonderful assiduity to raise a
fund and purchase his freedom.
His master, pleased at so great an improve¬
ment in a slave whose equal for honesty and
ability was nowhere on his plantation, sec¬
onded this laudable scheme in various ways,
and put a price upon Gabriel considerably
lower than the current rate, that he might
have good courage in his undertaking.
Gabriel had nearly made up the amount,
eight hundred and fifty dollars, when his
wife, who was a slave on an adjoining planta¬
tion, was, for some trifling fault, removed by
her master to a distant State, and sold.
Being attached to the mother of his child
by the warmest ties, this cruel divorce drove
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
Gabriel to frenzy. He ceased to care any¬
thing more for his freedom. He squandered
away all his money. He besame dissipated,
idle, and quarrelsome, and upon receiving a
whipping for his misconduct, ran away to the
cane-brake.
During an entire twelvemonth he remained
in the woods, in spite of every effort to cap¬
ture him. He sent messages to his master,
from time to time, through his fellow-ser¬
vants, declaring that unless his wife was
brought back to the neighborhood he would
never work again, and if they caught him, he
would commit suicide.
At last Mr. Enloe, wearied out by his ob¬
stinacy, and unwilling to lose so valuable a
slave, sent an agent all the way to Texas,
bought the woman at a high price, and gave
Gabriel word to come home.
Home he came forthwith, and never after
that was there occasion for a blow or a harsh
word. He again became animated with the
desire to buy his freedom, laid up all the
money that came to his hand, and at the time
our sketch begins has a deposit of more than
eight hundred dollars under the flat rock
With true African cunning, he has selected
his own hiding-place, rejecting repeated prop¬
ositions to borrow it even at an interest of ten
per cent. His daughter, Loogy, is the only
person who shares the secret of its locality,
nor has he permitted her ever to visit the
spot since the first day he pointed it out to
her.
The history of old Gabriel's attempt to buy
himself is that of many of a similar effort on
the part of Southern slaves to become their
own purchasers. "Where they have kind and
liberal masters, it is much easier than it might
appear.
There are many situations in which an act¬
ive negro man may earn for himself two hun¬
dred dollars per annum, in ths intervals of
labor due to his owner. There are but few
places, especially in a cotton, tobacco, or
corn-growing region, where, by burning char¬
coal, manufacturing baskets, and cultivating
" truck-patches," seventy or eighty dollars a
year cannot be earned, while all that a slave
gains in this manner is his own money, with¬
out contest.
There is one incident connected with Ga¬
briel's affair which is interesting. Since he
has come to a knowledge of his daughter's
approaching maternity, he has determined to
expend six hundred dollars, the price that
Mr. Enloe has set upon her, and to buy her
first, so that her child may be born free I It is
true that at his age and with his growing in¬
firmities there is but little hope that he can
ever replenish the vault and liberate himself.
This is a painful thought, for he has lived
twenty years on the expectation, and he
would fain die free.
But his daughter is younger. Her price
now is much less than his, and much less
than it will be six months hence. So, after
consulting with Mr. Blote, he has decided on
this course, and next week will propose to
his master the purchase.
Chapter Second.
NIGHT OH A PLANTATION.—SEMODS DISASTEB.
, ROFOUND dark¬
ness has curtained
the plantation, and
the cold dews ot
a September night
are sprinkled upon
the snow-white cot¬
ton-fields that lie
before my window.
All is still except the foundered horse, un¬
happy Pompey, whose sepulchral groan oc¬
casionally arouses my pity; and a score of
those vile fowls, kept for eggs and noise,
whose name denotes them to be countrymen
to the negroes. These, as they occupy the
orchard trees, sustain a stream of melody, so
to speak, from dark to daylight. At, joyful
intervals their chorus subsides into a quar¬
tette, or even a trio, and my nervous head ex¬
periences a momentary relief.
O, how grateful is the change! Swiftly I
advance into the first degree of a good sleep.
I commence a series of blessed visions fresh
from " the chamber of imagery." An agree¬
able promise hovers around my bed, that the
feeble resident shall have new strength for
the morrow. But then an evil-hearted dog,
down at " the quarters," either astonished at
the cessation of sound in the orchard, or
haunted by some conscience of his own, or
prompted by a hankering to be heard while
there is opportunity, breaks out into a cracked
s
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
howl, each Guinea fowl starts up into life
again, and that excruciating sawing of their
throats commences. Bright visions fly my
couch, scared afar off by the discord. Sleep
leaves me to my own unhappy companionship.
The poor brain resumes its throbbing, and I
feel to envy Pompey, colic, founder, and all,
so that I but possessed his obtuseness of ear.
The houses of my hospitable entertainer,
Mr. Enloe, are so scattered as to occupy a
considerable space of ground. There is no
one of them, however, more than a story high.
" The ground site " here is nothing in point
of value. The great heat of the summer
so penetrates the thin roofs that but little use
could be made of upper apartments, if we
had them. Therefore, though there may be
more than a score of rooms occupied by the
various members of the family, they are all
on the ground floor.
The plan of constructing dwelling-houses
is tolerably uniform throughout the South,
being made with reference both to the exigen¬
cies of the climate and the nature of the ma¬
terials most easily procured. Two square
rooms, usually eighteen feet on a side, are set
three or four yards apart, and a long roof
drawn over the whole. The space between,
being floored on a level with the houses, con¬
stitutes what in sixteen States is termed " the
passage." The chimneys are at the ends, and
outside the houses. Other rooms are then con¬
structed, two on a side, by extending the
roof in the direction of its slopes; those are
termed " shed-rooms." If more cover is
needed, another set of apartments is com¬
menced a short distance off, and if architectu¬
ral taste inclines that way, a broad shelter is
extended over the whole. More commonly,
however, when family necessities demand
more than six or eight rooms, the others are
detached and occupied by the men and boys.
The " negro quarters " are usually a col¬
lection of detached cabins, each some twelve
or' fifteen feet square, and having its own
chimney, the whole group being at some dis¬
tance from the owner's mansion.
In the present instance, my bed is made in
one of the disconnected rooms, about twenty
steps from the main house, which is occupied
by Mr. Enloe and his family
The night is overclouded, with- a prospect
of rain. Here I lie, hour after hour, hoping^
longing, praying for sleep. Sound after
sound has died away in " the quarters," the
mansion, and the gin-house. The overseer,
with his loud voice, has ceased to issue his
mandates, and taken his late supper, hours
after everybody else, and has gone to bed in
the adjoining room. I can distinctly hear the
voice of his slumber, as if mocking the ghost
of mine.
The two lovers, whose seat has been at the
parlor window, not so far from me but what
I can occasionally hear their voices, have at
last yielded to the necessity of sleep, and
with many a tender word parted to their re¬
spective rooms.
So has object after object settled into its
place for the night, and nothing is left for me
but. the discords of the orchard and this weary
whirl of my own thoughts. O ! how inex¬
pressibly sweet comes the word of the Psalm¬
ist to my recollection—" He giveth his be¬
loved sleep," and how my soul longs to rank
among " his beloved," that I may have sleep.
Midnight comes, and with the stroke of its
coming, one, two, three, ring successively
upon the clock-wire in the parlor, and to my
weary ears they sound in the distance like a
death-watch ticking out my doom.
Suddenly I am aroused by some strange
noise, I know not what. I rise up hastily,
glad of any excuse to leave my bed, and seat
myself by the window, and welcome the cold
morning air upon my open bosom and burn¬
ing head.
The fowls become noisier than ever, all
hopes of quiet in that quarter being entirely
at an end.
The house-dogs, too, are aroused, perhaps
by the same object that startled me, and they
commence barking with all their might.
From the stables, poor Pompey sends out
his solemn groan, that denotes not a shadow
of relief.
• The parlor clock signals to me once more.
It is four, and another hour is day. As the
cheeripg thought couples itself with the
Divine promise, "Joy cometh with the
morning," and my mind expands under the
hope, I am startled by the figure of a person
rushing from the direction of the house, and
passing under my window almost within my
reach, toward the " quarters." I am certain
that I recognize it as the girl Loogy, and as
THE FAITHFUL SLA YE.
9
ehe passes me she gives utterance to a deep,
convulsive sob.
The dogs continue their noise, now taken
up by those belonging to all the plantations
around. The Guineas fly from their roost,
and awaken the other fowls. One aspiring
chanticleer trumpets forth his own misfortune
and the rest emulate his spirit.
The overseer, who has been uneasy for sev¬
eral hours lest he should sleep too late, rises,
lights the gin-house lantern, and, examining
his watch, announces the result by blowing the
plantation horn until all rings again.
In an instant, everything is aroused. The
negro men, who do not ordinarily divest
themselves of their garments to sleep, are at
once on their way to the stables to feed the
stock. The women light up their fires for
breakfast, and so the plantation day begins.
With the cold, frosty air, and the departure
of night, my nerves gain more composure. I
become gradually oblivious, not interrupted
until the breakfast-bell awakens me into life.
At the table I inquire for Loogy, intending
to question her as to the occurrence of the
night before, but she is absent, her young
mistress says, upon some household duty.
The care of the foundered Pompey occu¬
pies my thoughts for an hour or two. My
host has to make a trip to town to pay into
the county treasury a large sum of money he
has collected, and will not return till dinner¬
time. Mr. Blote takes the two little boys,
heavy with geography and grammar, to his
school-room, from whence they will not
emerge much before owl-time. The lovers
occupy the entire parlor, nor would they have
room for me in it were it ten times as big.
The good dame, amidst her kitchen and gar¬
den cares, cannot brook any interruption.
All these things conspire to throw me upon
my own resources for amusement. So, when
I am done with the groaning glutton at the
stable, I walk through the garden, audibly
admiring its arrangements and the abundance
of its contents, early or late, thereby advanc¬
ing myself a grade in the favor of Mrs. E.;
take a flying visit to the cotton-gin, where the
loud buzz denotes a rapid transfer of the
great Southern staple to an early market;
make a call upon the pickers in the field, who
are filling their large baskets ; and complete
my circuit with Pompey again.
2
In the midst of the fourth round, I catch
sight of Mr. Enloe returning home at full
gallop, the dusty lane filling up behind him
with clouds.
Is there a slave insurrection ? Have the
Murrell developments really come to a head ?
Knowing the staidness of my friend's char¬
acter, I am instantly persuaded there is some¬
thing serious, and return swiftly to the house.
Caroline is standing in the front window,
anxiously watching her father's approach,
while Mr. Colston leans on a chair a step
back. I am struck with his death-like pale¬
ness—such a contrast to the usual bloom of
his cheeks—and can but remark that while
he grasps the top of the chair in his hands,
his knees knock together as though unable to
bear his weight.
Some misunderstanding has doubtless
arisen between them. How silly are we to
permit such trifles to unman us !
As our host alights at the gate, we observe
that he does not stop to fasten his panting
horse, which hurries off with dangling rein
to the water-trough. He runs rather than
walks toward us, and springs up the three
steps into the passage with a single leap.
Ordering Caroline to summon her mother
from the garden, he goes into his private
apartment, where he is joined, a minute after,
by the two women. Then the door is closed,
and Mr. Colston and myself, who are listen¬
ing with the greatest anxiety, can hear the
sound of their feet hurrying to and fro, then
the moving of heavy' furniture, and after a
while a smothered scream and the voices of
the two women broken with sobs.
What mystery is this ? My agitation in¬
creases. I can with difficulty restrain myself
from intruding upon my old friend, if only
to share in the family grief. But as I pace
the room in my uneasiness, I cannot avoid
seeing that my companion has become more
composed, his joints more strengthened, while
his native color has returned to his cheeks.
Half an hour passes ; it seems to anx¬
ious friendship much longer, when Mr. Enloe
calls me with faint voice into his room. He
shuts the door carefully behind me, that he
may not be overheard, but, seated where I
am, I feel confident that Mr. Colston has
stealthily followed me, and that I see the
shadow of }iis feet in the passage.
10
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
Mr. Enloe has become strangely altered.
He seems years older than he was at the
breakfast-table. His wife is reclining upon
the sofa, her face hidden in a handkerchief.
Her daughter, pale but not so entirely aban¬
doned to grief, is speaking affectionate words
to arouse her. What mystery is in all this ?
My friend explains.
" My dear sir, I have met with a dreadful
loss. Last night I had twenty thousand dol¬
lars in my pocket-book, money belonging to
the State, and placed it securely, as I thought,
under my pillow. My business at town this
morning was to pay it to the county treasur¬
er, for whom I had collected it; but when I
entered his office there was nothing in the
pocket-book but a roll of waste paper! I am
ruined."
As soon as I can get words, under this
stunning blow, I inform Mr. Enloe of what
I had witnessed the night before, and suggest
that one of his servants, probably Loogy, has
committed the robbery.
" Impossible! " starts up my sweet young
friend, in a warm defence, " utterly impossi¬
ble ! Loogy will not steal. If it was done
by any of our negroes, it was not Loogy. I
would as soon think I had robbed pa mysslf."
We agree with the innocent-hearted girl,
that Loogy would not be likely to. take it of
her own accord, but then she might have
been put up to it by a second person. Such
things are frequently done. But no, Loogy
is innocent! Loogy would die before she
would steal! Has she not raised Loogy un¬
der her own eye, and would not the poor
creature do anything to exhibit her affection
for her ? And then she reminds her parents
how Loogy saved her life the year before,
when attacked by a rabid dog, and ends her
passionate defence of the waiting-maid by
proposing to bring her in at once and let her
establish her own innocence.
This js agreed to, and, pending her arrival,
I return to Mr. Colston, whom I find standing
quietly by the chimney, and inform him that
a serious accident has befallen the family,
which at present cannot be made public, and
suggest that under the present circumstances
he had better retire until evening.
He adopts my plan with unexpected cor¬
diality, and starts off at a quick pace. •
As he goes through the gate, he meets Car¬
oline, and in the whispered conference be¬
tween them, I have no doubt the dear girl
tells him the whole.
Loogy is next brought into the passage,
where we have now seated ourselves. But
Caroline's prediction concerning her is sadly
falsified, as her own disappointed look evin¬
ces. For instead of the gay, light-hearted
manner so natural to the house-maid, she was
found crying, so her young mistress admits,
and for a while positively refused to come to
the conference. Her fellow-servants testify
that she has been in tears ever since daylight,
and would not touch a morsel of breakfast.
All this has a suspicious look.
She comes before us trembling like a leaf.
She sinks down before us, her matronly
promise being plainer than before. She
clasps Mr. Enloe's feet tightly, and screams—
" O, Marser! O, Marser! I didn't tetch de
money—'twarn't I, 'deed 'twarn't!"
This is very bad indeed. No one has said
a word to her concerning the loss, yet she is
already cognizant of the fact. What now
avail all her wild declarations ? How can
even her young mistress, with all her maiden¬
ly faith, believe her denial ?
" O, Miss Carline, Miss Carline, 'twarn't I.
I didn't tetch it, 'deed I didn't. You doesn't
b'leeve I'd steal, Miss Carline, does you ? "
How can the weeping girl reply, save by
advising her to make a full confession, and
tell her master where she has put the money ?
On hearing this, the negro rises at once
from her abject posture, loses all her fear, and
gazes almost angrily upon Caroline. From
this, she glances around to each one of us in
turn—never did the sublimity of innocence
so light up human face before—casts her eyes
upward as if appealing to *that God who
knoweth the truth, however it may be hidden
from human knowledge, and then falls heav¬
ily forward in a fit.
The attack lasts through the whole day.
Physician after physician is summoned from
the neighboring settlements, hut with all their
skill it is night before Loogy is able to recog¬
nize her young mistress, who had hardly once
withdrawn that white arm from under her
neck all the while.
As soon as she can speak, she begs to be
left alone with Miss Caroline, hut this cannot
be permitted.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
11
" O, MAUSER ! O, MAUSER ! I DIDN'T TETCH DE MONET—'TWARN'T I, 'DEED 'TWARN'T."
Officers ha^come from town by this time,
to inquire why so large an amount of public
money, due this day, is delayed. And when
the startling intelligence is communicated to
them that it cannot be found, they insist that
no means shall be left untried to draw the se¬
cret from the reputed robber.
"The inquisition, during Loogy's swoon, has
only brought two facts to light; that the
tracks, which are still visible under my win¬
dow, are undoubtedly hers, and that the string
of coral beads which she has worn from
childhood has been found hanging upon a
limb in the orchard, torn off, beyond a doubt,
in her hasty flight from the house.
The grief of. old Gabriel, when informed
of the robbery and the suspicion that rests on
his daughter, although very sincere, is not
equal to his confidence in her innocence.
That confidence is really heart-touching. It
is useless to point out to him the damning
circumstances. He knew that Loogy wouldn't
steal; and had the money been found in her
hand, he could not be made to believe that
she took it.
At length his master becomes wearied with
his noisy demonstrations of grief, and orders
him out of the yard.
It is past midnight before the examination
is closed. Every means of intimidating the
negro girl and inducing her to make a con¬
fession has been resorted to, except force.
That is reserved for the last.
Loogy is excessively weak, for she has eat¬
en nothing for twenty-four hours. Her mind
has been shaken by the severity of the attack,
and this stormy scene quite takes away her
little remaining sense. She cannot weep;
12
THE FAITHFUL SLA YE.
she cannot answer the questions so frequently
and sternly put to her; she can only say,
with a monotonous repetition, but with a
voice low and mournful as that of a wind-
harp—
" 'Twarn't I, Miss Carline. I never tetched
it. 0, Miss Carline, 'deed 'twarn't I! "
My opinion relative to her guilt has un¬
dergone a partial change. At first, it seemed
certain that Loogy was the thief. But that
sublime look—it haunts me yet—which the
unsophisticated African girl cast to Heaven
when she discovered that even Caroline be¬
lieved her guilty, had shaken me. It was
truly a great mystery.
As I walked by starlight with the old teach¬
er, Mr. Blote, we revolved together every so¬
lution, probable Or improbable, that occurred
to our minds.
Mr Blote is-one of those old fashioned
New Englanders, whom we all recollect to
have known from our boyhood, who seem to
have been sent into this world expressly to
keep school
The species appears to be. always old, but
never older; and do not die or weary in their
vocation
We know of a score of such who helped
teach us our elements and combinations, and
will be as ready to handle the tools of the
trade when our grandchildren shoulder the
satchel, as they were in 1825.
Of this sort, Mr Blote is a burning and
shming light His own joy is in study, but
his great aim in study is that he may impart
knowledge. There is no science that he will
not undertake, if there is a fraction of a prob¬
ability of any one" calling upon him for it.
As a proof of this, I know he studied
thorough-base after he was turned of sixty,
because a pupil, who seemed to have a music¬
al gift, desired to acquire that lively branch.
I know, also, that he conquered the Arabic
and Syriac tongues from the same motives,
and, being called upon to instruct a young
half breed of the Choctaw tribe, he devoted a
twelvemonth's leisure to acquiring Choctaw,
at the imminent hazard of bronchitis, or
something worse, that he might have a more
direct way to young Yockmypataufy's mind.
His Saturdays and vacations go to Botany
and Geology, specimens in which encumber
all his rooms. Serpents are his bosom
friends, lizards his pets. His thermometer is
formed of spiders, his barometer of toads.
In short, he indulges in all the ludibria of
science.
Such is Mr. Blote's erudition. His native
shrewdness, not to be smothered in all this
nonsense, is generally prized by his neigh¬
bors that the greater part of those petty dis¬
putes which constitute the seeds of the minor
lawsuits of a community are committed to
his judgment by the parties disputant, and
what is more remarkable, his decisions are
received with general approbation.
"Walking together, as I have said, under
the midnight sky, we reconsider every aspect
in which this mysterious affair has been
turned toward us. That the girl was aware
of the Jobbery before it came to our knowl
edge cannot be doubted, but neither of us be¬
lieve that she was the principal agent in the
affair, though the facts even at that make
against her. She certainly knew who the thief
was, and ought to be compelled to confess it.
I have neglected to say that Loogy's hus¬
band, Tom, a slave upon the adjoining plan¬
tation, was taken up immediately upon dis¬
covering the loss of Mr. Enloe's money, it
being reasonably supposed that the girl had
entrusted him with it.
No information, however, has been gained
from him, and he is now confined, until fur¬
ther orders, in one of the apartments of his
owner's house.
To my surprise, Mr Blote, after a brief di
gression upon the probable distance of the
dog-star, advances the idea of somnambulism.
"If it could be ascertained," he says,
" that Mr. Enloe or his wife has ever been
accustomed to sleep-walking, what is there
incredible in the notion of his removing the
money to some other place ? Many such
memorabilia are upon record. Were such the
case, it would be proper to keep a watch over
him for several nights, in hopes that he would
return to the place of deposit."
" But how should Loogy have known of
it 1" I ask, in my perplexity
However, we get the overseer's advice on
this head, and, receiving his approbation—
though, it must be admitted, rather coolly,
for Mr. Allansby had no idea of anything
more effectual than the lash—we set a watch
upon my friend's apartment.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
13
I may as well dispose of this topic by add¬
ing here that this guard was maintained, by
the assistance of gentlemen from the vicinity,
for a week, but no one moved in his sleep
further than from one side of the bed to the
other, and this notable scheme died without
fruit.
I should have said before that Mr. Colston
returned to Mr. Enloe's in time for supper.
I scarcely know why I watched him so close¬
ly, but I was sure there was something weighty
on his mind. The uneasy manner of his eye,
which I observed before, seemed to have in¬
creased. Sometimes a gayety, as% artificial as
could be manufactured, would buoy him up
for a few minutes; then he relapsed entirely
into silence. Could it be that he was men¬
tally calculating the value of his betrothed,
now that her fortune was gone at a single
blow 1 It was too bad to believe.
He took much interest in the examination
of Loogy, and, like the rest of us, asked her
many questions. I was standing close to her
when he 'commenced this, and was struck
with her peculiar manner of receiving it.
She had been lying on a blanket in the
parlor, her eyes closed, and seemingly uncon¬
scious of all that was said to her. At inter¬
vals, those monotonous words of denial—" O,
Miss Carline, 'deed 'twarn't I, Miss Carline !
I never tetched it, 'deed I didn't," could be
beard, but rather as the result of her own
thoughts, than in response to our interroga¬
tories.
But when Mr. Colston first spoke to her,
she opened her eyes, stared at him a moment,
then at her young mistress, who was holding
her cold hands, and raised herself up as if
about to speak. The rest of us leaned eager¬
ly forward to catch her words. But then, to
our disappointment, she changed her inten¬
tion, whatever it had been, sunk back upon
the blanket, and only reiterated those listless
words.
After midnight we separated, with the un¬
derstanding that nothing more could be done
for the present. Mr. Enloe returned to town
with the officers to take legal advice. The
money which had been so mysteriously ab¬
stracted from under his pillow was secured to
government by responsible endorsers, so that
not only was his own fortune involved, so far
as it would reach, but much of the property
of his friends would be sacrificed to supply
the deficiency.
It may appear strange to some that this
large plantation, and the gang of slaves that
worked it, should aot be able to cover a de¬
ficit of twenty thousand dollars. But the
fact is, few planters in Mississippi, fifteen
years ago, were really worth half the property
in their hands. The late bank inflations,
which had given an unhealthy impetus to all
kinds of monetary enterprises, placed much
in men's hands only to take it away again,
with large interest.
Mr. Enloe had dabbled in various specula¬
tions, like the other gentlemen of his stand¬
ing, and lost much property. That which re¬
mained in his possession was largely encum¬
bered, and sold at the point of law would not
leave him more than twelve thousand dollars
to pay this debt of twenty.
This was bad enough, but there was another
thing which weighed heavily upon his mind
that night.
Mr. Enloe was a stern partisan. None .had
been more prone to attribute evil motives to
his opponents than himself. None had more
unscrupulously employed the filthy means too
often employed by political hacks. He was
even now a candidate for the Legislature, and
the strife was unprecedented in violence, even
in that fervid land. How his enemies would
revenge themselves in his present misfortune !
How they would gall his' sensitive spirit!
And when it was charged upon him, as it cer¬
tainly would be, that instead of being robbed
by others, he had in reality defrauded the gov¬
ernment out of this large sum to pay his own
liabilities, how much worse than a gun-shot
would the missiles of slander wound his
heart!
II
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
Chapter Third.
MYSTERIOUS ROBBERS'.—EXAMINATION UNDER THE LASH.
UST let the reader ac¬
company, us in fancy to
the corner of " the new
ground," a little before
sunrise, the day after the
discovery of the robbery.
The cool air and the
night-dews have brought
relief to the vegetation perched under yester¬
day's sun, and there is now a d'eep green upon
the dense corn that reminds us of early spring.
The last raccoon has left the enticing field,
and takes his place for the day in some hol¬
low tree, his snug abode. The birds are call¬
ing to one another from the thickets, the
earliest of them already upon the wing.
Looking up the lane toward Mr. Enloe's
mansion, we see the form of old Gabriel
shuffling along in his heavy, awkward way
toward us. He has got permission from the
stern overseer to absent himself to-day from
plantation labor.
As the bands of pickers pass him, their
baskets lightly poised upon their heads, on
their way to the cotton-patch, they can easily
see that the old hostler is weeping. His dis¬
tress at his daughter's situation has moved
even the severe heart of Mr. Allansby, hence
this unaccustomed favor.
Gabriel walks this morning with a staff.
Has the sorrow of a single day thus unnerved
him 1
Who can lightly speak of the feelings of
this degraded race, when we see in them such
evidences of holy grief ? *
As he approaches us, we can Tnliaf him, in
the usual manner of an African slave, talking
to himself about his troubles. In the inter¬
vals of his sobs, he utters such broken words
as these:—
" Never did it. Sooner'd b'leeve I did it
myself. Loogy'll die 'fore she'll own it.
You'll see it. Poor gal! De lash will kill
her. You'll see it. Dead already, I reckon."
In this slow, unhappy way he came down
to the spot where he had left the road on a
former occasion. But, instead of taking the
same precautions to guard against espionage,
he appeared utterly careless as to who might
see him.
He turned slowly into the thicket;'nervous¬
ly twitched at a vine that had drawn itself
before him, then angrily drew out his knife
and cut it in two.
In the same way he 'severed the branches
and briers that came in his way, until his path
was so marked that a blind man could well
nigh trace it up.
. The old negro indeed seemed to be partially
deranged. His hat fell off, but he would not
stoop to pick it up, yet he delayed long
enough upon his way to fill his pockets with
hazle-nuts. He lost his knife, but regarded
it not. He muttered to himself with closed
eyes, and repeated the words, which express
I the burden of his grief:—
" Poor gal! Tort she'd be free next week.
De lash will kill 'em both. You'll see it."
Thus delaying, and sobbing, and muttering,
it is a good while before he reaches the place
of his deposit. Can he believe his own eyes ?
Is he dreaming 1 What new evil is this ?
The stone lies flat in the bottom of the ravine, and
the money is gone !
The aged African staggers breathlessly
against the bank, and well nigh loses his sens¬
es. Recovered a little, he takes a second
glimpse, and then such a scream, such an un¬
earthly cry as his lungs give forth, how shall
it be conveyed to the reader's knowledge ?
Again he reclines against the bank, for he
feels as if his heart would never resume its
beating. Nor does it, until several minutes
elapse, and he has exercised a powerful effort
of his will to preserve himself from a swoon.
Already weakened by a whole night's emo¬
tion, he finds it necessary to leave the fatal
spot, and totters down the ravine to the creek.
Here he bathes his whole head for a long
time in the refreshing waters, shuddering to
see himself looking so wild and fierce.
He returns to the cavity more resigned,
with better eyesight- and recovered strength.
Perhaps, after all, some animal has broken
down the flat stone—the stock often wander
up these gullies in search of salted earth, to
whidh their appetite greatly inclines them—
and the money may, after all, be hidden un¬
der the loose soil that has fallen to the bottom.
So he goes back with a little hope. But a
single glance dashes down the hope, and ris¬
ing erect, with something fluttering in his
hand, he screams even more wildly than be¬
fore.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
15
It is a handkerchief, one of the coarse, red
bandannas so much fancied by the black
women, and the eld man. recognizes it as
the one worn by his daughter!
Unhappy Gabriel! what means that ges¬
ture—those wild blows upon your throat—
those eager glances around you, as though
you were seeking for a weapon of death?
Fortunately for your soul's peace hereafter,
the knife which was in your hand this morn¬
ing has been dropped in the thicket, and you
cannot commit suicide.
No. old man, you cannot die yet. But
you can reach the divine ear with those ag¬
onized screams. You can excite the sympa¬
thy of invisible watchers by those distracted
gestures. You can lie there, groaning on
that damp earth, and although no man marks
your distress, the eye of God marks it.
All becomes quiet again, at least outwardly,
for Gabriel has no room for further surprise.
No, although, the marks of naked feet in the
earth are hers, though the imprint of fingers
upon the bank are hers, he can suffer no
greater grief now, but seeks his staff, and hid¬
ing the handkerchief in his bosom, drags
himself away from the spot—cruel, ungrate¬
ful daughter, how have you fixed that spot
in his memory!—nor once halts nor looks
back until he reaches the quarters.
At the risk of confusing the reader's mind
with the order of events, I add here that the
room in which Tom, Loogy's husband, is con¬
fined, was broken open the subsequent night,
and it is found that both Gabriel and Tom
have run away. Every effort was made, as
we shall see in a future chapter, to recover
them A professional negro-catcher was em¬
ployed, who exhausted the whole instinct of
his dogs in vain. Rewards to the amount of
one hundred and fifty dollars each were blaz¬
oned forth in all the journals of the vicinity.
Qflers cf full pardon were sent them through
their fellow servants, for it is considered that
the absence of Tom, at least, is connected
with the robbery.
But all is in vain- The means were ex¬
hausted, and as it is quite an impossibility for
a runaway negro to reach a free State from
so distant a region, it was finally concluded
that the pair had been drowned in attempting
to cross some water-course.
Let us return to Mr, Enloe's house.
The proprietor, with the county sheriff and
a large party of his political friends, has
come back from town about nine o'clock to re¬
sume the inquisition into the robbery. There
is that in Mr. Enloe's look which speaks of
despair. He whispers aside to me, while his
companions are fastening their horses to the
rack, that he apprehends the worst.
Again Loogy is brought forward for exam¬
ination, but this time the affair is in sterner
hands than Mr. Enloe's.
The gentle Caroline, who has attended her
anxiously through the night, and induced her
both to eat and to sleep, is forbidden now to
remain with her.
"When she protests against this cruelty, the
sheriff, a large, ill-favored man, softening his
voice before her as though she were his own
dear daughter, assures her that her father's
honor and the honor of his family depend
upon this morning's work, and he must go
through it his own way without interruption.
So she retires, weeping, in the company of
her mother, to a distant apartment.
The negro girl is permitted to sit with us
on a chair in the parlor, while the examina¬
tion goes on. Every one speaks kindly to
her (such is the plan laid down to us in pri¬
vate by the sheriff), and a glass of sweetened
spirits administered before any questions are
asked her. The stimulus brings new light to
her eyes, while the kindness of the company,
so forcibly contrasted with the severity of
their language yesterday, gives her much
courage.
But a change has taken place in the appear¬
ance of the poor girl. Her firm breasts, that
had given such healthful indications of ap¬
proaching maternity, seemed flaccid beneath
their scanty covering, and her general con¬
dition is greatly advanced. Unfortunate
cieature ! The experience of years has pass¬
ed over her in a single night. The light-
hearted girl is suddenly transformed into a
suffering woman, with worse than a woman's
"lot.
When. the experienced sheriff observes
from her eye that the stimulus has taken ef¬
fect, he begins the examination by asking her
a few' unimportant questions relative to her
ordinary work—how she likes to weave—how
many knots a day she can spin, and the like.
Turning with considerable ingenuity to the
16
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
subject of the robbery, he goes on to inform
her that Mr. Enloe has lost a great deal of
money lately, and will have to sell his negroes
unless he can find it again.
Loogy sits smiling under the influence of
the Spirits, and at the end of each sentence
nods her head in token of assent.
The officer observes that everybody knows
how full of jokes she, Loogy, is, and that
they have had a good laugh together to think
that she should go into her master's room
when he was asleep, and take his money away,
just to have some fun with it.
At this, the negro grows somewhat ner¬
vous, but when the whole company of us
burst into a preconcerted laugh, she relaxes
her gravity, smiles, and again nods her head.
The sheriff goes a little further, and *says
that Mr. Enloe is afraid the money may be
lost if she keeps it any longer; and he tells
her an amusing story of how a rat once car¬
ried off his pocket-book and gnawed it at one
end, and to convince her of the fact, he holds
it up before her, and shows her that it is
really injured, as he says.
No signs of intelligence follow, but there
is a slight aif of anxiety on her face at the
entrance of Mr. Colston, who has just ar¬
rived.
" Tell us, then, my good girl," asked the
sheriff, coaxingly, " is your master's money
put away where the rats can get it 1"
But Loogy answers not.
" Tom hasn't got it, has he ? " imprudently
inquires that individual's master, who is with
us.
" 0, no, no, no!" stammered the girl.
" Tom didn't tetch it, sir; 'deed he didn't."
The sheriff takes a large chew of tobacco,
glances at Mr. Enloe with a half-smile, as
much as to say—we shall come to it present¬
ly, if you'll all be patient, and then draws
from his saddle-bags a splendid pattern of
Alpacca. He opens it, so as to show the col¬
ors, and laying it in Loogy's lap, says, in his
kindest manner—
" Here is a dress I've bought for you,
Loogy. See how pretty the flowers, are !"
With a true feminine love for ornament,
the negro Holds up the piece, gazes delighted¬
ly upon the figures, and wraps it around her,
as if mentally calculating the quantity and
the effect.
" And here," continued the officer, archly
smiling, and speaking no^y in a half-whisper,
as though he did not wish for us to hear him,
" here is something for the baby."
And then he draws out a necklace, made of
the large gold beads coveted more than any
other ornament by the blacks.
It is really a magnificent present, for it has
been bought that morning for the purpose, at
a cost of thirty dollars, while the Alpacca
was valued at more than two dollars a yard.
So important does he think it to propitiate
the girl's will.
" Something for the baby, Loogy," whispers
the sheriff, and lays the glittering necklace
upon the splendid cloth. " Your baby will
have the finest necklace in all the land."
How touching is the expression of that
young face, lit up by the prophetic impulses
of a mother's love ! She gathers up the gold
beads in her hand so as to conceal them, and
turns her face away as though the subject
were too tender for speech.
" And, now, Loogy," continues the sheriff,
"you must go with your master and hand
him back his money before the rats gnaw it.
Come, Loogy, get up and go. Your master
is ready to go with you."
But Loogy sits still, looks earnestly around
her, and answers not a word.
" O, you needn't be afraid of the overseer,"
dextrously suggests the sheriff. " He shall
never know where you put it, at all. And he
shall never strike you a single blow for what
you have done. You won't whip Loogy, Mr.
Allansby, will you ? "
Mr. Allansby declares, with as much amenity
as he can throw into his face at short notice,
that such a joke as hiding that money is too
good for a whipping. He pledges his word
to her, confirming the promise by throwing
his whip out of the window, and giving her
several pieces of money, that he will never
strike her a blow on account of it.
The rest of us imitate his example, make
her presents of money, laugh uproariously at
the excellent joke, praise her costly presents,
and promise that we won't follow her.
" Come, now, Loogy; go with your master
and get the money."
Mr. "Enloe rose, walked to the door, looked
smilingly back, and invited her to follow him.
But the act called up to her mind all the
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
It
realities of her situation. The smile fled
from her face and the light from her eye.
She dropped the splendid fabric upon the
floor; her hands "opening, set free the neck¬
lace and the money we had given her. She
falls on her knees, and with a loud, terrified
voice repeats the declaration so often made
before—
" I didn't tetch it, Marser; 'deed I didn't."
The disappointment is general and severe.
The sheriff breaks out into a fierce oath,
even in. spite of himself, and the overseer
echoes it fervently.
An expression of anger goes around the
circle as Mr. Enloe returns to his seat.
After a hurried consultation, carried on* in
whispers between himself and the officer, he
takes the lead in the second scheme that had
been proposed to win the grand secret.
He approaches the girl, now weeping and
sobbing as though her heart would break,
takes her chilly hand in his, and begs her—
the master condescending to the humblest
supplications before his slave—he begs her
for God's sake to give him back his money.
He tells her, with the most solemn appeals,
that the loss of it will utterly ruin him—will
force him to sell his plantation, to sell his
servants, one and all, who will be sent off to
the sugar-plantations, and scattered far apart,
never to see each other any more—that the
money her father has been saving up to buy
her freedom will not be half enough now—
that his loss will oblige him to take his little
boys from school and put them to the hoe-han¬
dle—will oblige her dear young mistress to
leave home and go out to work for a living—
will cause him, her master, who has raised her
and-always been kind to her, and is now so
willing to make her free and make her hap¬
py, to be looked upon in his old age as a
thief, and driven out of good society, and die
a miserable man!
He promises her everything calculated to
win a negro's heart—her freedom, the free¬
dom of her husband, Tom, a handsome cabin,
with good furniture all to herself. Nothing
that occurred to his experienced mind, in the
way of lure, was forgotten.
It was utterly useless ; all this humiliation
and profusion of promise were as nothing.
Loogy wept. Loogy sobbed. Loogy fell
on her knees as before, and embraced his
3
feet. But she could not be tempted to make
any other response to his earnest entreaties
than the words—
" 'Deed, Marser I didn't tetch it, 'deed I
didn't."
Then exclaims the sheriff, his ill-favored
face glaring up with the same look that had
inflamed it when he joined the year before in
a death-grapple with one of Murrell's stout¬
est desperadoes, then says the furious officer—
" Take her to the whipping-post! The
money shall come, or she shall die under the
lash !»
Will the reader pardon me a short digres¬
sion here, even though it may appear to be
apologetic. I have utterly failed in making
myself understood, if I have not cleared up
these two points—that the negro girl knows
what disposition has been made of this im¬
mense booty, even if she is not the real rob¬
ber, and that the whole fortune and the social
standing of Mr. Enloe depend upon its re¬
covery.
Not one in the room, at least it appears so
to me, has the shadow of a doubt but what
Loogy took the money and handed it to some
second person. No clue has yet been gained
as to who that second person is.
The man Tom (a very honest, pious negro,
by the way) has been again interrogated since
daylight, and his whereabouts during the
whole night of the robbery so accurately
traced up, that although he is still kept in
durance, it is only to hinder him from com¬
municating with his fellow-servants until the
examination of Loogy is ended, and not that
any one believes him guilty either before or
after the fact.
Now the question with those deeply-inter¬
ested individuals is, shall this stubborn girl
be permitted to remain silent when so much
depends on her testimony ? If she did flot
take the money, who did? If she has not
concealed it, who has ? To these reasonable
inquiries the prisoner has given no reply.
The sheriff himself is a surety upon Mr.
Enloe's bonds for several thousand dollars ;
nearly every other man in the room is pecu¬
niarily involved in this affair. Is it a matter
of surprise, then, that extreme measures sug¬
gest themselves to their minds ? Let the
reader divest himself of prejudice, and reply.
There is another circumstance which, adds
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
■ „—
A. BROVJN, DEL*
"the blow falls, cutting like a knife-blade through hee flimsy chemise."
interest to this examination. It is but a
short time since the horrid developments of
the Murrell conspiracy came to light, which
are doubtless familiar to my readers. Every
community in Mississippi has its fears upon
this head, for several attempts at insurrection
among the servile population have been
checked in the bud, and others are yet trem¬
blingly anticipated.
The old sheriff has been actively engaged
for several months in ferreting those things
out. Some mysterious robberies have oc¬
curred recently in his own county, and he
believes them to have been committed by the
Murrell band, whose ramifications are sup¬
posed to pervade every class of society.
Under this state of excitement, and con¬
sidering the mysterious nature of the present
affair, he has naturally associated it with the
others.
The whipping-post, which is the smooth
trunk of a cherry-tree, selected for the occa¬
sion, has received ' its victim, and the over¬
seer stands with his heavy whip ready to
strike.
My heart sinks within me.. I would fain
fly, but stand still, fascinated, as it were, hop¬
ing yet doubtfully that the girl will make a
confession before the lash should fall.
The sheriff has put on an air of determina¬
tion that brooks no farther gentleness or de¬
lay.
The plantation physician has held a con¬
sultation with Mr. Enloe. The conclusion
which he expresses, as he turns to the gate,
unwilling to witness the scene, may be in¬
ferred from his words, which barely reach my
ears—
" Not more than ten or twelve, Mr. Enloe,
and I can't answer for that."
Poor Loogy! How well for you had you
carried your little burden, yet unborn, to an
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
19
earlier grave. As she raises lier head from
its drooping posture and glances appealingly
toward the apartment to which the ladies
have retired, there is a shadow on it that
agonizes my heart to behold. Heaven grant
she may yet confess.
" And now, you cursed thief! " hisses the
overseer, in his most repulsive manner, " tell
me where's the money—quick, or I'll cut
your back into slivers ! Where is it? "
" I hain't got it, sir, 'deed I hain't! 0, tell
Miss Carline to come to me ! "
"You'll never see your Miss Caroline
again if you don't tell me where's that mon¬
ey. I'll cut you all to pieces, and then sell
you to the nigger-trader. Where's the mon¬
ey ? "
" 'Deed, sir, I don't know, 'deed I don't!"
The blow falls, cutting like a knife-blade
through the flimsy chemise, which for de¬
cency's sake has been left upon her back.
She screams, until the woods ring again.
An answering scream is heard from the la¬
dies.
The negroes in the cotton-patch—we can
distinctly see them from where we stand—
stop their work, raise themselves up, and
look toward us; then the women toss their
arms wildly above their heads.
" Where is it ? " again demands the over¬
seer. " Tell me, you d—d thief, before I
strike again! "
" Do you know who took it ? " interrupts
the sheriff, observing how earnestly she watch¬
es the upraised lash.
" Yes, yes, Marser, but I didn't tetch it! "
is the reply, extorted, beyond doubt, by the
extremity of her pain. " I didn't tetch it,
'deed I didn't!"
Down comes the lash a second time, and
again the thin cotton fabric is cut in two and
tinged with blood. Her piteous cries are
answered as before, and then the door of the
ladies' apartment flies violently open, and
Caroline, tearing herself from her mother's
hands, runs to us.
There has been an earnest strife between
them, the one to restrain, the other to escape.
The daughter has gained her desire, and is
with us in an instant. She answers Loogy's
welcoming words.' She throws those lovely
arms around her neck and kisses her affec¬
tionately as though she were her own sister.
And when the overseer takes her hand to lead
her away, she vows that they may strike her,
but they shall not again touch poor Loogy.
No, no ! She promises that to the writhing,
bleeding creature, and she will perform it.
The scene has become too affecting. My
heart is sick. I cannot bear to remain a
spectator any longer, and walk rapidly away.
Chapter Fourth.
THE NEGRO-CATCHER AND HIS DOGS.—SALE OF THE
SLAVE.—BREAKING UP.
O precarious was the situ¬
ation of my horse, Pom-
pey, that even though I
had not believed my pres¬
ence very welcome at Mr.
Enloe's house at this time
of distress, I should have
tarried yet another day.
" His stomach is distress¬
ingly thin ; he is not able yet to walk to the
water-trough without support, and stands all
day long a striking and pitiful monument of
the sad effects of gormandizing. It is to be
hoped he will never forget his sufferings, or
be guilty of a similar offence.
When I return to the house, after the pain¬
ful scene described in the last chapter, I am
informed that Loogy was released at the
prayer of Caroline, and a last effort made
(and made under the clear understanding that
unless she acknowledges her share of the
fatal secret she should be sold to the negro-
trader) to conquer her obstinacy. *
But the pleadings of her young mistress
were as fruitless as the persuasions of the
others. She would do no more than admit
that she knew who stole the money, but
couldn't say where it was now, and would
confess nothing.
The party returned late to town, and if the
general expression of their countenances was
a fair criterion of their thoughts, they had
resigned themselves to the severe necessity
of paying the heavy debt.
On the next morning the discovery is made
of the escape of Gabriel and Tom, rationally
supposed to have run away in each other's
company.
This circumstance affords an apparent
clue to the tangled skein, for no other motive
20
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
can be assigned for their departure just at this
crisis, except that they have an interest in
the concealment of the money.
Old Gabriel had not informed any person
except Tom of his own loss, and it is sup¬
posed that he took his deposit with him. So,
after an early breakfast, the whole settlement
starts out in pursuit.
I have notified my readers in the last chap¬
ter that this pursuit was unsuccessful, but the
sketch of a slave hunt may be interesting;
sufficiently so, at least, for an episode.
After the first superficial search, embracing
the out-houses and neighboring woods, to
which escaped slaves often direct their steps,
a messenger is sent for Obin Sanford, the
negro-catcher,"and his dogs.
Obin is a lank, unhealthy-looking creature,
of the grayhound stock, who lives in a small
hut by the cane-brake, and pursues this rath¬
er disreputable calling for a support. His
domestic life, smothered in a cloud of mias¬
ma, and half the time surrounded by the bay¬
ou-water, accounts for his sallow hue, while
the flavor from his lungs explains the scarla¬
tina of his nose.
Obin is laboring at this present under a
chronic a.ttack of chills and fever, but fortu¬
nately it is a tertian, and he has two good
days to go upon. His dogs, five in number,
really seem to be what no recorded dogs
ever were before, ashamed of good company.
They hang their long, bony heads as low as
a serpent trails his. They crouch around
Obin's feet, nor by any inducement can they
be persuacfed to eat a morsel on the plantation.
This latter peculiarity Obin explicates by
saying that he never allows them to touch a
bite from any man's hand but his own.
Would he add, nor from his own, neither, it
would better account for their excessive thin¬
ness in the region of the stomach.
This Obin Sanford is the famous " nigger-
catcher," who, for five dollars a head, guaran¬
tees to find any runaway, if he can have no¬
tice within two days of his departure.
Obin's first demand is of course for some¬
thing alcoholic to drink; his second is for
articles of clothing belonging to the deserters.
Those of Tom's are easily found, for Loogy
has them all safely locked up in her little red
chest; but old Gabriel is too experienced a
hand to leave a rag behind him. lie knows
too well with what certainty a negro dog can
catch a trail, and he has burnt all his ward¬
robe to ashes except the articles taken with
him, even to his last winter's shoes. Howev¬
er, the hoe that he ordinarily used in the gar¬
den will answer the same purpose, after all.
It is found and placed before the dogs, and
great interest it seems to excite among them.
They sniff at it long and delightedly, as
though it were perfumed with the very co¬
logne of Farina. Then they hold a confer¬
ence on one side, the old white hound pre¬
siding, until they harmonize in sentiment as
to the particular flavor represented in it.
This being satisfactorily settled, the bundle
from the little red chest is next brought for¬
ward, containing Tom's shoes, coat, and other
garments, and their opinion requested on that.
A similar conference begins, but does not,
however, lead to a similar result.
The dogs appear to be puzzled. They re¬
turn again and again, sometimes one by him¬
self, sometimes two or three together, but
somehow they cannot harmonize. The old
white hound made up her opinion at the first
sniff, and she stands to it, like one conscien-
tous juryman among eleven hungry ones.
She lies down behind the horse-block, declar¬
ing, most positively, that she will not change
her views on any consideration whatever.
The bystanders call upon Obin Sanford
for an explanation. This gentleman has
been redeeming the time by eating some
water-melons that the lads had gathered and
brought in from the patch, and he really
seems to be the only disinterested man in the
party.
When informed of the difficulty his canine
friends labor under, he draws his long jack-
knife of a body straight out, and, looking at
the pile of clothes, suggests that possibly
somebody's else has got mixed with them.
Sure enough, his idea, compounded as it is
of whisky and water-melons, is correct. The
clothes had been tied up in Loogy's own
handkerchief, as old Pink, the white hound,
informs us, and upon the removal of that she
readily consents, the other dogs concurring,
to open the hunt. So, taking a parting sniff
at the hoe-handle to freshen their memories,
the whole pack follow their master to " the
quarters," and begin forthwith upon Gabriel's
track.
This leads, as had been anticipated, to the
dwelling of the neighboring planter, Tom's
master, and directly under the room in which
Tom had been confined. There the dogs
recognize Tom's flavor, open a series of grat¬
ified howls, and dash off at full speed in pur¬
suit.
Had not the runaways been directed by one
familiar with all the tricks of woodcraft, they
could not have bafiled that pursuit for an
hour. For the dogs, with noses breast high,
raced through the cotton-patch and through
the hazle-thicket with as much ease and al¬
most as much speed as a locomotive upon its
iron path. But Gabriel remembered his ex¬
perience of younger days, and most severely
did he put their canine skill to the test.
At the first creek which the fugitives had
crossed, the dogs lost several hours regaining
the scent; for the old hostler had only gone
over so as to touch the opposite bank and
confuse the trail, then, returning, had swung
I by a long vine to the hither side and followed
I its course for a great distance.
A small lake, dotted here and there with
hammocks, that the runaways had used for
steps, cost the pursuers another tedious de¬
lay. Passing this, the negroes had found a
flock of. sheep in the woods, and, driving these
before them, they were enabled by this means
to disguise their scent so effectually that it
was the second day before the dogs got
through that difficulty.
By this time the foot-marks were getting
very indistinct, even to the instinct of old
Pink. She became low-spirited and sullen,
as well she might be; for never had her pow¬
ers been so mcfcked before; and that day
yielded no discoveries.
Upon the next, Obin took his tertian,
slightly aggravated, perhaps, by the two or
three water-melons he had indulged in at
every house, and then the party who had ac¬
companied him returned home discouraged.
22
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
There are so many means in the possession
of a runaway, that it is wonderful how they
suffer themselves to be so readily taken.
Those employed by Gabriel are amongst the
simplest on record. I have known an expert
"negro to "lie out" for a twelvemonth, in
sight of his master's plantation, fed daily by
his master's slaves, clothed comfortably from
his master's stock, and thoroughly hunted at
least once a week by the enraged overseer,
who well knew that the slave was lurking
about, but couldn't find his hiding-place. In
such a case, there is no secresy in,the world
so complete as that of the fellow-servants to¬
ward one another. Such a thing as treachery
is unprecedented.
Let us return to Mr. Enloe.
Other conferences have been held, both at
his house and at the county town. The
question as to the legal responsibility has
been settled by the highest authority in the
State, and it only remains for my friend, like
an honorable man as he is, to resign his prop¬
erty into the hands of tlie civil officers.
There is an abundance of sympathy offered
him by those who know his stern integrity,
and who pity him for his misfortunes, and, to
the credit of humanity be it said, not a few
offers of aid.
The latter, however, consist principally in
endorsements of credit, in case he should
think proper to commence a mercantile busi¬
ness ; for it was a time of great monetary
embarrassments, and few of his friends were
able at the time to meet their own current de¬
mands.
But sympathy is precious in a season of
distress, and so Mr. Enloe felt it. The other
proffers he declined, declaring that he had
injured his friends sufficiently already, and
would henceforth rely solely upon his own
efforts.
But a severe blow was in reserve for him.
Our worst anticipations relative to the use his
political enemies would make of his misfor¬
tunes were realized. The newspapers of the
opposite party went so far in the excitement
of the campaign as to accuse him of dishon¬
esty, and to call him a rogue.
Being at the time a candidate for the State
Legislature, he was charged upon the stump
with an attempt to defraud the government,
and although he triumphantly refuted the
slander by proving that he had assigned over
every dollar of his property, yet the very
charge broke him down. It cost him his
election, and took away that elasticity of
mind which had buoyed him up thus far.
I grieve to add, that for a little while the
strong man lost all hope, and, taking to dissi¬
pation, remained for a week stupidly drunk,
to the great grief of his family, and the scan¬
dal of his friends. This cost him an expul¬
sion from his church.
Ashamed of this, and perhaps won over by
the two affectionate women whose hearts
were like his heart, he swore with hand upon
the Book of Books to do so no more, and he
kept his vow.
A faithful friend, formerly his partner in
some mercantile transactions, came to his re¬
lief at this crisis, and secured for him a land
agency, which, besides yielding a liberal sal¬
ary, afforded him that which most of all he
needed, mental and physical employment.
All these occurrences, the reader must un¬
derstand, were compressed within a month of
the time of the robbery.
But we are getting on too fast.
The first act of the drama of breaking up
was the sale of Loogy.. This, the reader will
admit, was but an act of retributive justice.
The legal title to the girl was really vested in
Caroline, but, upon understanding her fath¬
er's condition, that excellent young woman
unhesitatingly offered up, not only her wait¬
ing-maid, but three other slaves that had been
presented to her as successive New Years'
gifts, and he had accepted them to save the
honor of the family.
The reader must not suppose that any
means of persuasion or intimidation, save
the lash, had been untried to win the secret
from the girl. Caroline had scarcely ceased
to importune her night or day, but always
with the same want of success. The secret
seemed destined to die with her.
I happened to be at Mr. Enloe's house on
the morning the trader came to remove
Loogy, and as I have not spared the reader
any of the melancholy, scenes of this history,
I will also describe this.
Mr. Derricks, the " nigger-trader," as his
class is technically styled, is quite a different
man in outward show to what a person would
suppose from his calling. It has been his
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
annual task for twenty years to visit Virgin-
ia, purchase a company of twenty or thirty
slaves of different sizes and sexes, and con¬
duct them to Mississippi for sale.
The difference in price between the two lo¬
calities is so considerable, and Mr. Derrick's
eye so critical in the selection of his merchan¬
dize, that his profits have made him rich—as
rich, folks say, as he ought to be. Perhaps
his opinion upon this coincides with theirs
about as nearly as could be expected. Nev¬
ertheless, he continues to take his fall trip to
the North, more from habit, he declares, than
anything else; still brings his well-chosen
company to his own plantation first, whence,
after feeding and clothing them for a month,
to their manifest improvement, he disposes
of them amongst his various customers, and
still adds a few annual thousands to his cash
in bank.
It is this man, who so well knows the mar¬
ket value of a negro girl in Loogy's situation,
to whom she has been sold, with the special
proviso, however, that she is to go to the
sugar-plantations in Louisiana.
The sugar-plantations !—that threat preg¬
nant with all that is dreadful to the mind of
the slave !—that term suggestive of driving
labor, scanty food, restricted society, depriva¬
tion of Sabbath privileges, and early death!—
that idea which to the negro brings separation
from his friends, a long, hard journey under
the most cruel of drivers, and a change of oc¬
cupation under the severest of taskmasters !
Unfortunate negro ! what a change to her!
But two weeks before she had been rejoicing
over the expectation of personal freedom, a
home of her own, and a freeborri child.
This pampered houSe-maid (for such she
was) was to leave her gentle mistress, her
light and easy tasks, her old companions, her
father and husband, and all hopes of freedom,
to pine away in the cane-fields of a sugar-
plantation.
Nothing definite upon this subject has been
said to her, until the very arrival of the trad¬
er. It is true, that the whole series of threats
with which she has been so liberally plied
terminated in the phrase, sugar-plantations;
but this is so common an expression in an
overseer's mouth that she has not realized it
as a fact until this very moment.
She is called out of the house by Mr. Al-
lansby, who still has charge of the plantation,
and ordered, in his harshest manner, to get
her things together and be off to the sugar-
plantation, for that yonder is the " nigger-
trader " come for her.
Her look of affright is indescribable. I
had never seen such a look but once in all
my life before. It was on the countenance
of a convict, who was waked up one morning
in his cell and told to come out and prepare
to die.
This paralysis lasts for an instant, during
which she stands as if affixed to the ground ;
then, as a child to its mother's protection, she
flies to Caroline. She clings convulsively to
her feet, and declares that the " nigger-trad¬
er" shall not take her away. 0, she will do
anything!—this is her pathetic appeal—she
will do anything not to leave her young mis¬
tress. She • will wait on her all the day,
watch over her all the night, work for her, die
for her, but never can she leave her—never,
never!
My presence, as I have said, is accidental.
I would not have remained a spectator to
such a painful scene, except at Mrs. Enloe's
-urgent request; and it is now at her desire
that I endeavor to untwine the girl's arm
from Caroline. But it is like tearing off the
stout ivy from the gray old oak, nor with all
my strength can I effect it.
While the overseer is approaching to assist
me ia this ungrateful task, a thought occurs
to me to advise Caroline to offer the girl her
liberty if she will yet point out the person
who stole the money.
I have become so much excited with the
scene, that at this moment I have determined
to pay the purchase-money myself, and set
her free, if she will only show marks of re¬
formation and give us some clue to trace out
the guilty person.
Caroline catches at the hint, which I whis¬
per in her ear, and, addressing herself to
Loogy, says-—
" My poor girl, there is only one way that
I can serve you. Father has sold you to the
trader, and he has come to carry you off to
the sugar-plantations. You can never come
back to us as long as you live. But now tell
us who stole father's money, and the trader
sha'n't have you."
Loogy rises eagerly up and declares she
24
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
will! This is the first encouragement of the
sort she has ever given us. The pain of the
whipping, the continued prayers of her young
mistress, the efforts .of the good preacher, Mr.
Leever, to whose church Loogy and her fath¬
er belong, and all the promises that have
been lavished upon her for two weeks, have
not influenced her mind like this close reality
of being parted from Miss Caroline. She ris¬
es up, shudders at the sight of the overseer,
who is cracking his whip carelessly in the
yard, or at that of the trader, whose light car¬
riage is waiting to bear her away, and begs
that her old mistress may be sent for, and she
will tell us all about it.
Charmed at the prospect, I hurry in search
of Mrs. Enloe, who has retired to avoid see¬
ing Loogy's departure, and bring her in an
instant to the spot.
Caroline has seated herself upon the sofa,
and placed her attached servant at her side.
As we enter, we can see that she has been
whispering to Loogy of something that
brings the deep scarlet to her own lovely
cheeks, and hear her concluding words—
" Soon as I am married, dear Loogy! "
But these words, so suggestive of the ten¬
der declaration that has preceded them, seem
to work in the mind of the slave an effect the
very reverse of what Caroline anticipated.
Up to that moment Loogy had seemed to
be determined to make a full confession.
When I left the room, she had asked me to
be. quick as possible, so that she might be¬
gin, and I had comforted Mrs. Enloe out of
her tears by the assurance that now the cloud
was about to be cleared up.
There was even a cheerful smile on Loogy's
face, so long unmoved by smiles, and she had
answered the kind looks of her young mis¬
tress with affectionate fervor. But as the
word " marriage " strikes her ear, she drops
her eyes to the floor, relaxes her grasp upon
Caroline's arm, and, to our unbounded disap¬
pointment and chagrin, repeats the declaration
of the last two weeks—
" J didn't tetch it, Miss Carline, 'deed I
didn't!"
And therein has she pronounced her own
sentence, for who can believe her against such
testimony as we have had, or where is the
mercy in lavishing tenderness upon one who
is so cruel to others ?
Loogy is delivered over to the trader, and
taken away. Happily for the poor wretch,
she is in a state of insensibility, and no sound
comes from her lips to interrupt the thought¬
less whistle of the negro boy who drives off
the vehicle in which we have laid her.
The drama, so far as her part is concerned,
seems to be wound up. She has made her
own bed and occupies it. If this separation
is harsh, if the poor girl's lot is more than she
can well bear, whom has she to blame but
herself? She has sown the wind, and why
should she not reap the whirlwind ? Yerily,
her sin has wrought great evil to this excel¬
lent family.
Let me enumerate its fearful consequences.
Here is a kind master driven from the needed
quiet of his latter years to battle the world
anew, with resources dried up, character
stained, energies crippled. Here is a devoted
mistress with her spring-time darkened by the
consequences of this crime. Her own father
and husband are vagabonds in the cane-brake.
Her companions, happily congregated, and
long bound together, even from childhood,
under a gentle bondage, will soon be scatter¬
ed abroad, husband from wife, child from
parent.
All this Loogy knows as well as we know
it. And she knows that much of this may
be remedied, and that the only remedy lies
with her. Yet from some inexplicable cause
she withholds that remedy, and the ruin is
now complete.
It has been agreed upon between the Dis¬
trict Attorney and the trustees, in whose
hands Mr. Enloe lodged his estate, that he
shall occupy the houses for the remainder of
the year as a residence for his family, and
that Mr. Allansby shall manage the plantation
until the crop is gathered.
The very day after the removal of Loogy I
was appointed general agent to superintend
the sale of the stock, land, and crop. This
was quite against my own wishes, the reader
may be assured, and I was only persuaded to
accept the appointment by an earnest ex¬
pression from Mr. Enloe himself. It is true
that it gave me more opportunities to extend
such courtesies to the distressed family as lay
in my power, but this fact scarcely balanced
the unpleasantness of the charge. I saw, day
after day, my dear young friend, Caroline,
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
25
studying up her plain and ornamental accom¬
plishments that she might commence teach¬
ing a school, already engaged, for the next
year.
I saw Mrs. Enloe, a lady of delicate con¬
stitution, and one who had never known the
violence of a storm before, arranging the
family wardrobe to a rigid standard of econ¬
omy, that, to have known it, would have made
her wealthy ancestors move in their tomb
with surprise.
I saw the stout-hearted little boys, whose
playfulness had taught poor Pompey so val¬
uable a lesson, studying day and night this
session, that next year they might help pa
and ma work, as good boys ought to.
Everything about the family reminded me
of a vessel, storm-beaten and injured, but in
an active way of refitting alow and aloft for
another voyage.
I commenced my work as general agent by
disposing of the negroes, one by one, to be
delivered and paid for on- the next New
Year's day.
Poor creatures! Only one more Christmas
week, that bright oasis in the long desert of a
twelvemonth, would they ever enjoy together
before their separation.
I havfe said that I disposed of them one by
one. It would have been nearer the truth to
have said that, in all cases where practicable,
I strove to keep families together, and in no
instance would I permit a mother and her
young child to be separated. In cases where
one of the women had a husband upon an
adjoining plantation, or one of the men a
wife, my first proposals for selling were to
the owner of that slave, so that the couple
might be brought* together; and when I could
not accomplish that, I endeavored to get a
purchaser within a short distance. In no
instance did I dispose of one to the traders,
if a buyer could be got in the county.
The cotton as fast as picked out was wag¬
oned to the nearest mart, and the proceeds
deposited in the public treasury. The land
was rented for the coming year, in hopes that
that species of property would rise from its
present depreciated rates.
Arrangements were made for a public ven¬
due, for the disposal of the farming stock and
utensils, and so the dispersion of my friend's
possessions was complete.
4
Chapter Eifth.
A SITUATION OP DANGER.—THE RELEASE.
Y"T\ID I mention Mr. Col¬
ston, in my last chapter,
at all 1 I believe not.
The subject has been
unpleasant to from
the first, as the reader
will bear me witness.
My very earliest meet¬
ing with him, when he had every motive to
appear well, aroused unconquerable feelings
of dislike. That peculiar wildness of the eye,
which strikes me every time I see him, re¬
minds me of various persons with whom I
have met in my busy life, and not one of
them is a reputable man.
Mr. Colston's behavior since the robbery
has had no influence to remove my prejudice.
For the first few days, and especially while
the active search was going on for the run¬
aways, he had seemed to have some unac¬
countable weight upon his mind. Nor am I
the only person that observed it. The sheriff,
in his suspicious manner, eyed him frequent¬
ly, and once I observed that he stepped aside
and examined some printed notes, as if com¬
paring him with a public description of some
sort, but he came to no conclusion; only
scrutinized him more closely than before.
After Loogy was sold and transported
southward, his spirits had become much
lighter, and he made unusual advances to me
in the way of conversation. But then, almost
instantaneously, there came over him another
change; all his former stiffness was resumed,
and he even put on an appearance of indif¬
ference towards his betrothed Caroline.
No cause for disagreement had yet occur¬
red between them. Indeed, no disagreement
had occurred, so the young lady declared in
confidence to me, but those long conferences
in the parlor window were intermitted, and
they rarely walked together as formerly.
A painful suspicion crept over me, in spite
of myself—I repeat it, in spite of myself, for
my prejudice against the young man could
not have carried' me thus far. I coupled his
abstractedness of mind on the morning of the
robbery with his present coldness, and for the
life of me, I could not avoid the conclusion
(the same to which Mr. Blote and the over¬
seer had already arrived, as I learned after-
26
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
wards) that her change of circumstances had
cooled the ardor of his love, and he would
fain sever the engagement.
It was hard thus to judge my fellow-man.
If the suspicion was groundless, it deserved
to be repented of, yea, in the very dust; yet
it haunted me as a phantom, and I could not
shake it off.
Caroline observed the change in his man¬
ner—how could she avoid seeing it 1—and
with the genuine spirit of a woman she met
it with equal coolness. But this was too un¬
like the sunny warmth of her character.
Suddenly she changed her scheme, if scheme
it may be called which was the prompting of
a pure, earnest heart, anxious to win back its
beloved; and, dropping all hauteur, she re¬
doubled her endearments, and seemed re¬
solved to conquer him with very tenderness.
This succeeded no better than the other.
His distance of manner increased day by day,
and whereas formerly he was her constant
visitor, he now rarely made his appearance at
her father's house.
I saw that a speedy rupture between the
betrothed pair was inevitable. In the friend¬
ship of my own heart I ventured, one day, to
remonstrate with Mr. Colston upon his con¬
duct, and asked him his motives for it; but I
was repelled with such rudeness, and an¬
swered with such insulting, unmanly words,
that I resolved it should be the last time I
would ever speak to him on the subject.
Caroline's parents had not failed to observe
what was passing, but left it to their daugh¬
ter's discretion, believing that she was com¬
petent to the charge of her own heart.
It is time that the reader should understand
who this coquettish gentleman was.
Oliver Colston had been introduced to
Caroline only a few months before, while on
a visit to some relatives in a neighboring
State. The family which she was visiting
seemed to take an extraordinary interest in
him, and exerted themselves to clear his way
to her favor. His family connexions were
said to be as respectable as any in the coun¬
try, and although he had no settled property
of his own, yet he had always passed among
them for the owner of considerable wealth.
He, at least, gave no evidences of want, but
sported the finest horse, wore the most costly
clothing and jewelry, and was the acknowl¬
edged leader of the fashion among his ac¬
quaintances.
It was not long before an attachment
sprung up in Caroline's breast, heretofore
unoccupied by love, and in all the parties and
social amusements got up in her honor, she
accepted Mr. Colston as her favored attend¬
ant. He offered to accompany her upon her
return, to her father's, but by this time she
had discovered the secret of her own heart,
and, shrinking from any engagement without
her parents' consent, she declined his escort,
and set out with no other company than the
servants of the family.
That day, however, she was attacked by a
ruffian, masked and otherwise disguised, who,
after robbing her of her money, made insult¬
ing advances, and was putting her in great
terror, when Mr. Colston rode up most op¬
portunely and assumed her championship.
The combat was very short, the highwayman
being driven from the ground severely wound¬
ed by two pistol-balls at point blank distance.
No further objections could Caroline offer
to his company. On the contrary, it was as
eagerly accepted as tendered, and the pair,
arriving at her father's house, commenced
those intimacies so full of danger to her
guileless heart.
After a few weeks, Mr. Colston made her
an offer of marriage in due form. Mr. Enloe
made very strict inquiries respecting him,
and received the favorable statements I have
already given. _
His education at the Virginia University
was said to be complete; his property re¬
spectable ; his course in the law-school thor¬
ough ; his private character had. no apparent
stain. Yet, despite of all this, neither of the
parents could become attached to the young
man. There was somehow a repulsiveness,
an undefined manner, that barred his intima¬
cy with any but Caroline.
I need not add, that the more these things
were whispered to her, the more closely she
drew to her lover, and when her parents dis¬
covered that the intercourse could not be
broken off except at the cost of her peace,
they gave a reluctant consent, and the parties
were betrothed.
The two little boys disliked Mr. Colston,
as they said, like poison. They openly avow¬
ed, in their exaggerated" style of talk, " that
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE
27
they'd shoot him dead if he took sister off!
leastways, they'd kill him when they grew
up!"
Mr. Blote, who spent much of his time at
Mr. Enloe's, and was one of the most socia¬
ble men in my acquaintance, as ready to im¬
part knowledge as he was earnest in the pur¬
suit of it, scarcely recognized Mr. Colston's
acquaintance.
The overseer, a well-bred man, and, de¬
spite his unpromising exterior, liberal and
sociable, entertained the same inhospitable
feelings towards Mr. Colston.
The negroes, one and all, hated him. It
was a standing pi-ophecy amongst them,
originating probably with old Gabriel, that
their young mistress would come to no good
by marrying him; but when they saw how
these things pained her loving heart, they
ceased to express their opinion before her,
and restricted them to their own circle.
It was really strange, as a matter of per¬
sonal feeling, that there was not one individ¬
ual on the plantation who confessed to an or¬
dinary liking for this young man, except
Caroline.
And the more those signs of unfriendliness
became visible in the famiiy, the more freely
did Caroline cast in her lot with her betrothed
and declare herself his forever.
How far opposition will carry a woman
into dangers, losses, and sufferings, who can
tell ? To say the least of it, it was not the
best policy for those who had her interests
in charge to give such room for the plea of
" persecution," as Mr. Colston used it. Eor
then, very gratitude demanded that she should
encounter pains and reproaches for his sake
who was so ready to encounter them for hers.
My reader will now have an opportunity to
see the end of this ill-matched engagement.
It is about a month subsequent to the mys¬
terious robbery, so often mentioned, Loogy
has arrived at her destined home, and Mr.
Derricks, who returned this morning, de¬
clares that she commenced the hard labor of
the sugar plantation with more resignation
than he had anticipated. Her only message
is to her young mistress,-and it amounts to
nothing more than this, " that she hopes Miss
Caroline will be a happy wife, and find some¬
body to wait on her who will love her as" well
as Loogy did."
The eight hundred and forty dollars which
she brought to Mr. Derrick's hand has gone
to swell the sum total of his bank-account,
and that worthy but rather obtuse gentleman,
in the plenitude of his gratitude, has offered
Caroline a twenty-dollar shawl, bought in
New-Orleans, as part of the sale money of
the slave.
Caroline has refused the gift with horror,
and insulted the old gentleman by a passion¬
ate declaration that she would die before she
would use money thus acquired.
The "nigger-trader" has gone away of¬
fended, and is now at the house of Mr. Gir-
ard, three plantations down the creek, whose
embarrassments require him to sell a boy or
two. to straighten out his affairs.
Mr. Enloe is out examining a large tract
of land, bought recently by the company for
which he is agent, and contriving, by the aid
of several surveyors, how best to lay off the
city, locate the railroad, designate the mill-
site, and sell the lots.
My duty has called me down to the cotton-
patch, to consult with Mr. Allansby about
the weight of the last ten bales ginned, and
I have hitched old Pompey, now quite recov¬
ered his wind and limb, to the further corner
of the " new ground " patch.
As I sit here with the rough old overseer
upon the ten-rail fence, I have a bird's-eye
view of the whole plantation.
Would the reader like to witness one 1 It
is well worth the sight. The two hundred
acres of cotton, worth this year sixty dollars
per acre, lie directly between us and the
house. The season has been propitious; the
overseer is first among his equals for industry
and skill; and those broad acres, hidden be¬
neath the swelled cotton-bolls, seem to be
covered with snow-drifts. The last week's
frosts have destroyed every green leaf among
them, and there is nothing visible upon the
surface of the field, save the cotton in its
virgin white.
The family dwellings, and the group of
cabins that constitute the negro quarters, lie
like a village upon a beautiful rise at the fur¬
ther end of the plantation.
To the left of the quarters are the buzzing
gin and press, whose voices, though half a
mile distant, speak audibly to us even here.
On the right of the family mansion is the
28
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
bountiful fruit-orchard, containing more than
a thousand trees, presenting, in their low,
trim, squabby appearance, a marked contrast
with tha tall, independent forms of the forest
beyond. How it must grieve their proprietor
to give them up to strangers !
In front of the dwelling, and on either side
of the painted gate, there rise up, straight to¬
ward heaven, a pair of Lombardy poplars,
with that foreign, minaret appearance which
two hundred years of naturalization has not
been able to overcome.
The long train of cattle returning from the
low grounds, where they have fed through
the day, are following one another, Indian
fashion, up the lane, the mothers giving oc¬
casionally a thoughtful low as if contemplat¬
ing the enjoyment in reserve for them when
they shall meet with their young.
It has been ordered that plantation labor
to-day shall close an hour or two earlier than
usual, that the servants may have an oppor¬
tunity to perform such domestic duties as
washing and the like.
This important charge, which in a northern
latitude is thrown into the early part of the
week, is placed, further South, for Saturday;
and upon a well-ordered plantation, like Mr.
Enloe's, some portion of daylight is given to
the slaves for this purpose, instead of requir¬
ing them, as is too often the case, to do it al¬
together in the night.
So, as we sit, the cotton-pickers pass us,
each with a large basket crammed with the
day's picking, upon his head.
How any arrangement of human muscle
can be strengthened to buoy up such loads of
seed-cotton, it is hard to say; but here are
women of twenty, boys of ten, and veterans
of fifty, walking erect, straight as arrows,
under loads some of which will bear down
the scales at one hundred and fifty pounds,
nor stopping to rest till they deposit them on
the platform at the gin-house, half a mile off".
;This procession having gone by (there was
no person in all the immense train at the
obsequies of Alexander the Great who car¬
ried an object more suggestive of national
wealth), we are saluted by the two little boys,
John and Alfred, who, the snakes being now
all in their holes, are permitted by their anx¬
ious mamma to range the woods with a light
fowling-piece and plan These young
sprouts of a vigorous tree are a joy to behold.
Their tread is that of a hero. The bold
swing of thfeir limbs, scarcely restrained by
their loose, home-made coats, and the ex¬
travagant waste of atmosphere in their loud
way of talking, bespeak for the State a cou¬
ple of worthy citizens for home edifying or
for home defence.
Although the consent of the timid mamma
only extends to a fanciful hunt with that light
gun, yet there is real powder in that horn, and
real hard shot in that pouch, as the fated
squirrels shall discover before the sun goes
down. Altogether, the twain are as fine spec¬
imens of country growth as we shall find any
where in the whole thirty-one.
In answer to my inquiry why they are not
at school to-day, they tell me that Mr. Blote
has gone out on a botanical excursion, and
given three days' vacation.
It seems there is something or other, with
an unpronounceable name, grows in the ad¬
joining county below, and the eager old nat¬
uralist desiderates it for his herbarium before
the heavier frosts cut it entirely down. Be¬
sides that, a friend at the east has written him
for various packets of snails and things, and
he is killing that bird with the same stone.
But daylight is precious to the young Nim-
rods, and they pass on at a run.
The next moving objects within the scope
of our vision are not so pleasing to contem¬
plate. Caroline and her lover are treading
the grassy path as in their old-time walks, and
as they draw near the spot where we are sit¬
ting, both of us with a simultaneous move¬
ment dismount from the fence and walk
through the cotton-patch to the house, leaving
Pompey to be brought up by a messenger.
Mr. Colston has to-day conceived some
new project. His smile is certainly brighter,
his words are softer than they have appeared
to- Caroline for many a day. Perhaps that
ugly, sensual curl on his lip is more distinct¬
ly marked; but the affectionate girl would
not see it were it a thousand times plainer.
Their old seat in the parlor window has been
occupied all the day.
To her exceeding delight, her lover re¬
sumes the subject of marriage, so long un¬
named, and presses the blushing maid to set
an e'arly day for his happiness. Caroline
consents, and in tho low, tender communion
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
29
which follows, that man dares to speak to her
of a long lifetime of devotion, of home joys,
of the smiles and voices of children, of every
dear thought which makes a green spot in the
long vista of wedded hopes.
Thus the day passes brightly away, the last
of that ill-matched betrothal. As evening
comes on, they are mutually reminded of the
happy walks by the hazle-thicket, in which
their engagement commenced.
At a hint from her lover, Caroline runs
(did Camilla more lightly skim across the
fancy of the classic poet 1) to bring her bon¬
net, and then the pair pass between the tall
poplars, and through the white gate, and down
the long lane, to their ancient trysting-place.
It is a small area, not larger than the floor
of a lady's chamber, surrounded by a dense
copse of hazle, through which only one path,
a narrow and a winding one, and difficult to
find, has been made. There is a small mound
in the centre, one of the most diminutive of
those which are scattered here dnd there over
the continent, to point out that the nation's
dead are yet honored, though the very name
of that nation has passed away.
The biting frosts of the past week have
changed the green dye of the grass into a
yellowish hue, but the low mound is soft with
the dying herbage, and there, passing through
that narrow path, the betrothed pair enter and
seat themselves.
There is no eye to see them, there is no ear
to catch the words that pass between them.
Could any behold that eager gaze, which is
now all licentiously fixed upon the uusus-
pecting girl—could any hear the words so
skillfully ordered to shake a maiden's resolu¬
tion, what fortune to the trusting Caroline!
But she is all alone. Alone, with her fond
heart all his; her endearments lavishly be¬
stowed upon him in reward for his rekindled
affection; her soft hand in his; her arm
wound around his neck; her cheek pressing
upon his bosom. What guardian hand shall
snatch the tender bird from the beguiling ser¬
pent ?
Need we ask—is there not in the very
guilelessness of such a woman's character, is
there not a defence more potent than all that
prepared resistance could yield ? Be that as
it may, the fluttering bird, though very nigh
the serpent's jaw, is yet saved.
Iler healthy frame, weakened by'no folly of
dress, but braced up with the habits of a
country life and the joy of a country air,
countervail for a time all the seducer's ef¬
forts, even after her astonished heart has been
made to understand all the seducer's inten¬
tions.
Her screams reach us as we walk through
the painted gate, and call us back, at the top
of our speed, to her aid. Her resistance, so
unexpected by the villain, delays the execu¬
tion of his foul project, and when, with torn
dress, and hair all wildly floating around her
neck, she is about to swoon, she hears, crash¬
ing through the hazles, the footsteps of a
friend.
It is but a boy, but 0, what daring dwells
on that brow! what resolution is on that
tongue, as the brave little fellow springs into
the area, and shouts aloud—
" Caroline, don't be afraid ! He shan't hurt
you ! Let go my sister, Mr. Colston! "
It is but a word and a blow; for as the
monster turns a step toward him, still clasping
the girl firmly to his side, the boy levels his
fowling-piece right at his head, and fires.
Wonderful providence that has saved her
honor in this moment of danger! The small
squirrel-shot enter his neck and shoulder, and
although the broad flesh-wound will hardly be
fatal, yet the pain is excessive, and now the
bad man turns coward at the sight of his own
blood, drops his prey as the eagle would re¬
lease the lamb, and flies, dastard as he is, to
the road.
Glancing hastily around, he sees Pompey
tied where I left him, at the corner of the
" new ground" patch, and without an in¬
stant's hesitation springs upon his back and
flies.
Beloved Caroline ! how tenderly those lit¬
tle brothers sustain her head, as she reclines
upon that grassy mound.
The overseer and myself run with the en¬
ergy of despair, to save her ere the mischief be
done. We pass through the dense copse, not
knowing the secret of the little path. We are
much too late to have done her any service.
'We find Alf pouring cool water upon her
face, from his hat, while the hero of the fowl-
ing-piece is talking bold words to give her
and himself courage. " He has loadened his
gun again," he says ; "he has put4n a double
3©
TUB FAITHFUL SLAVE.
load this time; may be 'twill burst the gun;
but he doesn't care a bit for that; he means
to aim right point blank at Mr. Colston's
breast next time ; he would have done it then,
only sister's arm was there, and he was afraid
of hurting her ! "
And all the time "big tears are running
down his own face, as if to mock his assump¬
tion of manhood.
Stripling of promise ! Is there anything he
would not attempt for her whom we all love
so well ?
And now we group around her, and the
mound, beneath which rest the bones of a
chieftain, becomes witness to an episode in
the white man's life, rarely beheld.
The brave boys are perfectly wild with
their triumph. The hero, whose steady eye
and bold heart have saved his sister from a
fate, 0 ! how much worse than death, now
proposes to get father's horse, the big wild
one that n#body has dared to ride for a year,
and pursue the villain to the ends of the
earth ! He declares his readiness to go alone,
if necessary, and he will never turn back,
though it should be a hundred miles!
The overseer, having reached the place a
minute before me, claims the post of honor,
and it is upon his shoulder that her drooping
head is reclining.
He has taken off his fustian coat and con¬
cealed those budding breasts exposed by the
monster's hands. He has tied up her flowing
hair in his big handkerchief, not artistically,
it is true, but with a modest hand. And he
is saying such words and dropping such tears
as never came from that hard-featured man
before.
Caroline, though pale, is strong. I cannot
consent, even to arouse my readers' sympathy,
to forego the truth. Broken hearts are sad
things. They may form appropriate pictures
in the panorama of a romance, but they are
too morbid for my truthful sketch.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
31
Caroline's education, under the eye of her
mother, has imparted an air of resolution to
her character (we have observed it displayed
more than orice already in this sketch) that
more than balances any shock of the heart.
The immense, the never-to-be-forgotten in¬
sult she has received from Oliver Colston
saved her; when, had he merely deserted her,
or had he been suddenly snatohed from her
by death, the consequences might have been
more serious.
Those who would require me, in a spirit of
romance, to close such a scene with a linger¬
ing life, and an early death, have none of my
sympathy in their disappointment. Caroline,
though pale, though sad, though cruelly shak¬
en, is yet strong ; and were the vile attack now
to be renewed by the ruffian, who is several
miles distant, her physical powers would
probably be greater than before.
She has, of course, but little to say; but
little is needed. We can read the whole at¬
tempt in her torn dress and hair—we can read
its failure in her high brow and steady breath¬
ing. But when, by the refreshment from lit¬
tle Alfred's hat, and the kind words of the
whole group, she declares her ability to walk
home, she says to me, but in a whisper, so
that the overseer may not hear it—
" Don't pursue him, sir! I would rather
he was not pursued, if you please ! "
And her wish is gratified.
Chapter Sixth.
CAMP OP RUNAWAY NEGROES.—LOST IN THE CANEBRAKE.
ETUEN we to the two
runaways, Gabriel and
Tom. The reader has
seen their ingenuity suc¬
cessfully displayed in
baffling the utmost skill
of the hounds and their
master, the professional
negro-catcher. The severe effort regorded in
the fourth chapter was but the commencement
of a series of attempts made by Obin Sand-
ford to retake slaves so valuable as these.
Working upon the principle of insurance
(no catch, no pay), and feeling a professional
pride in sustaining the character of his dogs,
that gentleman was stimulated to make the
" desputest splurges," in his own language, for
their capture. For nearly a month, barring
each third day, in which he indulged his ter¬
tian, he pursued this one object with untiring
assiduity. The perfume on the hoe-handles
was fairly sniffed off by the hounds, in his
daily endeavor to sharpen their scent and en¬
lighten their in'stinct. B,ut for once, Obin and
the canines were completely baffled. With
character tainted, garments in tatters, and des¬
pair in his heart, he returned to his cabin,
bearing a jug of whisky, the only thing he
had got for his month's work, and when he
was visited, a day or two after, upon business,
he was found dead upon a pile of buckskins
that had ordinarily constituted his bed. His
dogs lay around him, thinner than ever, quite
conscious that some unwonted evil had be¬
fallen their master; and old Pink, the whitest
hound, leader of the band, had her long,
pointed head upon the head of the corpse.
The jug was empty, the task of the old ne¬
gro-catcher done.
A single look revealed the dismal scene to
the beholder, and caused him to fly with dis¬
may. Returning next day, with several oth¬
ers, to bury the dead, the little cabin was
found empty, three of the dogs were lying
dead in the yard, the other two dreadfully
torn, as by the claws of a bear. The body
had disappeared, and could never afterwards
be found.
Gabriel and Tom had established themselves
in a place well known to the hostler, years
before, about two days' travel from Mr. En-
loe's plantation. The hiding-place selected
was an island, of an acre or two, in the very
heart of the canebrake.
To reach it, in the warm season, the visitor
must wade a hundred yards or more, breast
deep, through a bayou occupied by all man¬
ner of reptiles common to that latitude. At
the high stages of water in the Mississippi, it
was entirely inaccessible for weeks and some¬
times months together.
Many a such place have I visited in the
more active days of my life, and the jungles
of India have nothing more striking.
It is there that " the water-moccasin " takes
its noontide excursions to and fro, winding
over the- surface of the shining pool as though
it were a qnicksilver sea, and displaying its
livid hues to the best advantage.
It is there that the mortiferous " cotton-
mouth" lives and breeds its horrid family,
32
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
and coils itself by day or night on the mar¬
gin, ready at the slightest sound to swim to
the moving object, and attack it; while above
it, twilling swiftly through the sarsaparilla
vines, the tree-serpents seek for the young
birds as their prey. ,
It is there that the large turtle, with frame
more powerful in leverage than any machine
made by man's hands, stalkg over the muddy
bottom, and seeks its carrion food, or burrows
its nest in the sand.
It is there that the alligator upraises its
knobbed back, a bank of mud, when the warm
weather calls it- out from its hybernation, to
fight its fellows through the long summer
days, or build mounds in the canebrake for
the reception of its eggs. And by day or
night, summer or winter, there comes up from
the pest-hole of corruption such a deadly
steam, such a charnel-house vapor, and upon
its wings such clouds of insects, that humani¬
ty must yield its delicacy of lungs and well-
balanced powers of life ere it be able to exist
there.
Yet in such an abode have the runaways
established themselves. Running all hazards
for the sake of liberty, they had waded the
bayou, as Gabriel had done more than once
in former days, had found the little island, un-
visited since the creation, save by himself, and
established themselves in some sort of com¬
fort.
The thoughtfulness of the elder had secured
a hatchet, several fish-hooks and lines, blan¬
kets, clothing, and various trifles highly use¬
ful in their sequestered home.
It was no trouble for them to erect a cabin
of poles, to roof it tightly in, with broad strips
from the slippery elm, to daub it with the
stiff bayou mud, and even to make a sort of
door for their protection from the wild beasts
that might be disposed to trouble them.
Fish of a large size, the perch and catfish,
were abundant on every side of them, and
easily caught. A pen, constructed upon the
simple model used throughout the South and
West, enabled them to add a fat turkey to
their larder whenever they chose, and although
Gabriel had never made the attempt yet he
had no doubt but what he could contrive to
kill a deer or even a bear, if pressed for pro¬
visions. Birds and rabbits were so tame they
would come to the very dopr. Hazle, pecan,
hickory, and black-walnuts fell down in show¬
ers at every breeze. The nut of the Indian
bean (Nebumbo nucifera) was ripening in the
swamp.
"What more desirable place for mere animal
comforts could be found than that ? It was a
situation of absolute security.
Their pursuers never could trace them
there; for, even if a pack of dogs were to
follow their footsteps to the bayou, they dare
not swim it at the risk of their lives. Before
a hound could get half way to the little island,
a dozen alligators would be battling over his
remains.
On the morning that Gabriel left his place
of deposit, stripped of its contents by his own
daughter's hand, his feelings underwent a
change. The great purpose of his life being
thus a second time frustrated, he had nothing
further to live for, and could he have laid
hands upon his knife at the instant of the
discovery, his bones had bleached at the bot¬
tom of that ravine. But existence is too sa¬
cred a thing to be thus lightly cast off.
"With his returning calmness, a sort of feel¬
ing came over him to fly to the woods, to
baffle all pursuit, to laugh in scorn at all the
white man's efforts to recapture him, and, es¬
tablishing himself in some secure place (he
knew of many such), to spend the remnant of
his days a free man.
He would not upbraid his daughter; poor
Loogy, she had enough on her mind now;
but he would see her no more.
Over this scheme he brooded all that day,
and when night came, made his preparations
for a stealthy departure.
He gathered up a pack of necessaries, as
we have seen, burnt to ashes everything that
he could not carry away, and, with his daugh¬
ter's screams still ringing in his ears, left the
" quarters," as he hoped, forever.
He called upon Tom in the place of his im¬
prisonment, and, by informing him of Loogy's
faults, and holding up before him the pros¬
pect of a severe flogging on the one hand,
and liberty on the other, readily gained his
consent to accompany him.
This was a matter of importance to Gabriel,
for he dreaded being taken sick and starving
to death in his solitude.
He easily released Tom from his durance
by raisiBg up the floor of the room in which
" RUNNING ALL HAZARDS FOR THE SAKE OF LIBERTY, GABRIEL AND TOM HAD WADED
THE BAYOTT."
he was confined, and the pair fled, as before
related.
But after a few quiet weeks had passed, and
the runaways had settled themselves down in
their new life, Gabriel, reviewing all the cir¬
cumstances connected with the two robberies,
strange to say, came to a conclusion different
from any that had occurred to our minds. It
was that Mr. Colston was somehow connected
with them, if not the actual robber!
It will be recollected that this old man, in
common with all the slaves on Mr. Enloe's
plantation, had imbibed a bitter prejudice
against the lover of his young mistress. The
words placed in Gabriel's mouth when speak¬
ing to his daughter, in my first chapter, show
that he had even then suspected him of an at¬
tempt to spy out his secret hoard ; and it was
in his heart, that very morning of the discov¬
ery, to remove the money to a safer spot.
It must be admitted, however, that th'c
handkerchief, and the mark of hands and feet
in the ravine, will scarcely justify Gabriel's
suspicions; but with the obstinacy of his
race, and, we may add, the parental devotion
which belongs to the African character, lie
settled his mind firmly upon it, that Loogy was
innocent and Mr. Colston guilty. He intimated
this change of sentiment to his companion,
Tom, and brought him partially around to the
same views.
This was about a month after their escape
from the plantation. Gabriel did not say that
he should leave the island in consequence of
it, nor did he offer any plan of communicat¬
ing it to his late master.
He only said, in his peculiar dialect—
" D—d racskall, Misty Colston ! Knew de
gal nebber got de money. 'Twill all come
out, bimeby. You'll see it! "
34
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE,
Mr. Colston, after his unsuccessful attempt
upon the honor of Caroline, rode off as though
Tarleton's legion were at his heels. Only the
day before had he resolved to close his inter¬
course with her, and, like the villain he was,
he deliberately planned to leave this ruin be¬
hind him. He had certainly not anticipated
so vigorous a resistance, if any, for he made
no preparation for flight, and it was only the
accidental discovery of Pompey that gave
him the means.
In no previous part of his licentious life,
whether, at the University, or in the Law
School, or in any part of his extended travels,
had he been so baffled. The severe wound
upon his neck pained him almost beyond en¬
durance ; but it may be doubted whether his
mental agony, not at his wicked effort, but his
cowardly failure, were not greater pain.
He rode at full speed, passing several plant¬
ations, but meeting no person, until he had
followed the main road more than five miles,
stopping but once, and that only for a mo¬
ment, to draw out of a hollow tree some small
but heavy sacks, that he had previously de¬
posited there.
At a private way, he turned off, and until
the darkness became too great to travel,
ceased not to urge Pompey forward in the
same headlong manner. Alighting only when
it was impracticable to proceed farther, he
hobbled his horse's feet in a manner that
proved him to be an old campaigner, and
turned him out to graze. Then wrapping the
saddle-blanket around himself, and heaping a
pile of dry leaves for a pillow, he laid down
and slept soundly until morning.
Conscience had long finished her work with
him, and had fled to a more tractable subject.
He had been divinely " given over to hard¬
ness of heart."
By this time his wound had become less ir¬
ritable. The blood, which at first had poured
down his breast to his very feet, had ceased to
flow, and, could he get the small pellets ex¬
tracted, it would soon heal up.
The seducer then sought the nearest water¬
course, and washed his body and clothes clear
of the fatal stains.
Dressing again, he mounted, sought a
neighboring plantation, readily found, even at
a distance, by observing where the removal of
the forest trees had opened a thin spot in the
landscape, and refreshed himself and horse
with food.
Baffling the curiosity of his entertainers, he
remounted, pursued his way in the manner of
a man who knows every step of it, and drew
not his rein again until he approached the
edge of the canebrake.
The place to which he had been directing
his course lay exactly beyond the cane, and
he had come thus far by means of a dim bri¬
dle-path, which, leaving it on the right, wound,
for a dozen miles, around it.
It was not half that distance in a direct
course, however, and he seemed disposed to
try the nearer way. He paused, compared the
sun's height with his watch, calculated the
hours of daylight which remained to him,
and then, though reluctantly, and as if op¬
pressed with doubt, he entered the brake.
Well might he hesitate long before taking
such a step.
To those who have never seen that display
of nature's bounty, a canebrake, or having
seen one, perchance, on a rapid journey down
the Mississippi, have not penetrated its depths,
the incidents that I am about to relate will
appear romantic. The reader will be surprised
to learn that the oldest hunters, the best
woodsmen, doubt their own capacity to thread
the mazes of an untried canebrake! He will
scarcely credit my assertion, that animal in¬
stinct not unfrequently fails here ; neverthe¬
less, it is so. If he has not seen one, let him
imagine a thicket of cane-stalks, the same
that are exported for fishing-poles, standing,
in general, so densely that they touch each
other, like needles in a case, and rising to the
height of twenty-five feet, so as to shut out
all the brighter rays, and turn the sunniest
day into a gloomy twilight. Consider this
body of vegetation as extending over a space
two hundred miles in length and from three
to thirty miles in breadth. Let it be inter¬
sected in various directions with small paths,
made by the hogs and wilder animals (if, in¬
deed, there be a wilder animal than the wild-
woods hog), these paths running in no par¬
ticular direction, but interlacing with each
other in inextricable confusion. Weave fes¬
toons of grape-vines and ivy and the tough
green-briar from tree to tree, wherever a thin
spot enables the sun to reach them—and such
is the great Mississippi canebrake.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
35
The wildest, the most improbable legends
are related of this dreary spot, of which those
•which seem to the stranger most improbable
are most strictly true. Men have been lost in
that wilderness, and they have wandered and
hungered and died, within gunshot sound of
their own dwellings. Bewildered travelers,
catching a glimpse of the blessed sun, after
several hours' burial in the thicket, have re¬
fused to credit their own eyes as to its direc¬
tion in the heavens, and have struck back
again into the thickets, to wander on and to
die. Children, after struggling a few hours
in the mazes of this lkbyrinth, have lost their
reason, and, when found, have forgotten their
own names and the faces of their friends.
Oliver Colston, strong in the confidence of
his skill in woodcraft, or urged forward by
some great necessity that justified the risk,
entered the canebrake as the sun came down
within two hours of the horizon. At first, he
moved slowly, and felt every step of his way.
When a stray vine presented itself across his
breast, as if to forbid his passage, he carefully
cut it in two, keeping his horse's head all the
time in the original direction. The openings
in the canebrake, and the small paths that
would have seemed tempting to an inexpe¬
rienced traveler, were disregarded by him 5
but he pushed right onward with his eye upon
the sun. This, for the first half mile, was not
so difficult. An occasional glimpse of that
luminary could be got, and his course di¬
rected accordingly. But as he penetrated
deeper and deeper, his solar guide became
more and more obscure. It was with much
difficulty that he caught it now at all; and as
he pushed aside the leafy barrier of a clump,
more dense than usual, he lost it altogether,
and could not regain it. For a mile or more
he continued, by ranging along the few trunks
that came in his way, to preserve the direc¬
tion, for he had not greatly overrated his own
skill at forest-craft; but then a large bush
struck his face, his horse turned suddenly
aside to avoid a deep gully that was before
him, and henceforth it was all random work.
Hither and thither he wandered, at first only
partly conscious of his error, but as his horse
came back, again and again, to the same gully,
and he saw that the bewildered brute, as much
at fault as himself, was really traveling in a
circle, the full conviction flashed over his mind
that he had got himself inextricably lost in the
canebrake !
0, how he cursed bis folly in leaving the
beaten path! "With what frantic gestures he
beat his forehead ! How strangely it sound¬
ed, his blasphemy of the great name of God,
there in the awful solitude!
Night came swiftly on, an hour sooner than
it should have done by the watch, and the
traveler was well nigh deranged.
Pompey had now taken control of his own
movements, and strove nobly to make head¬
way; now snorting upon the edge of some
deep hole, now plunging into a copse so dense
that a wounded bear could not have turned
around in it, now avoiding a festoon of the
sharp green-brier, now galloping cheerfully
forward, as some thin spot or transient path
came under his notice. But still, whether
slow or swift, thoughtful or dull, his best ef¬
forts and instinct only broaght him back
again to that enchanted spot!
All that night, then, the seducer, fully
shaken now, with his head bare, and his
clothes nearly stripped from his limbs, lay
crouched down to his saddle-bow, and trusted
to the sagacity of the horse. It was such a
night of horrors as he had never realized be¬
fore.
Once, he saw a pair of flaming eyes fixed
upon him, from the lower limbs of an oak,
and heard such a wail as the mother makes
over her dead babe. Once, a tall, black ob¬
ject rose up before him, and held out its shag¬
gy arms, as if to welcome him to the penetra¬
lia of the brake. Large white fowls, that
seemed to feel safe wherever darkness was,
flitted at times near his face, so near that he
could have struck them if he had had cour¬
age ; and when, by very low swoops, they
came to understand that the intruder was one
of those murderous beings which their trav¬
eled comrades had described to them, .they
flew into the higher trees, and by loud and
scornful hoots gave him a forest defiance !
Holy .day came at last, bringing release
from these annoyances. Panthers, bears, and
owls retired to their hiding-places. But nei¬
ther day, nor the glimpse of the sun which he
caught by climbing a tree, nor all his forest
skill, could extricate hirnfrom the brake.
Still Pompey pushed stoutly forward, and
still he but described a larger circle, for, as if
36
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
by fascination, the unhappy rider was brought
back, against his will, against reason, instinct,
and knowledge, to the same spot where he had
paused an hour, or two hours, or three hours
before. And so the day passed by, leaving the
noble horse almost exhausted by his labor, and
:i is rider nigh fainting for water, food, and rest.
Gabriel and Tom sat at the door of their
little hut and ate heartily of their store. The
remains of a noble turkey gave token of what
their previous meal had been. A large fish
was spread before them, and several others
hung in the smoke above, and it was not hard
to see that the runaways were doing well.
Both of them, however, were greatly altered
in appearance during the four weeks they had
spent upon the island. In the midst of all
their advantages, their freedom, and their well-
filled larder, they could not but feel at times
some loneliness. They talked but little to
each other. At first, Tom had spent much
time singing the religious hymns common to
his class, but now he seemed to have lost the
taste for them, and rarely started one. Sleep,
that great indulgence to the laboring 'black,
began to pall upon their appetites. Their
food was not so 'sweet as at first, for they
needed their accustomed exercise to make it
palatable. The wild kind of life they were
leading was fast impressing their faces with
the peculiar look so difficult to describe, which
may be equally observed upon a runaway
slave or an uncivilized Indian. It is the
shadow of the wild woods! In short, com¬
fortable as they seemed to be, it would have
taken a good eye to recognize in these smoke-
begrimmed, forest-marked negroes the old
hostler and his son-in-law, to whom the reader
was introduced a month back.
After eating their fill, they threw themselves
carelessly back upon the side of the hut, and
seemed lost in thought.
Suddenly Tom, who had. quick ears, sprang
up, and declared that he heard a man's voice !
It is impossible. It is nothing but a pan¬
ther. Nobody can get through that bottom,
unless he knows the secret of it. But yet,
there it is again. It is surely a man's voice,
a man lost in the canebrake!
Gabriel raised himself erect and listened.
" It is a man's voice," he says. " It is no
doubt a last man, and unless somebody re¬
lieves him, he will soon starve."
And with this ominous expression on his
lips, the old hostler quietly resumes his seat,
and falls off into another doze !
So plain a token of his intention is not lost
upon Tom, but he will not take the matter so
coolly.
Tom is a member of the church. He has
claimed and believed himself for several years
to possess an interest in religion. It is true,
he ran away, and is determined to remain all
his life away from servitude, if he can, but this
has nothing to do with his religion.
He will not bear a fellow-creature to perish
within hail, when food is so plenty; he de¬
clares he will not. He wakes up the old man
and tells him so.
After a vain effort to dissuade him from re¬
lieving the wanderer, on the plea that he may
be a spy, and, at all events, will put their pur¬
suers on the track to capture them, he con¬
sents to accompany him, if only to keep him
from betraying their hiding-place.
They walk softly to the edge of the island,
and there they can distinctly hear the tramp¬
ling of a horse on the opposite shore. He
has found water, and it seems to be no small
relief to him.
Presently the rider gives another call, but
feeble, and indicative of great exhaustion.
Gabriel put his hand hastily on Tom's
mouth and whispered, while every joint in his
body trembled as with an ague—
" It's Misty Colston, sure's there's a God !
you'll see it! "
Back they hasten to the fire again, and con¬
sult upon what they shall do.
Whatever the errand that has brought this
man to the very heart of the canebrake, Ga¬
briel feels that he is now in their power. How
shall they exercise that power ? Shall they
rush upon him, examine his person for Ga¬
briel's money, and, if found, throw him, with¬
out mercy, into the bayou ? Or shall they let
him wander about, following him at a short
distance, until he starves to death ?
The former plan, approved by Tom, is
adopted. Deliberately as they would go to
work to butcher an ox, they agree to over¬
power him, and, if guilty, drown him, like any
other villain.
They go down to the ford, where the water
is shallow, both well armed, one with the
hatchet, the other, with a strong cudgel, in
THE EAITHFTJL SLAVE.
case of serious defence from the traveler, or
offence from the reptiles. They cross over to
the opposite side, a short distance from the
spot -where the horse is yet standing, too wea¬
ry to move away. He whinneys to tjiem with
a voice almost human, and comes forward, as
rapidly as his great fatigue will permit, to
meet them.
They see that it is Pompey, but with little
of that elasticity or fire for which he has been
noted all his days.
His rider, who lies in the sand where he has
flung himself, after taking a deep draught of
the slimy bayou water, is Mr. Colston.
The negroes have brought a coal of fire
from the island, and it is but short work for
them to light up a torch, made upon the spot
from the loose strips of hickory bark.
They approach the traveler cautiously, for
his stillness and silence may be only a blind
to betray them into his power; but their
torch-light gleams upon no metal. They start
back, but it is only with surprise.
Mr. Colston has scarcely a rag of clothing
upon him, for the briars and the sharp cane-
leaves and rough hickory-trunks have uncov¬
ered him piece by piece. They have not only
uncovered him, but have carried away so
many patches of his skin that he is both naked
and flayed. And, more horrible still, the
musquitoes, those pests of the canebrake, have
so poisoned him with their darts that his
shape is scarcely human. O, it is horrible !
For even now, as he lies there in that sol¬
emn glare of the torch-light, looked upon by
men and brute, his fine chestnut hair almost
buried in the soft sand, the insects cover him
with a black cloud, and pierce his flesh, and
fill themselves with his blood, though it be so
thin withal as scarcely to satisfy their raven¬
ing.
What a contrast between this loathsome
object, helpless before the runaways, and the
fashionable young man who had so long led
the social circle of his county!
After the first silence, broken only by the
anxious whinneying of the poor, bewildered
horse, Gabriel muttered to himself a few
words expressive of the opinion, to which
Tom had already arrived—
" 'Tis a judgment of old marser in heaven!
you'll see it!"
Pity springs up in their hearts. The man
whom they came prepared to put to death
they are now anxious to save. Strange con¬
tradiction of human nature!
They unite their strength to lift him upon
the horse, though he is altogether unconscious
of their kindness, and walking through the
bayou, one upon each side of him, they soon
get him upon the island and before the fire.
They lay him tenderly down upon a pallet
made of their clothing, where the green-wood
smoke drives away the musquitoes. They
bathe him in the cool water which they bring
in turtle-shells from the bayou. Then they
rub his whole body with grease. A kind of
stew, or thick soup, made of the remains of
the turkey, is speedily prepared, and by the
time he is sufficiently revived to sit up, it is
placed before him. He eats it ravenously, as
may well be supposed, and again falling back,
goes into a sound sleep, from which he does
not awake until afternoon on the next day.
Pompey has been divested of his saddle,
and turned loose to satisfy his appetite upon
the cane-leaves, still unfrosted in that dense
forest. Having done this, he approaches the
fire and stands half-smothered in the smoke,
for the relief he can get from the musquitoes.
This is the scene that meets Mr. Colston's
eyes upon awaking.
A short explanation suffices to convey it all
to his mind, from the moment of his dis¬
mounting.
Gabriel, satisfied that he cannot recognize
him, boldly avows that they, too, are runa¬
ways, and he expresses his hope that the gen¬
tleman will not betray them.
The traveler, grateful for the preservation
of his life, pledges his honor not to reveal the
place of their concealment, or even the fact
of his having met them, then promises them a
reward if they will lend him a suit of their
clothes and escort him through the canebrake.
He tells them of a certain cabin in a deserted
clearing, at the edge of the bottom, at which
cabin he must positively be before midnight.
Gabriel recognizes the place by his descrip¬
tion, and gives it the name of Dead Man's
House !
After consulting with Tom, he agrees to es¬
cort the gentleman into the little path which
he had left two days before, and which leads
directly past that place.
By a liberal division from the wardrobe of
38
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
the runaways, a full suit of clothing is made
out for him, and before three o'clock the party-
had recrossed the ford and set out.
The easy means which Gabriel had discov¬
ered to pass in and out from the island, were,
to follow the edge of the bayou, leaving it on
the right hand, until it headed in a deep quag¬
mire of " cypress-knees." There a small
stream of water entered, which being pursued
to its head spring, brought the party into the
bridle-path they were seeking. And here
ended the escort of the negroes.
Chapter Seventh.
DEAD MAN'S HOUSE.—THE MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS-
/^OLSTON and tfie two
runaways we left in the
bridle-path, at the spring.
After a most refreshing
■ draught from its . pure
waters, he bade adieu to
his escort, first promising
them a bundle of tobac¬
co, the only thing they
greatly desired, to be shortly delivered and
placed in a certain hollow tree, designated for
that purpose.
With many a thankful acknowledgment for
life saved and hospitality rendered—why
should we not believe them to have been hon¬
estly meant ?—he grasped their hands and de¬
parted, leaving them still seated at the spring.
As he rode off, old Gabriel looked doubt¬
fully after him, shook his head, and muttered,
in his indistinct way—
" D—d racskal! He'll bring the uogs here,
sure's shootin'! You'll see it! "
Tom looked uneasy, but said nothing.
The conclusion to which the old hostler had
come, some time before, respecting Mr. Col¬
ston, had not been in the least shaken. It is
true, that the bags of money which Gabriel
had looked for could not be found upon his
person, but there was the same uneasy expres¬
sion in his swollen face which has been so
often adverted to. And there was something
in the few dreamy words of his slumber which
spoke of a great crime committed, of what
character Gabriel could only surmise.
And this strange desire of his to arrive at
the deserted cabin that night, there was some¬
thing in this which made the negroes willing
to run a great risk to discover.
Upon the whole, Gabriel could only shake
his gray head, and repeat, in his characteristic
way—" You'll see it! " Which implied that
the speaker himself was in the profoundest
caves of# obscurity".
But fortune, tired of persecuting the old
man, sent him an adviser just at the time
when he so greatly needed one.
Mr. Blote, who had completed his examina¬
tion of the plant with the unpronounceable
name, and sketched it, root, stem, branches,
leaves, and fruit (it was a Leminoserogautha
splooborallingereii), who had also collected a
stack or two of other plants, besides stones
and shells for ballast, was returning, in his
slow way, across the hills, one eye fixed on
his pocket-compass, the other searching for
curiosities, and came into the bridle-path at
the very point where sat the puzzled negroes.
Great was his astonishment to see a couple
of wild-looking men, grasping hatchet and
cudgel, seemingly on the look-out for booty.
He did not recognize them, but commenced
fumbling in his pocket, as if there might, by
some mistake, be a dime there. But they
shouted his name simultaneously, and quite
pulled him off his horse (a slow one) in the
joy of their recognition. It is but right to
add that the joy was mutual.
Mr. Blote has greatly regretted the absence
of Gabriel ever since his departure. There
is more than an ordinary friendship existing
between the two old men, different as they are
in pursuits and mental condition, and the
former has frequently hinted to such of the
negroes as would be likely to communicate
with the runaways, that if Gabriel would re¬
turn, all should be forgiven, he himself acting
as mediator for that purpose.
Now that such an unexpected meeting has
occurred, he begins forthwith to speak of their
return.
But that subject is soon forgotten when the
negro, interrupting him without ceremony, in¬
forms him of the events of last night; and
how Colston had been wounded in the neck
with a charge of shot; and how he is riding
the horse Pompey; and how anxious he is to
reach Dead Man's House before midnight.
Mr. Blote agrees with him that the subject
demands explanation.
Then Gabriel tells him how much reason
he has to suspect Colston of stealing his hard-
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
39
earned money from the ravine, because Loogy
had seen him hanging round the place for
days before. The mysterious visit to Dead
Man's House may explain this.
Then the negro goes farther, and broaches
the astounding idea that Colston is the real
robber of the twenty thousand dollars, and
that his daughter, poor Loogy, who, the
schoolmaster informs him, is far away on the
sugar plantation, is innocent!
It startles Mr. Blote to think of it. But if
true, how could Loogy have known that the
money was stolen, and why would sh6 suffer
so much rather than confess it ?
Gabriel admits that, with his present light,
this circumstance is inexplicable, but suggests
that this midnight visit to Dead Man's House
may clear it up.
So every other thought becomes merged
into this meeting at Dead Man's House.
At a hint from the sharp-eared Tom, who
imagines that he hears some person approach¬
ing, the party left the spring and went a little
ways into the thicket.
It was well they did; for they had scarcely
concealed themselves there when a couple of
horsemen rode up the path in the direction of
•the solitary cabin, aiming, no doubt, at the
same rendezvous.
This was strong confirmation of their sus¬
picions, and they set themselves to making
preparations to follow the horsemen, regard¬
less of other matters
Science suffered, as science generally does,
when tumult is the word.
Mr. Blote's horse fed uninterrupted upon
his own load of botany, and destroyed an
herbarium at every mouthful. The pencil-
sketches taken of the unpronounceable plant
(the Leminosoregautha splooborallingereii), were
ruthlessly used to load the fowling-piece.
Three quarts of helixes, the finest of the
season, gathered for the British Museum it¬
self, were poured upon the ground as things
of no value. Even a lovely Unio (a new spe¬
cies, Mr. Blote is almost willing to affirm, a
new variety, beyond all controversy) is care¬
lessly dropped and irrevocably crushed.
While these portentous preparations are
on the tapis, night comes on and offers them
that shelter for which they have tarried.
They promptly enter the little path, and
move forward toward Dead Man's House.
Presently a hasty step is heard behind them,
at which they again withdraw into the thicket.
Then comes along a white horse, bearing a
large, savage-looking person, with immense
whiskers*. The horse snorts, in recognition
of their proximity, w,hereat the rider, with a
cocked pistol in each hand—they can hear
the click of the locks as they are drawn back
—stops, looks around, and seems anxious to
shoot something. But he makes no discovery,
and passes on.
The party follow him at a safe distance,
keeping their attention awake to front and
rear, and presently come in sight of the old
cabin.
It is that of a family who had moved in
from one of the Carolinas, and made a clear¬
ing, five years before, with the intention of
settling. While camped out, under their
wagon-shelter, they had built this cabin and
covered it in, and got it nearly ready for use,
when the whole family, parents, children, and
three slaves, were taken down by that myste¬
rious disease, " Milk-sickness." Having no
neighbors for several miles, their situation did
not become known until every member of the
household, except the infant, was dead.
This circumstance had given the place such
a character that no one would occupy it, al¬
though the heaviest labor of a new settlement
was accomplished. It therefore grew up with
the thick underbrush which always springs
up upon the girdling of the forest treeSj and
received the familiar title of Dead/ rin's
House. '<<U
There is a good deal of superstition on the
frontiers, and somehow the story got into cir¬
culation, especialjy amongst the negroes, that
the place was haunted, and that whoever
passed by there in the night would see ghosts.
As a reasonable consequence, these charges
were ruinous to the character of the place,
even though the danger of that awful and
mysterious affliction, "Milk-sickness," were
not in the way.
Here, then, is the rendezvous of the party,
whose character and profession are shortly to
be exposed. Now we shall be able to trace
out some of the mystery which has kept our
minds upon the rack so long. It is odds yet
if I do not prove the title of my sketch a just
one.
From the moment the party set out, Mr.
40
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE
Blote has taken the lead. How true it is, that
whenever head-work is proposed, the lighter-
hued of the two races instinctively go for¬
ward !
He directs Gabriel to watch, lest any other
persons approach; orders Tom to stand by
his back, cudgel in hand, to defend him if at¬
tacked ; and all the preliminaries being thus
laid, he boldly approaches that side of the
house originally intended for the window. I
say originally, basing my judgment upon the
appearance of an opening, two feet square,
cut out of the logs for the admission of light.
To this opening Mr. Blote directs himself,
feeling confident that the deep gloom sur¬
rounding the cabin, contrasted with the bright
light inside, will prevent him from being dis¬
covered.
The sight of the party that so strangely
occupies Dead Man's House, in spite of its
unpromising reputation, is a curious one.
A pile of saddles is heaped up in the mid¬
dle of the room, and a blanket spread over the
top, forming something like a table; at least,
it is used for a table, and, as such, contains
several bottles of spirits of different colors, a
quantity of cold provisions, and a pack of
cards. A rousing fire is blazing up in the
wooden chimney, and around that—for the
night-wind is raw and frosty—four men are
sitting upon blocks of wood.
Leaning against the chimney-corner, on the
side next the door, sits Mr. Colston.
The raw flesh-wound, opened by the in¬
sects, and now festering and feverish, seems
like a large blood-stain upon his neck. It oc¬
cupies the most of his attention, and forms
the subject of many an anathema at every¬
thing which passes through his mind.
With all his experience of humanity, Mr.
Blote is astounded at the facility with which
a fashionable gentleman may be transformed
into a blasphemous clown !
On the opposite side of the fire is the large
man who was riding on the white horse. His
ferocious appearance, however, has been laid
aside, with the mountain of artificial whiskers,
which he has placed on the table, and we see
that he is nothing but a stupid, half-witted fel¬
low, after all, who might possibly pick the
pockets of an unresisting traveler, but would
hardly venture upon such an experiment with¬
out foreknowledge.
The other two have all the appearance of
desperate men. They show scars in various
places, many more than would suffice to
make them heroes, had they been gained in
honorable strife. Their forms are muscular,
and if they can strike with the same determi¬
nation they speak, they will be ugly custom¬
ers to meet on the highway of a lonely place.
There are a couple of candles burning upon
the table, and various pieces of meat, skewer¬
ed on sticks, frying over the blaze of the fire.
The conversation, as Mr. Blote approached
the window, is too guarded for him to follow
its thread. There is much rejoicing to see
Colston, whom they call by the slang name
of Simpson, and a great many questions are
asked him as to the cause of his absence for
the two previous nights.
These questions, and their rejoicings, are
frequently interrupted by attacks upon the
provisions, which prove the party to be hard
riders, and upon the bottles, which give evi¬
dence of their intemperate habits.
As Colston is in great pain, much sympa¬
thy is tendered him, regardless of his rude
manner of receiving it, and while he takes a
short nap before the fire, one of the party
bathes his wounds with warm brandy, while
the other two take a game of cards.
The meeting seems to be a council of some
sort, the result of a previous appointment,
and its object, so far as the listener can dis¬
cover, is to lay out plans for the future.
What profession is to be honored by the
operation of these plans, is, perhaps, as well
explained by the large display of arms offen¬
sive, as in any other way.
Business advances slowly at Dead Man's
House. The condition of Colston (Simpson,
as they style him) throws them out of their
ordinary line of thought.
More than once the different members of
the conference leave the house to procure
wood, and "were it not for the intense dark¬
ness of the surrounding thicket, which rentiers
it difficult to distinguish a man from a stump,
at three paces, the spies would be discovered,
to their own imminent hazard and the failure
of their plans.
Several hours and a quarter of a cord of
wood were all consumed in this unsatisfactory
manner; but now, toward midnight, the free
use of stimulants seems to arouse the party.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
41
They begin to draw their boots, and some of
them throw off their upper garments.
Seeing this, Mr. Blote judges it safe to
bring up Gabriel from his post, and then all
three gather under the window, to see and to
hear.
Colston awakes, the better of his pains, and
joins the revelry, like one who needs that re¬
lief which nothing but the bottle can give.
His gloomy look, his blasphemous expres¬
sions of anger, are cast aside, and he takes a
position so as to bear back against the pile of
saddles. This brings the top of his head in
front of the little window, not more than six
feet from where Mr. Blote is standing.
Delighted at the change in his manner, for
he begins to talk and jest and lay plans with
the liveliest of the party, his comrades shake
hands with him cheerfully, and demand his
G
whole history from the time of their last con¬
ference in Dead Man's House.
Colston, taking a large draught of brandy,
replies—
" When we parted, three months back, com¬
rades, I told you that I had a love affair on
hand, which promised some pleasure to my¬
self, and profit to this honorable company of
free-traders. When I became clearly satisfied
that none of the Murrell developments had
involved me, and that none of the printed
descriptions had me down, I came forward
and laid siege regularly to my pretty mistress
—she was a pretty piece, such another you
won't find in the country—and I conquered
her in good time."
Here Mr. Blote breathes hard, with anxiety,
while a general roar of approbation goes
round the circle.
42
THE FAITHEUL SLAVE.
The free-traders understand his remark in a
very different sense, however, from what he
intended. One of them, the big, sensual ruf¬
fian in the corner, delightedly suggests—
" Simpson can conquer the pretty gals,
blast my organs if he can't! "
Colston acknowledges this homage with a
grin, but puts in a disclaimer—
"No, no, boys, not half so far as that.
'Twas all chips and whetstones so far as that
went. She wasn't of that sort. No, no, far
enough from that. All I could get for my la¬
bor was kisses, and a scanty pattern at that.
No, no, but my plan was, so soon as I married
her "
The evil-hearted man here held up the ring
of betrothal, still upon. his finger—why did
not its sparkling light strike him dumb with
remorse—while the circle broke into a second,
uncontrollable roar. The idea of his marrying
—of his wearing a ring of engagement!
" Yes, just as I said. So soon as the mar¬
riage was over, for I was determined to do that
or worse, I felt certain that I should be able
to handle some of the old gentleman's loose
cash, and then I intended to go to head-quar¬
ters and take a new start. To tell the truth,
my own county is getting too hot for me.
That pedlar affair is the topic of the whole
population, and came very near compromis¬
ing me before the coroner. Besides that, I
have at least two women there under promise
of marriage, and both showing plain enough
that they ought to be married.
" Well, I didn't consummate the marriage,
fool that I was for my haste, but I did what
you'll all think is better—I fingered the cash."
And here the ruffian (for I cannot now ap¬
propriate a milder name to him) threw upon
the table a roll of bills, which, on being count¬
ed aloud, is found to contain twenty thousand
dollars.
Mr. Blote feels as though he was dreaming.
Can this be the man to whom his favorite pu¬
pil, his darling Caroline, had been so nearly
married ?—this licentious, dishonest, murder¬
ing villain, who speaks of his own depravity
in such an airy strain ?
He looks around upon his companions, but
behind the sable mask they wear he can dis¬
tinguish no expression.
A tremendous cheer breaks from the group
as the completion of the count showed them
what an immense booty was before them—a
cheer that startles the horses grouped under
the trees before the door, and makes the soli¬
tary cabin ring again.
Colston goes on—
" There were a few hundred dollars more,
that an old negro had buried under a rock,
and I should have had that here with the rest,
but that I got lost, endeavoring to come
through the canebrake, two days ago. I lost
the money, and came miserably near forfeit¬
ing my life with it."
The hand of old Gabriel presses down upon
Mr. Blote's shoulder with crushing force, as
he hears this confirmation of his suspicions.
He leans forward, as though he would speak,
but the schoolmaster restrains him.
Colston pursues his history—
" It was important for my plans with my
mistress, to make the impression upon the
old negro's mind that his daughter had stolen
this money. So I got a handkerchief, belong¬
ing to the black wench, and dropped it near
the spot where the money was hid. And I
made some moulds, as near to the size of her
foot and hand as I could guess, and marked
the place in such a way as would be certain
to fasten suspicion in that quarter !"
Again that crushing weight upon Mr. Blote's
shoulder, and now it requires all the strength
of his two companions to restrain old Gabriel.
His countenance works as in an epilepsy.
His mouth foams, his sunken eyes flash with
rage. All the ill-treatment he has received is
brought forward by this man in such a mock¬
ing strain that while the party within is con¬
vulsed with laughter, the injured black is wild
for vengeance. Wo to the seducer if he
touch upon that subject again !
" But you haven't told us yet where you got
that ugly gash in your neck, Simpson !"
" Well, I'll make a clean breast of it while
I'm about it. And let my evil example be a
warning to you, boys, to make sure your game
is dead before you pick it up ! I felt so sure
my pretty little mistress was conquered to my
hand, that I took her down to a snug place I
had prepared for such an event. But when I
proposed to make her happy, blast Miss Mod¬
esty and her pretty fingers, she fought me like
a panther! It was all I could do to sustain
myself, and just as the victory was about to
be declared in my favor, her brother, a bold
THE FAITHEUL SLAVE.
43
little pup, not a dozen years old, broke in up¬
on us, and shot me at ten paces, as coolly as
you'd drop a squirrel!"
This announcement is received in the same
spirit of badinage with "which it is' made.
More than one bottle is emptied, while enjoy¬
ing the superb joke of Colston's failure with
a woman, the only case of the sort on record.
The uproar having subsided, that individ¬
ual, who by this time is more than half drunk,
takes the roll of money in his hand, and con¬
tinues—
" Cut I haven't told you where this money
came from. You see my good daddy-in-law
that was to be is a political man, and had been
intrusted by government to collect a large sum
of money, and hand it over to the County
Treasurer the next day. I helped him collect
it, and then saved him the rest of the trouble.
Eor I got it out of his wallet while he was
asleep, by that sleight of hand you have all
praised so frequently, and put a roll of blank
paper in its place. I left him so little cause
for suspicion that he went clear to town, next
morning, before he discovered the trick. The
joke alone was worth twenty thousand dollars
to any man, and I intend he shall be informed
yet how nicely I took him in. But there's
something better yet. I contrived to have the
whole blame thrown upon one of the house-
girls. Ha ! ha ! ha! The young trollope
got a good lashing, and was sent off to the
sugar plantation and sold. Ha ! ha ! ha! "
This monstrous speech is the last that Oli¬
ver Colston ever utters. Eor now the heart-
injured and defrauded father, dashing Mr.
Blote and Tom from his side as though they
were stubble, and uttering one sound, such as
peals from the very thickest of an Indian bat¬
tle, poises his heaVy hatchet over his head,
and throws it right into the villain's brain!
The blade strikes flush on the exposed por¬
tion of his head, and sinks itself, quivering
half its breadth, into the mark. The unfortu¬
nate man, without a prayer, without a word,
without a groan, falls heavily upon one side
and rolls upon the floor, dead.
The uproar that follows is tremendous. In
the first wild rush for shelter the candles are
upset, leaving the party with no other light
than the wood-fire, now burning low. A gen¬
eral snatching of pistols follows, and their
ominous click is heard by the party outside.
Mr. Blote, horror-struck as he is by Gabriel's
rash act, recovers his coolness at once, for he
sees the necessity of taking immediate steps
for his own, safety. An aggressive act now is
real prudence. He therefore sends Gabriel
with orders to remove all the horses a consid¬
erable distance into the canebrake, and, if he
should give a signal, to'turn them loose.
Then he raises his voice in a tone of com¬
mand, and gives loud orders as to a party of
twenty. Some are to guard the door, and
suffer none to pass alive ; some to stand by
the windows, and shoot all who resist; s ime
are to set fire to the cabin and burn up the
Murrell gang if they do not surrender.
All this has its effect within. The tumult
immediately ceases. The three robbers crouch
in the dark, behind and under the saddles, and
wait with leveled pistols for the attack. Not
one of them will risk the hand of justice ;
they are determined to fight it out, like tigers.
Mr. Blote had originated his hasty plan
merely with a view to gain time. He wished
to terrify the ruffians and confine them to the
cabin for a while, until himself and compan¬
ions could mount and escape. But now acci¬
dent comes to his aid, and throws the victory
into his hands.
One. of the robbers, the large one of tb.3
gray horse, whose hiding-place is directly in
front of the chimney, opens his flask of pow¬
der to take out a load. In reply to an inquiry
as to the amount on hand, the half-drunken
fellow takes a brand of fire from the chimney
to exhibit its contents. A coal falls into the
inflammable substance, and at once the whole
defence is at an end. Two of the robbers are
killed instantaneously, the third, blown heavi¬
ly against the side of the cabin, is so severely
stunned by the shock that by the time the be¬
sieging party reach him, he is too weak to.
offer resistance.
Thus the midnight rendezvous is broken up.
The hands of Oliver Colston still grasp the
roll of money, his finger still Sparkles with
Caroline's ring; both are secured, to be re¬
turned to their owners. The three corpses
are next laid decently out upon the floor, and
left to the solitude of the woods. The prison¬
er is tied firmly to a tree, and then the party,
whose good fortune has been equal to the jus¬
tice of their cause, mount the horses and seek
the nearest dwelling.
44
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
Guided by the old hostler, they are not long
in reaching it, and, procuring assistance, they
return before sunrise.
The bodies are still there, to add a deeper
shade to the superstitious cloud that over¬
shadows Dead Man's House, but the prisoner
has escaped. His cords have been cut, and a
knife which lay close by, being one that Ga¬
briel has long owned, explains clearly, to Mr.
Blote's mind, the mystery of his release.
Chapter Eighth, and Last.
A SUGAR-PLANTATION.—DENOUEMENT.
N this wise had the mys¬
tery of the robbery been
mainly cleared up, and
the money recovered.
Mr. Blote found no fur¬
ther difficulty in persuad¬
ing the two runaways to
return home.
The reader has seen that
there had been a growing inclination in the
minds of both to abandon the woods, evidence
of which was visible in Gabriel's willingness
to escort Mr. Colston through the thicket, even
at the' danger of exposing the secret entrance
to his hiding-place. That inclination was
now merged into a burning desire to restore
his poor, injured daughter to her home ^nd
friends ; and upon the pledge offered by the
schoolmaster, that neither of them should be
punished for their desertion, they returned
with him to their masters.
The coming of the party created an excite¬
ment throughout the country unequaled by
anything that had occurred since the Murrell
developments.
Company came in from all quarters, and
upon every possible errand.
The sheriff, and the other securities, togeth¬
er with the district attorney, received the in¬
telligence by a messenger from Mr. Blote, and
although it was late at night, and the night
was stormy, they immediately mounted their
horses, one and all, and rode at full speed to
Mr. Enloe's.dwelling.
The scene, as I witnessed it that night, was
full of life and incident.
The parlor was crowded with the negro
women of the plantation, wild with joy that
they were not to be sold and sent away. All
discipline for the time seemed to be abandoned.
The overseer, Mr. Allansby, who had some¬
how forgotten where he laid his whip, and,
what is more remarkable, had dropped all his
sternness somewhere, had timidly attempted
to keep a little order at first, but the influence
of such happiness is contagious; he fell head¬
long into the current, and when old Mammy
Betty, an octogenarian, very ugly and offen¬
sive, threw her withered arms around his neck
and convulsively kissed him, Mr. Allansby
submitted to the salute with as good a grace
as though it had been Caroline herself. That
young lady was well-nigh smothered in the
tumult.
I could get an occasional glimpse of her as
the centre of a mel€e to which the battle of
Ivry was child's play. At one instant a stout
wench would embrace her as though she were
compressing a cotton-bale; at the next, a
group of the same would toss her violently
toward the ceiling, as the sweet girl had often
done with her doll, twelve years before; and
then, for variety's sake, they would permit her
to sit awhile, that they might kiss her, and
chat over the good news. .
Mr. Enloe himself was in a woful predica¬
ment. If he approached the window, ten
stalwart arms were waving there like the long
feelers of the polypi to engulf him. To go
out into the passage was to be waylaid and
devoured, and Mammy Betty followed him
about like a shadow, with eager eyes and
mouth.
Thus pursued and besieged, he could only
feign a headache to give himself an excuse to
lie down until the sheriff came; though, sooth
to say, his own happiness was not less than
that of the others.
But, though more seriousness came in with
the town party, there was not less real happi¬
ness ; and when the sheriff, taking a salute
from each of our dear Caroline's cheeks, whis¬
pered in her ear—
" A narrow escape, my precious girl!
Thank God, he discovered his real character
in due season ! "
When, I say, the rough old boy touched
upon this sensitive topic, and I watched, lest
an allusion to it might mar the general happi¬
ness, I was delighted to see that no additional
paleness came over her countenance, and to
hear her hastily respond—" Amen!"
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
45
Stout heart! the loss of such a lover is a
gain. The wound shall yet heal. That pure
breast shall yet find one worthy of its pillow¬
ing. Months may roll away, and years, be¬
fore the admiring deity aims his arrows at that
bright target again, but you shall not be over¬
looked in his future work—depend on that.
Daylight broke in upon us before the excite¬
ment subsided sufficiently to enable us to
snatch an hour's sleep.
Then we met again, and the District Attor¬
ney opened his portfolio of papers, and ven¬
tured to promise us that all the assignments
and sales made on behalf of this great trea¬
sury-debt should be nullified, and that Mr.
Enloe's property should be restored to him, as
nearly as possible, in its original state.
I will add here that the higher authorities,
and afterwards the Legislature, ratified his
conditional engagement, and so my old friend
stood erect as before.
My appointment as General Agent came to
an ignominious end. Its emoluments went
into the general release without discount to
Mr. Enloe. I only trust that when called up¬
on by the great Creditor of humanity to re¬
sign this body to the grave, I shall as cheer¬
fully accede as in the case I have mentioned.
Before night, all- the visitors had departed,
save a few of us, who felt domesticated by
the last month's afflictions ; and the more deli¬
cate portions of the history were then brought
forward.
Caroline's ring was returned to her, with
many a sigh from the whole circle that one
so capable of usefulness and honor had pressed
the early grave of his own vices.
That was the last time I ever heard his
name mentioned in the family.
It was decided before our separation that, on
the second day, such of us as would volun¬
teer for that purpose should commence our
journey to Louisiana, to repurchase poor
Loogy, for it had been resolved upon, without
a dissenting voice, that there should be no
stint in our offered prices, " even to the half
of the kingdom."
The morning found three of us, to wit, Mr.
Blote, Mr. Enloe, and myself, prepared to
start.
There is yet one grand point in the myste¬
rious robbery to be solved, and our anxiety,
relieved upon every other topic, has concen¬
trated upon this: we have not yet learned
from what source Loogy derived her knowl¬
edge of the robbery.
At the mouth of the lane, we are joined by
Mr. Derricks, the slave-trader, who declares
his determination to accompany us to Louis¬
iana.
He has been employed to " run " a couple
of rapscallions, who, having been caught in
the act of setting fire to a cotton-gin, are thus
summarily disposed of, to keep them clear of
the law.
He is excessively anxious that Mr. Enloe
should engage him—salary and emoluments
no object—to trade back the negro girl, and
Mr. Enloe at last consents.
Before night, we find ourselves upon one of
the monstrous steamers of the Mississippi,
downward bound, forming part of a great
family that counts by hundreds. A local hab¬
itation and a name are given us amongst the
rest, and we retire, wearied, to our berths.
The journey, though not much protracted,
for the leviathan thundered on her way as
though snags and sawyers were things of fan¬
cy rather than fact, contained some incidents
that will enliven my sketch.
One is the sudden disappearance of Mr.
Derricks, who, on the third day of the jour¬
ney, could nowhere be found.
He had been remarkably punctual at his
meals, standing patiently for half an hour be¬
fore his plate rather than miss the first table,
but to all signals he became suddenly deaf.
He was not in his berth ; he was not on the
hurricane-deck ; he was not on the lower-deck
with the two rapscallions. The rapscallions
themselves were there, innocent-looking as
ever, but they could give no account of the
trader.
One of the passengers suggested that they
be searched, and upon performing that opera¬
tion, a considerable roll of handbills was
found.
This was proof positive that they had rob¬
bed Mr. Derricks and thrown him overhoard,
while together, in some sequestered spot, be¬
hind the wheelhouse.
Their hope, as they confessed afterwards,
when they stood side by side, on the gallows,
was, to land at some wood-yard and give
themselves up quietly to the nearest planter.
He would send them to the county-jail, where,
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
after a few months' imprisonment as runa¬
ways, who would give no account of their
owners, they would be sold for expenses.
Having plenty of money, they could easily
manage, through some " mean white man," to
purchase themselves, and so get to a free
State.
But they were brought up with a short turn,
for the Captain took them back on his next
trip; they were transported to their own
county, tried, and a few months afterwards,
hung, Jirst, as the papers said, for arson, sec¬
ond, for murder.
This unpleasant episode threw quite an air
of gloom over our party, scarcely lightened,
except to the old schoolmaster, by the discov¬
ery on board of the world-renowned Professor
Ovum, who was returning to Europe from his
American tour, with a large shipment of
frogs and spiders.
The second incident I have referred to was
as follows. It added a link to the chain of
facts connected with Oliver Colston :—
The night before we arrived at the end of
our journey, one of the stewards brought a
message from a sick gentleman, who request¬
ed that Mr. Blote should call upon him in his
state-room.
He did so, and afterwards imparted the re¬
sult of the communication to us. '
The invalid was no other than the identical
man whom the old schoolmaster had tied to
the tree, to be released by the knife of Gabriel.
His sickness was but feigned, his confinement
to the room being merely to avoid recogni¬
tion from some chance passenger.
How the robber discovered the fact, I can¬
not say, but he and Mr. Blote belonged to the
same secret society, and he was not afraid to
trust him.
From him we learned that Colston, alias
Simpson, had been an active leader in the
Murrell affair, and was intrusted by the heads
of the band with some of the most confiden¬
tial business. That upon the developments
which led to the disorganization of that com¬
pany, Colston, whose name, real or assumed,
had not come out in the printed expositions,
had engaged to close off the affairs of the
company in his own section, with the deter¬
mination, after that event, of removing to a
considerable distance. That he could have
had no other motive for his engagement with
Caroline save her dishonor. That the attack
upon her, in which he came forward as a res¬
cuer, was all a pretence, arranged through one
Of his comrades. That a spy had been put
upon Mr. Enloe's steps from the hour he re¬
ceived the government money, and even had
Mr. Colston failed in extracting it from his
pocket-book, Mr. Enloe would have been way¬
laid and robbed, the next morning, on his way
to town.
The small village at which we landed could
not furnish us with a conveyance to the plan¬
tation of Loogy's new master, and, impatient
as we were, we determined to walk.
The sound of the grinding was loud and
lively. The sugar-mills were all in active
blast, dense clouds of smoke issuing from
their chimneys, and uniting with the vapor to
join the fleecy clouds of an October sky.
Negroes were hurrying to and fro, under the
supervision of their overseers; some cutting
the ripe cane, some bearing it to the rollers,
and scarcely finding an hour for refreshment
or sleep.
We got directions along the road as we
could, and arrived a little before night at the
plantation.
It was the property of an enterprising gen¬
tleman, who, having spent twenty years in the
business of sugar-making as overseer, had
been enabled to purchase the greater part of
the property of his former employer—a fact
that, as clearly as any other, illustrates the
distinction between an active and a passive
verb—and was now carrying on the business
on his own account.
He was at the mill, where we joined him.
Informing him of our errand, he looked at us
with as much surprise as the Law Sergeant
evinced when Mr. Pickwick insisted on call¬
ing on him, and laughed heartily at the idea
of our coming, all the way for humanity's
sake, to restore an ill-treated negro. He can.
didly acknowledged that he owned such a
slave, and admitted that he would sell her to
us at the market-price, under the circum¬
stances ; but ho was not at all sure that she
would live a week, for the " nigger " had been
"no account" to him since a short time after
he purchased her, and he rather thought she
was past curing.
Startled at this intelligence, we asked per¬
mission to go to her immediately, and Mr.
47
Bemus, the sugar-planter, politely offered his
escort, but still with a droll sort of look at
, the idea.
There were more than three hundred slaves
on the estate, and " the quarters " necessarily
covered a considerable space of ground.
Getting directions from an old woman, who
was attending to more than a score of infants,
Mr. Beemus led us through the maze of huts,
and still calling upon those he saw for guid¬
ance, took us at last to one pointed out as
the habitation of Loogy.
It was like the rest, a low pen made of
small logs, without a chimney or door, and
surrounded by a company of naked, noisy
children.
We looked in, and saw an object stretched
upon a dirty blanket at the further side of the
room. It was Loogy, but so emaciated that I
should not have known her. She was asleep
as we entered, and did not wake, although we
stood over her and conversed aloud concern¬
ing her pitiful appearance.
There was no need to apologize to one an¬
other for the weakness, for all three of us
wept. The gentlemanly planter turned aside,
too gentlemanly to smile at such weakness,
and we felt relieved when we heard him walk¬
ing off.
Yes, there was the poor girl, still alive, but
very sick ; how sick, that sallow hue, so unfa¬
vorable in the diagnosis of a negro patient,
and the hasty manner of her breathing, indi¬
cated but too plainly.
Her loose coat was not the neat, homespun
dress worn under the eye of her former mis¬
tress, but coarse and unshapely.
Still we stood and gazed upon her. On the
floor by her side was a small rag of calico—it
was but a rag, doled out by some hard charity,
which she had partly sewed up in the form of
a baby^s dress, the needle and thread being still
in it. She had gone to sleep, it appeared,
even while laboring on it. There was some¬
thing red protruding from one of her hands,
and as Mr. Enloe stooped to examine it, how
were we touched to discover the same string
of coral beads which had formed such a link
in the fatal chain of evidence against her.
It seems that Caroline, with some other
parting tokens of affection, had returned this
to her, and in that feverish slumber she was
clasping it tightly to her bosom.
Mr. Blote kneeled by her side and whispered
Caroline's name in her ear.
She opened her eyes, looked at us delight¬
edly, as we look at the objects of a dream, and
smiled.
He again addressed her with words of home,
of her father, of her husband, of Caroline.
It was but a vision, she saw that plainly
enough; it was only a dream, from which she
would presently awake to the solitude of that
low hut, or the discords of those howling
youth; but, determined to enjoy it as long as
she could, she resolutely fixed her attention
upon us, and whispered—
" O, Miss Carline, 'deed I love you. I
wouldn't take your husband from you, 'deed I
wouldn't, Miss Carline !"
And we could oi\ly convince her of the
reality of our presence by endeavoring to
draw the necklace from her hand, at which she
arose and recognized us.
The shock which our sudden appearance
made upon her mind was not so great as we
had feared. There was, indeed, but little
mind remaining. Her resolution, after the
first few days' experience of the cheerless
plantation labor, had given way, and she had
become sick, sullen, as her gentlemanly owner
called it; homesick, heart-sick, as I should
say. Then her loneliness had turned her
head, and by the time we discovered her she
was nearly deranged.
The gentlemanly planter, in a spirit of hos¬
pitality mixed with a fondness for the comic,
had her brought to the house, while we waited
upon her, and placed in the house-servants'
apartments, under care of the physician. It
was rather too good a thing, he admitted, and
he shouldn't like for the other planters to hear
of it, but he frequently went with us to see
her, and his wife, a clever lady, fond of a joke
like himself, presented her with a suit of
clothes.
Loogy remained here for several weeks be¬
fore we felt it safe to remove her.
■ By this time Mr. -Bemus had become so
much attached to Mr. Blote (that secret soci¬
ety again, I presume), that he insisted on ac¬
companying us up the river. Such a joke as
his going so far with a sick negro !—and his
wife went with him.
When Loogy had sufficiently recovered, we
asked her for a full explanation of her myste-
THE X'-A-ITIHTTJX.
48
rious conduct, and as we assured her that Mr.
Colston was really dead, and his engagement
with her young mistress broken up, she con¬
sented to give it.
The night of the robbery, Caroline, who
was sitting up late with her lover in the par¬
lor, had retired to rest with her chamber-win¬
dows opened. Loogy, ever anxious on her
account, had discovered this, and as the morn¬
ing air blew up cold, she left her cabin at " the
quarters " and crept softly to the house to
close them.
Here she became an involuntary witness to
Mr. Colston's movements; how he walked
from his bed-room and spoke gently to the
dogs, and fed them with some morsels of meat
that he had reserved for that purpose ; how he
went into Mr. Enloe's apartment, and drew
his pocket-book from under his head; and
how he returned stealthily to his own room ;
while Loogy flew, horror-stricken and wild
with emotion, back through the orchard to
her cabin. There she had wept until day¬
light, and until summoned to appear before
the family and answer to the charges made
against her. How could she expose Mr. Colston,
and break her young mistress' heart ? Here was
the clue to the whole after-conduct of the
faithful slave: she could not deprive " Miss Car-
line " of one whom she loved so well! She
could bear to be whipped; she could bear to be
sold; she could bear to be sent away; but she
could not break up the future happiness of one
whom she loved so welL
Hear it, O ye to whom affection is but a
name, and love has never opened his dearest
mysteries!
And now I will wind up the drama. Yet
let the audience remain seated for a moment,
while I dispose of the principals and some of
the subordinates.
My friend, Mr. Enloe, until the day of his
.death, had no further strife with fortune. By
rigid economy he contrived to close the big
breaches that speculation had made in his af¬
fairs, and within six years was free of debt.
In due season he was restored to church-mem¬
bership, and at the very next political coucus
his name was unanimously proposed for the
office of Governor. But, to the surprise of
his party and the joy of his opponents, he de¬
clined the nomination.
As a neighbor, a Christian, and a gentleman
of charity and sympathy, his name stood high,
and it stood upon a rock. Few who pass his
monument, near the roadside, in the grave¬
yard at C , and read the eulogistic inscrip¬
tion written by Mr. Blotc, but will admit its
truth.
The hero of the fowling-piece is now a man
of twenty-four. Few in the sunny South bet¬
ter deserve the name. Few have a happier
home than he, or a worthier wife, or lovelier
babes. The promise of his youth is verified
by his virtue, his charity, his sympathy with
distress, his regard for truth. The little shot¬
gun which effected so much at that trying
moment is still suspended over the mantle-
piece in his best apartment.
His little brother Alf has not followed him
up into manhood. Wearied with the race of
life, the child retired early from the scene, and
went to sleep, to commence a higher, holier
career in the spirit-land.
Uncle Gabriel took his first holidays to
search for his money. By the aid of some
good dogs, he traced Colston's path through
the canebrake, until he found all the bags ex¬
cept one, and that one was made up by his
master. Though the amount was slightly de¬
ficient, Mr. Enloe consented to receive it (yet
with pretended reluctance, for nothing would
have insulted the old hostler so much as to
rank him with the, " five-hundred-dollar nig¬
gers "), with the understanding, however, that
the remainder was to be paid over as fast as
possible.
And so it was, for about every other day,
for six months, Mr. Enloe was compelled to
write a receipt for some additional dime or
picayune that had been gathered up somehow
toward the debt.
As for Loogy, she utterly refused to leave
" Miss Carline" on any terms; so she is a
slave yet, and her small people (there are ten
or fifteen of them) are in a like condition.
Mr. Blote is still teaching school and still
collecting specimens.
So falls the curtain over this tr.ue tale of
Southern life. As it slowly sinks, and scene
after scene fades away from the beholders
eyes, let mo hastily add—'tis my last opportu¬
nity—that although there are some things in
it I might, perhaps, have concealed, there are
none' that I could have altered without a dis¬
regard of truth. Farewell!
THE THIN ABOLITIONIST
AND
The Caged Madman.!
BY FALCONBRIDGE.
^ACCIDENTALLY, that incorrigibly
mad wag and hypochondria-killing
individual, Dodge, whom we so lately
put in all the papers, and thus " showed him
up" to half of creation, is down upon us
again with another load of poles.
A few mornings since, while calmly cogi¬
tating upon the instability of all sublunary
contraptions, and inwardly debating whether
it were best to pitch pens and ink out of the
window, buy a monkey and an organ, and go
on a tour, or jine a fire-company, Dodge
popped in upon us, and put to flight all our
pious meditations.
" Got £ve minutes to spare, old boy ? " said
he.
" More—thirty, at least. Take a seat-
Where are you from ? What's the news 1"
" Thank you, just from Manchester, N. H.,
which place is going ahead with a grand com¬
bined double-action rush," said Dodge.
"Good!" said we, "By the way, what
have you new—anything rich ? "
" Did I ever tell you," said Dodge, " the
scrape Covert and I had last spring, coming
from Baltimore to Philadelphia ? "
" Not a syllable. Let's have it, if particu¬
larly rich."
" Well, I'll tell you all about it, my boy.
Ha, ha! it was rich—very. You know we—
that means Covert & Dodge—went down to
the Southward, Washington city, &c. Well,
I"—but we'll say Dodge, and tell the story in
our owji words.
Dodge, before leaving Baltimore in the
morning, received at the Post-Office various
letters, papers, &c., from his Eastern friends,
and getting into the cars, he took a remote
seat, put his valise under his feet, and began
to overhaul his documents.
The fiery iron horse, so poetically described
by our friend, Capt. Cutter, of Kentucky, was
snaking the cars over the rails, the passengers
were chattering and nodding around "the
humorous man," Dodge, who heeded them
not, but kept on reading his papers and pam¬
phlets, and looking as grave and knowing as
an owl in an ivy-bush.
It finally did occur to the comedian that he
was a focus upon which the vulgar eyes of his
fellow-passengers were dilating to an uncom¬
mon and uncomfortable pitch. One'individ-
ual in particular eyed Dodge, keen as a razor ;
and as the phrenological developments of this
person, in the quick and comprehensive eye
of the comedian, proclaimed him an unde¬
sirable acquaintance, and just the very last
sort of looking person one would like to meet
on a dark night and dreary road, our comic
friend felt mightily relieved when the fellow
got up from his seat and sauntered away into
a forward car.
Presently, however, this foreboding fellow
was again visible to the comedian, in close
confab with the conductor of the train, and
apparently referring to poor Dodge in his
conversation with the carman.
" Blast him! '* said Dodge, to himself,
" what is he driving at 1 "
And the comic man began to feel uncom¬
fortably serious; then felt his long goatee,
ran his hand over his face, scanned his clothes
to see if there was anything about his out¬
ward man calculated1 to elicit such marked
attention from a stranger;
The evil genius of the* doomed cemedian
now bore up alongside of him, while,.with an
instinctive foreboding of something disagree¬
able in the wind, Dodge quickly folded up his
letters and papers, and thrust them.' into his
pockets.
2
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
"How Ye you 1" says the evil genius, with
a bob of his head, by way of a patronizing
salutation.
" Pretty fair—how're you ? " said the dis¬
gusted comedian.
" Tolerable. You're travelin' North, I
s'posc 1"
" Kind o' think I am," was the response.
" B'long to the Eastward ■? " continued the
interrogator.
" Seen Boston before now," said Dodge,
quietly.
" So I reckoned. Don't like to be too in¬
quisitive, or nothing o' that sort, Mister; but
I venture to guess you're in the book busi¬
ness, deal in tracks (tracts)," says the fellow,
with great stress and emphasis on the three
last words
" Occasionally," replied the' innocent and
unsuspecting joker. " In fact, my friend, it
is a portion of my ordinary business—making
tracks! ■'
" So I reckoned," continued the interrogat¬
ing fellow; " and I s'pose you do a little
shoutin' and singin' 'casionally 1"
" Yes, a little in that way, too. I may ven¬
ture to observe, sir, that singing is another
part of my business." says Dodge.
" So we s'posed; great likin' for the nig¬
gers, too 1"
" Niggers ? " says the now a little discon¬
certed comedian.
"Yes," continued his evil genius; "but I
s'pose you folks call 'em colored folks, broth¬
ers and sisters, may be."
The conversation was getting beyond the
depths of Dodge's good-humor. So far, he
had tolerated the bore merely to discover the
point to which the fellow was driving; but
now the language assumed the shape and
tone of premeditated insult, without leading,
apparently, any nearer the fellow's object or
design, and the comedian felt his dander ris¬
ing like bottled yeast; so he uncorked, and
opened on a higher key.
" Look here, my friend, it does strike me,
forcibly, that, considering our brief acquaint¬
ance, your remarks are rather too personal:
and if you have no particularly interesting
reasons for continuing your observations, I
would beg to hear no more of them."
" S'pose you wouldn't," bluffly responded
the fellow; " but ef you haven't any pertik-
elar objections, I'd like to see into a few cf
them papers you've been examinin' so close
just now."
" Anything else about me you'd like to see
into ? " says Dodge.
" May be I'd like to overhaul that wal-eese
o' yourn, thar," said the fellow, riveting his
two eyes upon Dodge's valise under the seat.
" I have not the slightest doubt of it," the
dumb-founded comedian echoes ; " but I cal¬
culate, old fellow," says he, " you will find
this time and place bad for your business."
" Will 11 Then, by thunder, you'll find
this neck of woods a sorry place for your
business, Mister track man, mind I tell you ! "
says the fellow, pitching into the high notes.
" Can't say 7'm sorry about coming down
this way," says the comedian; " done very
well, considering."
" 0, ho ! So you acknowledge % Go'n' to
own up, eh? Make a clean breast of it,
umph 1" were exclamations, astounding and
clamorous, that saluted the ears of the horri¬
fied humorist, coming from several large,
savage, and suspicious-looking customers,
who had huddled around poor Dodge.
They all seemed to fix their eyes upon
the comedian's valise. He, having some
weighty reasons in it which induced him to
keep a sharp eye to it, seized upon the ob¬
ject of such unwarrantable curiosity, and
held it as tight as a bear.
This act, on the part of the comedian, to
secure his goods and chattels from threatened
invasion, seemed to be the " cue ' for a sim¬
ultaneous charge of the evil genius and his
confederates; and before Dodge could say
" amen," he was seized by the crowd, and his
valise snatched out of his hands in the twink¬
ling of an eye.
Seize him!'' " Hold him ! " " Tar and
feather the scamp ! " " Search his pockets !
" Overhaul his wal-eese/" were the cries that
now resounded about the astonished and
writhing comedian.
The conductor came forward and inter¬
posed, and Dodge, getting his breath, begged
in the name of the seven commandments to
know what all this meant.
"Eriend," said a benevolent-looking indi¬
vidual present, " friend, they suspect thee of
distributing tracts among colored people."
" Why, anybody can see he's one of 'em.
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
3
" THE PRIME MOVEE IN THE MUSS DOVE HIS FISTS INTO THE OPEN VALISE, "AND
SEIZED A ROLL OF HANDBILLS."
Nigger-stealer's marked on his countenance ! "
shouted the excited mover of these proceed¬
ings.
" That's it, my friend," said the pacific
inan ; " they take thee for an abolitionist. A
gentleman in the forward car has informed
this gentleman (the investigator) that thou
hadst told him selling and distributing aboli¬
tion books and tracts was thy errand down to
Baltimore. This person has lost some of his
colored people lately, and charges thee with
being concerned in their escape; but I trust,
from thy appearance, that these charges are
far from the truth."
" Who told you this outrageous story ^"
said Dodge, bristling up to his adversary.
" Don't put on any airs here, Mister;
'twon't do,'no how," shouted the evil genius
of the done comedian. "You're found out;
they're in your wal-eese. Open it, and own
up to your dirty business at once."
" Gentlemen," said Dodge, appealing to
the lookers-on, I suppose somebody considers
this a very go,o.d joke,"
" Yes, an all-fired pretty joke," somebody
responded.
" So I conclude," said the victim : " but I
am opposed to its going any further, at my
personal expense. Gentlemen, my name is
Dodge, professor of vocal music, from Bos¬
ton, Massachusetts. There is my valise—
open, examine it; if you find anything there
to excite suspicion as to my identity, fry me
in aquafortis, and swallow me straight!
The prime mover of the muss dove his
fists into the open valise, and seized a roll of
handbills; jerking them open, he began to
read—" Grand Concert."
Here the lookers-on began to settle away
into their seats, and before the fellow had got
much further in his investigation, he found
his arduous supporters mizzled, and he all
alone in his glory !.
It was rather evident now that there was
some mistake. Some laughed in their sleeves,
others tittered and haw-haw-ed right out, and
the inquisitor left, in rising rage, to find the
man that had ve?y apparently been running a
4
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
saw on him; but a brief investigation resulted
in the discovery that the informer was non est
come-at-ibus—he had sloped from the cars
When they reached Havre de Grace, about the
very moment he was wanted.
The conductor of the train inquired of
poor Dodge if his friend Covert wasn't the
man that had been getting up this trick, and
Dodge, smelling a rat, presumed to say he
had not the slightest idea of the inventor of
the joke. The conductor laughed; every¬
body laughed; even the victim, Dodge,
laughed, and vowed it was really a capital
joke. But the evil genius swore in round,
unvarnished oaths, as big and weighty as
fifty-six's, that if that fellow's hide ever fell
under his manipulations, it would not be
worth two cents to hold corn-shucks !
Dodge kept dark; couldn't out-chalk him
in that way.
He and Covert gave concerts in Wilming¬
ton, and then took the steamboat for Phila¬
delphia.
Shortly after the steamboat got out into
the Delaware river, and was pawing away for
the Quaker City, Dodge, with a face of
most melancholy and care-stricken anxiety,
sought the Captain.
" Captain," said he, in a voice of deep ex¬
citement, " Captain, have you a secure empty
room on this boat ? "
"A secure empty room ?•" the Captain re¬
sponded.
" Have "you ? And two good stout men—
men you can depend upon 1"
" Why, in the name of goodness, what's
the matter ? " quoth the Captain.
"Hush!" said Dodge, shutting one eye,
and putting up his finger. " Hush! don't let
him hear us—he's stark mad—lost all his for¬
tune in speculating—gone mad, sir—belongs
in Baltimore—taking him up to Philadel¬
phia—quite well this morning—but I see the
fit is coming on him, and if he is not secure,
he'll kill somebody or destroy himself."
• The Captain was alarmed; his wife and
children were on the boat, with many of his
valued friends; he at once comprehended the
extent of the danger—madman loose—pock
et-full of pistols and knives, perhaps—some;
thing must be done, well done, and quickly,
too.
Like wildfire the alarm spread over the
boat; the women huddled up their children,
and the darkies' eyes shone like peeled onions
at every suspicious-looking genus homo about.
Ten mad dogs would not, perhaps, have cre¬
ated more panic than did the peaceable and
unconscious ballad-singer, Covert, who stood
leaning over a settee in silent musings. But
so speedily and perfectly were the details of
his capture completed, that the supposed
madman found himself in the herculean
grasp of two boatmen, his hands tied, and in
spite of the most determined resistance, of
anathemas, expostulatidns, and entreaties, the
vocalist was dragged forward ,and ruthlessly
thrust into a side room, the door secured, and
there he was left to vent his fury in kicks
and vociferous threats, until the boat reached
the city.
Dodge now stepped up to the Captain,
begged him to keep the lunatic fast until he
went up in town, got friends and a carriage
to remove the madman! That was about the
last the Captain ever saw of Dodge ; the boat¬
men smelt a mice, heard Covert explain the
joke, and then let him out of his tight place,
and the Captain told the victim to tell that
fellow (Dodge), when he next saw him, that if
he was ever in those parts again, and would
make himself known, he should be presented
with a steamboat pass that would be good for
five years.
When the two jokers again met it was in
their concert-room in New-England, and just
as they came to the door together, Dodge
slapped his partner jocosely on the shoulder,
and good-humoredly exclaimed—
" Well, my boy, how do we stand now ? "
Covert eyed the long, lank figure of his
partner for a moment, and replied—
" Well, I suppose we shall have to call it
square, but it's a pretty tight trade for me 1"
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
5
MARRYING 'EM OVER AGAIN:
OE,
A Joker Forestalled.
BY FALCONBRIDGE.
M0i^»SOME time last summer, while can-
vassing the " down east" States,
Dodge (need we particularize what
Dodge 1—Ossian E, Dodge, of course) ran
afoul of a young gentleman quite noted for
his off-hand, practical jokes; and having
hoard of Dodge, our amateur joker made up
his mind that when and where he met the ex¬
tensively-known and thorough-bred wag, there
Would probably be files about, and somebody's
eye-teeth would be cut.
When Dodge appeared in our amateur.wit's
diggings, he straightway went to work to in¬
troduce himself to the unrivaled humorist.
" I understand, sir," said the amateur, " that
you are not to be caught napping. I've read
land heard a great deal of your practical jok¬
ing, and though I don't profess to be very
smart that way, yet I'v'e made a bet with some
of my friends that in less than six months I
will show you a new kink or two—I intend to
show you the elephant, sir !"
"Ah, indeed!" said Dodge. "Well, sir,
I'm tolerably conversant with that species of
quadrupeds; having studied animated nature
for some time; but I shall always be pleased
to learn something new, although I fear, sir,
that the critter you mention would hardly,
with, my experience, come under the head of
novelty with me. However, I don't want to
damp your enthusiasm; so yott may figure it
up, and fetch along your entertainment when¬
ever you feel like it."
The amateur made several small flirts at
Dodge during his stay in the amateur's neigh¬
borhood, but his efforts scarcely amounted
to anything with a good " nub" to it, and
hence we shall not take any pains to illustrate
them.
Time and Dodge passed along, and by cas¬
ually meeting each other in other parts of the
country, in the vicinity of the city of notions,
quite an intimacy sprung up between the two
" sawyers," and finally, one day, said the ama¬
teur joker—
" Mr. Dodge, I'm going to be married."
Sho ! you're joking," said Dodge, poking
his friend in the side with the butt of that
highfalutin cane of his.
" Am I, though ? " said the other. " Guess
not—it's all arranged—the old man don't like
me—the young lady does, and that makes it
all right, you know. We're going to New-
York to-morrow evening, to be there married
the next day, and, if you have nothing se¬
rious to prevent you, I wish you to join a
small and select party of the young lady's
friends and mine, and go along."
" Nothing would give me more pleasure,"
said Dodge, " than to accompany you, but
really, I—I—that is, the notice is somewhat
short, the—the—parties, excepting ^yourself,
sir, are a—a—strangers to me, and it would
be a little kind of awkward; in short, I must
decline your invitation."
0, no, 'twouldn't do; Dodge must go—
couldn't get off. So next day, a small party
of %ome four or five ladies and gentlemen
met at the Marlboro' Hotel, and a few hours
afterward the coach drove them down to the
Providence railway depot, where they soon
embarked, and next morning, just as the sun
began to peep over the eastern part of crea¬
tion, the bride and bridegroom and their male
and female attendants, with our facetious and
self-sacrificing friend, Dodge, who was to act
as grand master of ceremonies, cicerone, &c.,
coupled with a young lady, a relative of the
bridegroom, found themselves at the pier No.
1, North River, New-York.
" Now, Mr. Dodge," said the amateur jok¬
er, " we are all strangers here in New-York,
and we put you in command of our affairs,
to direct our movements."
" Exactly—that's all right," said Dodge ;
"leave all to me."
" Say, you! look here ! " bawled Dodge
to one of the noisy, brawling, pushing, red-
faced drivers of one of the hundred and fifty
cabs and coaches and trucks usually besetting
the steamers landing their passengers at the
New-York piers. " You, I mean ; we all go
to the Irving House—fly around—get the
baggage—allow me, Miss , to assist you
to this coach; so—all in—drive off!"
In the course of ten minutes, the bridal
party were housed at the Irving, in private
parlors, as snug and merry as bees.
Dodge stepped out to get the parson, and
arrange the nrinutise of the marriage.
" HEAVENS AND EAETH, ME. DODGE ! DO TELL ME "WHAT ALL THIS MEANS."
At 11 A. M. the parties were spliced ; good
humor, a few tears and kisses prevailed; and
the party, under charge of Dodge, started out
to see the lions of Gotham; and thus merrily
passed the hours away, until the hour of re¬
tiring came round, and the parties separated
for the night.
" Mr. , a—a—but no matter."
" Did you wish to speak to me, Mr.
Dodge ? " said the happy bridegroom, turn¬
ing back as Dodge made the broken call.
" Yes, that is—but no matter ; some other
time will answer. Good-night; God bless "—
And, as if laboring under some undigested
trouble, Dodge disappeared, and took a stroll
by himself.
Returning about midnight to the Irving
with a mysterious-looking companion, they
took seats in the drawing-room, and sent for
the landlord. He came, a brief whispering
took place, the landlord grinned and grinned,
and finally broke out into something of a
laugh, and said—
" Well, I don't care—you're all friends—:it's
rather a good joke—it will surprise them
some—do as you please, sir."
The landlord disappeared; a servant came
in and intimated, if the gentleman was ready,
he'd " show him up " to No. .
Tap, tap, tap, gently went Dodge's knuck¬
les on the door of No. .
" Who's there ? " said a quick voice.
" Me," said Dodge. " Get up, quick!"
" Is that you, Mr. Dodge 1"
" Yes, sir. Get up, quick! "
" Heaven's sake, what's the matter ? "
" 0, get up, sir, quick ! Open your door! "
" The house on fire ? Heaven's sake,
what's the matter, Mr. Dodge 1''
Then was heard a finer-strung voice humid-
ly making the same inquiry, and soon the
door was opened, and the outlines of a gen-
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
7
tleman en deshabille thrusting out his nose
and night-cap.
" Heavens and earth, Mr. Dodge ! do tell
me what all this means ! "
" Why, sir, but I—I hope you'll pardon
me, I—I confess that—a—a—I was wrong,
very wrong, in—a "
" Well, but, sir," said the excited and im¬
patient husband, " what is it all about ?
Come, let us know the worst." '
" The fact is, sir, I couldn't"
"Well, well!"
" I couldn't go to sleep. I got up, deter¬
mined to ask your pardon; you'll never for¬
give me, but, a "
" Go on, go on, out with it! "
" Mr. Dodge, are we in danger 1" said the
fine, small voice of the little bride, her bright
eyes and pretty little night-cap appearing
faintly in the background.
" Awful! too bad, ma'am; I shall never for¬
give myself." '
And here Dodge actually threw up the
whites of those big eyes, and sighed twice !
" What danger—how—where ? " said the
married couple, in one breath.
" Tell us all, sir!" exclaimed the husband.
" Yes, yes, for mercy's sake, do ! " said the
wife.
" Then if I must, I must," said Dodge.
"You are not man and wife! "
" What 1" said the husband.
" Mr. Dodge !" said the wife.
" Fact, I ought to be hung and quartered—
my fault."
" What do you mean, sir ? You don't pre¬
tend "
"Yes, I do; it's a fact, sir."
" What's a fact, Mr. Dodge ? " inquired the
alarmed bride.
" Not married—all a sham—my fault."
" O-o-o! I'm—I'm "
Here the husband, as he supposed himself,
caught his wife, as she supposed she was, just
as she was about to swoon.
" Mr. Dodge, this is a shabby business, sir,"
said the supposed husband.
" I know it," said Dodge. " I confess all.
I regret it severely, sir. I could not a—a—I
couldn't sleep, sir. I got up, sir, determined
to make all the "
" Misery you could, sir!" said the sup¬
posed nlarried man.
"Not at all, sir ; I did it as a joke."
" A joke, sir ? It's villainous, sir ! "
" But I'll repair it, sir. I'll run off to the
minister's."
" Don't meddle any more, sir. Take your¬
self off, sir, and leave us to ourselves. Go!"
The husband was about to shut the door.
This brought the lady to. She rushed to the
door.
" Go, Mr. Dodge, go—do go and get the
minister at once—do, sir ! "
" Never mind, now, it's almost morning,
my dear; then we'll arrange the matter with¬
out his intervention," said the husband.
But the lady was determined—insisted.
Dodge desired them to dress and come down
into the drawing-room immediately, and he
would have the real parson there, and there
should be a prima facie, bona fide, and verita¬
ble wedding.
So he left;. The discomfited votaries of
Hymen had their other friends aroused from
their downy couches, and the amazed and
vexed parties assembled in the drawing-room,
and were soon confronted by Dodge and a
new parson, who put them over the ground
again in good and substantial shape.
The performances, however, took up the
time until daylight began to peep in through
the windows at the sombre-looking wedding-
party, when Dodge and the parson left.
After breakfast, the entire party being
again assembled in the drawing-room, Dodge
used his handkerchief about his lips a few
times, and with a slight a-hem, addressed the
wedded parties:—
" Mr. and Mrs. , I've had my joke. I
will not be greedy, and enjoy all the fun my¬
self, but share it liberally among you. Mr.
threatened some time ago that he
would certainly introduce to my especial ob¬
servation a well-known quadruped in less
than six months. There is yet a short time
left him to carry out his determination, and
I beg leave to say that this wedding has af¬
forded me probably the only opportunity I
shall ever have to assure Mr. that the
joker who intends traveling with me must
rise early in the morning, and be well loaded
with saws, in order to show to my vision a
new species of the elephant. I fegret, Mrs,
h-, the inconvenience and alarm. I may
have caused you, unnecessarily, perhaps; for
s
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
the first matrimonial performance was gen¬
uine, the last was merely a little bit of my
nonsense!"
And with the entire party close upon his
heels, the incorrigible joker made his exit.
MAGNETISM TRIUMPHANT:
OK,
The way Dodge "Done " th.e Old Maids.
BY FALCONBRIDGE.
^JgJE have seen some, and heard many,
very curi°us performances and bu-
siness operations, i. e., dovetailing
gammon into the mob by and with that latter-
day essential humbug, called Magnetism.
"We remember being present, once upon a
time, in the library-rooms of New-York,
when a Dr. Somebody succeeded, by the aid
of a confederate or two, in inveigling May¬
or Harper, Judge Matsell, and the whole
town Council, a number of the literati, and
no few of the very cogent cognicenti of the
city, into fall and efficient belief that humbug
wasn't humbug—that is, Mesmerism was an
indubitable science!
Of course, we have always been ahead of
the age we live in—we have—and had no
difficulty to see into the thing at once, and
hence laughed in our sleeve at the gullibility
of poor human nature, as loud as we could
snicker.
Several years have passed, and We still
find remnants of the humbug, the same old
humbug, about, and a few followers still, who
yet dream, sleep, and doze over the imposi¬
tion which the weakness of their intellect and
moral stagnation of the impostors keep in
existence, until some new and popular fallacy
gives Mesmerism its quietus.
During the rage and fury of Mesmerism,
some few years ago, a well-known humorous
gentleman, the first letters of whose name are
Ossian E. Dodge, courted a young gal;
that is, he walked out semi-occasionally with
her, plied her with ice-cream, tender nonsense,
etc., here in the moral city of Boston.
It is altogether probable that Dodge " cot¬
toned up" pretty strong to the young lady,
and took especial pains to make himself as
agreeable and deeply interesting as his per¬
sonal accomplishments, glib tongue, smooth
face, and suavity of manner gives him ample
scope to perform.
We shall take it for granted that such was
the case, from the fact that all was progress¬
ing smooth as " geese-grease," harmonious as
marriage-bells, when poor Dodge discovered
that he had (who has not?) a John Jones, in
shape of two maiden Cerberuses, whose blood¬
thirsty purpose it was to make his course of
true love run anything but smooth.
The humorous man paused; he had never
known a cause without an effect, nor an effect
without a remedy ; he viewed the entire field,
and planned the assault, which gave him vic¬
tory and flying colors not long afterwards.
The circumstances of the case, we may as
well mention, stood thus:—Dodge's Psyche
lodged—boarded, as we Yankees say—in a
domicil with two maiden spinsters, whose
ages, like those of the Pyramids, or Horace
Greeley's hat, were hidden from mortal eyes,
and whose countenances, despite the well-ap¬
plied friction of the soaps, powders, and " fu-
meries" of .Bogle, were like the hue and
evenness of cane-bottomed chairs, to which
neither paint nor putty could possibly give
any reasonable surface or consistency.
The fresh, fair, and oft-chanted lovely
flowers of their youth had wasted their fra¬
grance on the desert air. No bold Lothario
—at least, so they declared—had dared (!) to
essay to pluck them. Dried, withered, and
antiquated, these venerable maidens had a
holy horror of love-matches.
Having long outlived the heyday (as
Shakspeare calls it) of love and joyous life,
they felt a strong disposition (as all such la¬
dies do) to frown down and brow-beat young
and ardent hearts having the temerity to in¬
dulge in billing and cooing, and more espec¬
ially nocturnal rambling; and these two sins
Dodge and his lady-love were guilty of in a
most alarming (to the old maidens' notions)
degree, and the old 'uns determined to veto
it, by strong expressions, long-faced denuncia¬
tions, diabolical hints, and mysterious inuen-
does.
Dodge made his evening calls when in the
city, and finding the old gals not to be out
sot, hinted off, nor in any way gotten rid of
while he was about, took his lady-love out
upon the delightful promenade of the Com¬
mon, and wiled away the eve so smoothly and
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
9
rapidly that the witching time of night fre¬
quently arrived before the loving twain reach¬
ed the domicil of the young lady.
Eor these late walks, the old 'uns regularly
doled out a moral lecture at the next morn¬
ing's breakfast-table, and ding-donged over it
all the livelong day ; so that the old catama¬
rans became a brace of decided bores, and as
the weather soon proved unfavorable for
promenading, Dodge determined to get rid of
the pestiferous old maids by stratagem.
The old 'uns were dreadful superstitious
and overstocked with moral delusions, as
most antiquated maiden ladies are; so one
tedious evening Dodge asked the old 'uns if
they would not like to be thrown into the
mesmeric state.
" Thrown where ? " asked both, in a breath,
and with some alarm.
" Into the mesmeric state," said Dodge.
" Don't you talk about throwing us into
another state," said one of the maidens; " you
had better not threaten us, young man, no
how, or we'll call in the police, so we will;
yes, we will, and have you taken up ! "
" Excuse me," said Dodge, " you don't un¬
derstand Mesmerism, I perceive; but I'll ex¬
plain. Mesmerism, ladies, is a science by
which one person may throw another into a
somnambulic state or torpor; the magnetizer
may have complete control of the body by
the agency of the sympathetic fluid, in a high
rectangular State ; he may stick pins, scissors,
or carving-knives into the body of the subject,
and the subject will not know it! "
" My gracious! is that true 1" said the old
maids.
" True as preaching !" replied Dodge.
" Ah, yes," said one of the old 'uns, " I
recollect Dr. Ipecac told me how they'd found
out a new way to cut people up, almost, while
they were asleep, and the poor creatures
wouldn't know what ailed 'em, more nor
nothing."
" Yes, that's it," said Dodge, " and it's a
dreadful convenient thing to those that un¬
derstand it. One day, not long ago, I was in
the cars going down to Lowell, so I conclud¬
ed I'd have some fun. So I sets the fluid to
work."
" Do you understand this setting of folks
asleep ? " said one of the old 'uns, with much
earnestness and concern.
2
" 0, yes," said Dodge, " and as I was
going to tell you, I concluded I'd set some
of the passengers asleep, then stick them full
of pins and tacks, and wake them up, and
let them see what a fix they were in."
" Well, did you 1" cried the old 'uns.
" Didn't I ? Well, you'd thought so, if
you had seen how they squirmed about and
fidgetted and twisted when I commenced on
them."
One of the old 'uns just then feeling a ner-
rvous twitching in the end of her toes, sus-
picioned Dodge of some of his conjuring,
and evidently began to mistrust him of deal¬
ings with a supposed inhabitant of the infer¬
nal regions.
And now was the hour for the funny fellow
to crowd on the agony, and he didn't do any¬
thing shorter.
" Why, ladies," said he, " I have, by the
powers and spells of Magnetism, operated on
men and women of the most powerful rec-
tanguliferous systems, and the most diognos-
tiferous nerve, and by a single circulation of
my hand, unseen by them, paralyze their
whole entire bmnflicum arteries of the spine !"
" 0 ! O ! my gracious ! I—I feel a—a cu¬
rious pain in—in my " —
" And," continued Dodge, paying no atten¬
tion to the old 'uns, " I have but to explain
to you the minutiae of the system, and you
could, with perfect ease, operate on others."
" O ! O ! thank you, thank you, sir; we—
we don't wish to learn any dealings with—
with the evil sperrets ! " said the old 'uns, in a
breath.
" Useful science, sometimes," said Dodge.
" Eor instance, if you owe anybody a grudge,
you could vibrate on their miraculum through
your galidiverous duct, the channel through
which the mesmeric fluids coagulate and pro¬
trude into the fibrous pores of the great toe
andickidum, with the muscular tissue of the
mascus membrane of the secundem artem!
So that you could at any time put the fluid
vicetera of your Cystosole into their system
through the areditorious of their dipthong,
and the consequence would be " ■
" Eh "? what 1 O ! O ! gracious ! What
would it do then 1"
" Protrude their pendulums into a back-
action slope, ma'am," said Dodge, " and in
some pases I have, for my own amusement,
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
while seated in m j chair at a window, pass¬
ed my hand so "
11 Don't, don't pass it over us, if you please ;
no, don't, sir ! " said the old 'uns.
" At the man or woman on the opposite
side of the way, ma'am," continued Dodge,
" and paralyzed their jlambuguziptionary mus¬
cles of the leg, or arm, and they would limp
or let their arm fall instantly ! "
" Becky, get the lamp; let us go to bed—it's
getting late!" said one of the old maids,
whose nerves began to shiver under the
learned lingua, of the great magnetizer.
" Quite early yet, ladies. Iveep your seats,
and I'll give you the entire analysis of this
wondrous system, by which I can, by my
strong mesmeracular power, at any moment
bring the most rectangular horizontal person
down to the level and quietude of a sleeping
infant."
" Becky, Becky, do get the light! Come,
let us go ! " said one of the horrified spinsters.
But Dodge went on.
" I have taken women sitting in a kneedic-
ular position, facing me in an ossis frontis co-
lapsuni manner, arid operating upon the doo-
jum portion of their muscular auxiliaries ; it
has proved impossible even for a thorough¬
bred physician to conipicate on the ossiofalligas
calculi of their constitutions for a week after
such a prostration of their secular systems!
Fact!"
This last brick took full effect. Becky did
get the light, and the way the two old maid¬
ens accelerated on the scratch-gravel princi¬
ple was highly interesting and useful to the
joker and his lady-love.
The moral of this operation was, Dodge
was precious seldom afterwards bored by the
presence of his annovers; and, fearing the ill-
will of the great mesmeric performer, the old
maids were always afterwards as good as pie
to Dodge and his Psyche.
DODGE'S
SKETCHES.
11
"DOING" THE AETIST:
OR,
The Ups and. Downs of a Genius.
BY FALCONBRIDGE.
M£|(|cDT a recent private dinner-party in this
Efl2jSnj° city, I met Dodge, and, as usual, the
wag had a heap of tart things to
amuse and instruct the company with.
One of his yarns I cannot resist the temp¬
tation to relate, as I feel certain that it is
originally racy, and not to be despised in
the history of clever things.
Many years ago, before he took up the
singing business, Dodge was lumbering
through the upper part of York State, teach¬
ing the country gals the art and mysteries of
wax-flower making.
He carried a sort of band-box, full of very
beautiful wax-flowers, as specimens and pat¬
terns, and as the business proved not ex¬
tremely lucrative, the box of specimens,
worth some fifty or sixty dollars, was about
the entire stock in trade he possessed, save
one solitary five-dollar bill, at the opening of
tlie little transaction which we are about to
relate.
Having got over into Pennsylvania, Dodge
found himself upon the outside of a very
heavily-laden stage, near dark, going down a
steep, rugged hill, and but a brief distance
from the town of Williamsport; and though
he nursed his band-box with the strictest pa¬
ternal anxiety and care, the stage capsized,
spilt everybody, and smashed Dodge's band¬
box and wax fragilities all into smear-case.
Dodge was, in fact, literally and metaphor¬
ically busted up!
Grief was of no avail. Our hero gathered
up his traps, made for the hotel, took supper,
and was about to investigate the prospects of
wax-flower business in that town, when, luck¬
ily for him, he found out that the wax-flower
business was in horrid odor there, inasmuch
as a professor of that branch of female ac¬
complishment had been operating in that vil¬
lage for several weeks, then sloped from his
hotel and other bills, and, by way of finale,
had carried off a man's wife, and somebody's
gold watch.
Dodge concluded, at once, that he had bet¬
ter know anything else than wax-flower mak¬
ing there!
The next day came and passed away, as
did the next, and Dodge found that he was
unquestionably eating his head and horns
off, to use an old saying, and, unless some
turn took place in the tide of his affairs, he
would be dead stuck ; yet what to do, or how
to do, to extricate himself from his pecuniary
dilemma, the poor fellow found himself at a
positive loss to determine.
Exigency brings forth genius in full flow¬
er, for it is very clear that nothing so sharp¬
ens the inventive faculties of man as the buf¬
fets of fortune.
Dodge conceived a "dodge" which soon
raised the safety-valve of his finances, and
sent him on his way rejoicing.
Thus it was:—
It snows occasionally up there about the
mountains, and the folks are rather fond of
sleighing in them parts.
A great establishment for the manufacture
of carriages and sleighs chanced to be in the
town of Williamsport, and near the hotel. A
large sleigh had just been finished off and set
out opposite the shop; the immense dasher
in front was ornamented with a great flowing
landscape, and attracted no inconsiderable at¬
tention from the towns-people.
Dodge went over and viewed it, expressed
much approbation of it, and finally inquired
of the bystanders who was the artist of the
painting.
"Mr. Greysticker, who has his paint-shop
up there over his brother's carriage-shop,"
said a looker-on.
" Thank you," said Dodge, " I'll go see
him."
And up Dodge goes to the artist's studio,
as the flash folks say, but shop, as we repub¬
licans have it; and seeing a man daubing
away on a carriage-body, Dodge saluted
him—
" Good-morning, sir. Is this Mr. Grey-
sticker ? "
" Yaas, dat ish my name," said the Dutch
painter.
" I've been looking at a painting of yours,"
continued Dodge, "upon the dasher of a
sleigh out here, which I'm told you exe¬
cuted."
" Yaas," drawled the modern Rubens, " I
painted dat."
" Well, it is an excellent landscape; it is an
12
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
evidence of your fine talent (!) and genius
for landscape-painting," said Dodge. "Al¬
low xne to ask you, sir, who you studied (!)
under ? "
-" Studied ?" replied the dauber, in some
doubt as to the exact import of the phrase.
" Yes," said Dodge, " who was your teach¬
er ? "
" Teacher ? O, yaas, I never vos teached.
I took it all up mit mine own head, hy mine-
self."
" Indeed ! " said Dodge, with apparent
'amazement. " Is it possible ? Never took
lessons ? "
" Yaas, dat's a fac, I shust lam by mine
self," answered the Dutch artist, with awaken¬
ed pride and self-importance.
" Well, sir," said the wit, " as I observed,
you've talent, great talent; genius, sir, plenty
of it; and you only want a few easy, simple
lessons, to make you one of the very best
landscape-painters in this country! In one
lesson of two hours, sir, I can make you a
perfect master of the art."
" Yot, you pan-ter, too ?" exclaimed the
glorified Dutchman.
" I am a teacher (!) of landscape-painting,"
said Dodge." " My style is the Italian (!)
style. None of this Yankee humbug, but
the real, genuine, old Italian style."
" Dat is goot, de olt Italian shtyle ish
goot! " said the Dutchman.
" First-rate, bunkum," said Dodge, " and
I'll teach it to you in two hours, complete."
" Yell, I shust like to larn de shtyle. Vot
you sharge ? " i
"Five dollars," said Dodge. "Five dol¬
lars is all I ask, and if I do not give you en¬
tire satisfaction in two hours, I won't charge
you the first red cent."
" Yel, dat ish fair enough, any how; so I
tink I take a leshun now."
" Very good, sir," Dodge replied. " I'll
just step over to the hotel, and get a small
landscape design, and we'll begin at once."
Out went the pseudo teacher of landscape-
painting, while the Dutch artist set out his
colors and brushes, and got ready a piece of
canvas to commence his lesson, in the old
Italian style of landscape and scene-painting!
Dodge chanced to have in his valise a
steel engraving, torn from a stray number of
Godey's Lady's Book, representing a view of
the Natural Bridge and adjacent scenery in
Virginia. This was the entire collection of
the wit's designs, at least in the way of land¬
scapes, but this was all-sufficient for his pres¬
ent designs ; so back he came.
" Veil, I got de col-Urs all ready. There
ish de brushes, and dare ish de canvas," said
Greysticker, hinting that Dodge might go
ahead.
" Very goodj sir," said Dodge ; " now you
can commence, and "
" Veil, but you ish to show me de shtyle !"
" O, certainly! but, understand me, I don't
teach by the Yankee method, you know; I
don't do the painting myself (!) as they do,
but make the scholar do it all! 0, no ! the
Yankee style ain't my way ! I never touch
the work at all. I stand by, give you the
proper instruction, the fall practical, not
mere theoretical, but the full practical benefit
of my style! Yes, sir!" said Dodge, with
the emphasis and flourish of a veritable vir¬
tuoso " in the old Italian."
" Veil, I guess dat ish goot way," said the
carriage-artist.
" Certainly," echoed Dodge, " the true and
proper way, I find, in my travels in this
country."
" Vot ish your counthrey, eh 1 Italians ? "
" No, sir, New-Orleans!" said Dodge.
" Well, sir, I find that the teachers have no
difficulty to teach their pupils to paint a very
good landscape while they are under instruc¬
tions ; but the moment a teacher is gone, the
pupil is at a total loss—can't paint at all, sir !
The reason is plain. These Yankee teachers
and English teachers take hold of the brushes
and do the painting themselves, while the
scholar looks on; consequently—don't you
see 1—the scholar gets no practical teaching."
" Dat's a fac, dat ish thrue," said the Dutch¬
man.
" Of course," said Dodge ; " so my system
is altogether different. Here is a Venetian
scene, (!) the 'Bridge of Sighs.'(!) Now,
we'll commence. Now, first and foremost,
what would you commence first 1"
" Veil, I tink de shky furst," said the
scholar.
" There you're right, quite right (!). But
what color would you use 1" said the teach¬
er, with the air of a regular professor stump¬
ing a novice.
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
13
'while the dutch painter sketched away, his teacher plied the soft soap."
" Plue, mit coorse, light plue for de skhy,
and dark plue for de clouts."
" There you're wrong, sir," said the teach¬
er; "now, this is not an American (!) sky,
but an Italian sky—fewer clouds, and bright¬
er, softer skies than the American skies—you
understand 1 "
" O, yaas, dat ish very ihrue; now I under¬
stand dat," said the pupil.
" Yery well," continued the teacher, who
was getting along like bricks with his pupil;
' now proceed, and give your arm and wrist
.free scope."
" Yell, but what col-urs shall I poot on de
shky furst 1" asked the pupil.
" O ! why you can use—use—let me see—
use a little chrome, and a little—little a "
" A little umber," said the pupil, assisting
tie over-tasked memory of the teacher.
"Yes, that will do, but not too strong a
tint, you see ; so,,now, a little "
" Ret, and a streak of plue," interrupted
the advancing pupil.
" That's right," said the teacher, " that will
do—so, very good. I see you get the style
very quick. I never had a pupil who pro¬
gressed with such quickness and ease ! " said
he. " Now, sir, the foreground; begin that—•
you understand ? "
" Yell, vet col-urs ish dat ? Yaller and
prown 1 "
" There you're wrong. No yellow, sir, no
yellow in Italian ground, but a soft, dark,
shadowy brown, a sort of hazy tint, foggy-
muddled, shady tint—you understand ? " said
the teacher.
" Yell, no, I don't understhandt dat, de
fuggled-muggled tinch, I not understhandt
dem ; vot ish dat ? " asked the dumb-founded
pupil.
" Brown, brownish, cast—not too dark, not
too light—understand ? "
14
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
" 0, yaas, so, dat ish it, umph ? " said the
pupil, laying it on as thick as slappers.
"Well, that's right; now the bridge, so,
and the water, a little white and light blue ;
that's it, very fine indeed. So, you do really
progress elegantly," said Dodge, flourishing
his fingers and the engraving.
While the Dutch. painter sketched away,
the teacher piled on the " soft soap," and be¬
tween them, in the course of two or three
hours, the landscape "Bridge of Size" (!)
was duly and very creditably executed, as
Dodge assured the pupil, in the improved
style of the old Italian school!
The Dutch artist expressed entire satisfac¬
tion of the lesson, and handed over a V to
the indefatigable professor (!) with assuran¬
ces of his many regards and esteem for the
Italian system!
" Now, sir," said Dodge, folding up and
stowing away the bill, " now, sir, you can
greatly benefit me, and make something
yourself"
" Den, by sure, I will ashist you in all dat
I can. Shust let me know."
" Get me up twelve scholars, at five dollars
each. I will teach them my system (!). You
can recommend it highly to them, and I will
give you one dollar on each scholar, for your
trouble and favor—you understand ? "
The Dutch artist went to work, the schol¬
ars were soon collected. In three days they
were put through a course of landscapes, the
professor found fifty-three dollars in his fob,
paid his bills, and vamosed, rejoicing that the
darkest hour always turns up' morning, and
wit was a " monstrous handy thing," if well
used!
DODGE'S
ASCENT OF MOUNT WASHINGTON.
BY THURLOW W. BROWN.
^OLD-SPOKEN, straight-forward men
are scarce to be found, unless they
float lazily upon a strong popular
current. We have seen this humiliating fact
everywhere presented.
Dodge is a man. He is an every-day tem¬
perance man. He both sings, talks, and acts
out his opinions upon the'great subject.
His home is in Boston. Summers he does
not sing, but devotes his time to traveling,
sketching, and writing. To those acquainted
with the man, we need not say that he wields
the pen ia a manner peculiar to himself, his
writings always sparkling with that quiet vein
of wit and humor so characteristic of the
man.
After the concert season was over, Dodge
one summer left the city of Boston to spend a
few weeks among the hills and mountains of
New-Hampshire.
An idol with the people of New-England
is Dodge. His appearance among them is
the signal for a " good time." Such capital
is not allowed to remain inactive.
Before Dodge had hardly departed to the
land of dreams, the news of his arrival had
spread like wildfire. " Dodge has come—now
for fun! " was the talk "that went round.
Dodge had hardly swallowed his breakfast,
before he was surrounded by a swarm of ar¬
dent friends. He was the centre of attraction.
Seated coolly in his chair, his feet upon the
table and a cigar in his mouth, he let off his
jokes until he seemed like a nest of rockets
exploding harmlessly among the crowd.
Every time he withdrew his cigar from his
mouth, the act was followed by an ominous
silence, only to be broken in upon by a shout
as hearty as universal.
Arrangements were soon made for a
" time." The party adjourned from the bar¬
room to the sitting-room, where a table had
been spread for the occasion. After they
were seated, Dodge among the number, the
waiters came in, and wine-glasses were placed
upon the table. Wine followed.
" My friends," said Dodge.
They all ceased speaking, expecting some¬
thing from the soul of the party. That
something came.
" My friends, I thank you for your kind¬
ness, but allow me to say that if wine is in¬
dispensable to the entertainment, you must
do without Dodge!"
That teas a glorious speech! Under the
circumstances, it was heroic. It fell like a
wet blanket upon the crowd, whose mouths
were watering for the wine-bottle
Dodge quietly left the room, and again
took his seat in the bar-room, resumed his
cigar, and replaced his feet upon the table.
No words could alter his determination. Of
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
15
course, there was a baulk in the arrange¬
ments. But Dodge was soon surrounded
again, and the laughter rang out hearty as
ever.
A ride was proposed up Mount "Washing¬
ton. The first question asked was—" Will
Dodge join the party ? "
" No, sir ! " said Dodge.
Some disparaging remarks were made about
cold-water men. Dodge was one, and he
dared not undertake the fatigue of going up
the mountain.
After they had said enough about cold-
water men, Dodge sprang to his feet.
" Gentleman, I am a cold-waterman. Who
dare follow me up the mountain to-day ? "
" Thought you wasn't a-going 1 " said one.
"A mistake," said Dodge. " I said I should
not ride up. You have, had your fun about
cold-water men. Now, gentlemen, few men,
during such weather as this, can walk to the
top of Mount Washington. Who dare follow
Dodge up the White Mountains to-day, on
foot ? Take the stump, cowards, and back
out, you tipplers !"
Ashamed and confounded, it was some mo¬
ments before a move was made. At last one
and another volunteered, until eleven de¬
clared themselves ready to follow the com¬
ical and cold-water vocalist.
"All ready ? " said Dodge.
"Ay, ay! " was the general response
And in a few moments the daring company
of pedestrians (with no guide) were on their
upward and perilous march.
After a while, Dodge found himself and
one of the eleven alone upon the mountain.
He out with his portfolio, and during his
ascent took six different sketches, and he and
his comrade arrived at the summit of Mount
Washington twenty minutes before the cav¬
alcade of mountain ponies, well trained to
such excursions—a feat hard to be equalled
by the strongest of men.
Dodge had triumphed. The cold-water
fellow enjoyed his victory, and turned a mer-
16
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
ciless fire of raillery upon his wine-bibbing
rivals.
Upofi inquiry, the stranger who alone ac¬
companied Dodge up the mountain proved to
be another cold-water man. He had watched
the strife with interest, and participated in it
to see the result.
Few men would have had the boldness and
honesty to have taken the stand that Dodge
did at the table. Such an exhibition of in¬
tegrity and consistency is so rarely seen, that
it is worthy of a lasting and emphatic rec¬
ord, while he showed himself a prompt fellow
to dare his friends to a strife which should
test the virtue of wine in sustaining its ad¬
mirers in the arduous and difficult ascent up
Mount Washington.
DODGE'S PRIVATE PERFORMANCE
TO AN
Extremely Select Audience*
BT CURTIS GUILD.
^^(PLMOST eveiy one knows, or ought
|WI^T to know, the celebrated humorist and
delineator of comic characters, Os-
sian E. Dodge ; once seen, he is never forgot¬
ten, and the numerous rich practical jokes and
humorous scenes in' which he has been the
hero would fill a volume, if published. There
is one which came under our own especial
notice, which, although it is impossible to
portray in print in so vivid a light as it ap¬
peared in the original performance, still is
worth publication, and too good to be lost.
A certain individual, old Sam B , we^l
known in the " City of Notions," was, by his
own request, introduced to our humorous
friend upon a certain occasion; old Sam is
naturally a testy fellow, yet he is fond of a
good joke and hearty laugh, so that it was not
long before he and Dodge were " pretty thick
together." Dodge was preparing to give a se¬
ries of concerts in Boston, and Sam, who had
never heard him perform, was anxiously
awaiting the evening on which the first was to
take place, to arrive. It was on the morning
of that eventful day that Dodge popped in "
at Sam's little back counting-room, where he
found the said Sam busily engaged in inditing
sundry epistles to various individuals.
" I say, Sam," said he, " I have made an ap¬
pointment to meet a person in your front
counting-room this morning, on business re¬
specting the concert; I suppose you have no
objection ?"
" Not in the least, my dear fellow," replied
Sam; " you know I am never overrun with
customers, so make yourself comfortable in
the front room—only don't bother me for a
short time, for I am very busy."
Dodge passed out into the front counting-
room, closing the door after him, but there
was a sly and peculiar twinkle in his eye, as he
noticed that the two ground-glass windows
that separated Sam's sanctum from the outer
room were partly pulled down, to allow a free
circulation of air, so that Sam could also dis¬
tinctly hear all that was going on in the outer
office, although he could not see who was
there, or what was transpiring. He was busily
scratching away to his correspondents, when
the following dialogue greeted his ear—
" Is Massa Dog in ? "
" Heavens ! " muttered Sam to himself,
"has Dodge made an appointment with a
nigger ? "
" You mean "Dodge, my good fellow," Sam
heard the humorist reply.
" 0, yas, I s'pose it am; but a gemman gib
me dis card at de hotel, D-O-G, Dodge you
call 'em, and tole dis chile he'd find you down
to ole Sam B.'s office; ah, I knows dat ole
Sam, he's^ one of 'em, he is, yah, ha, yah!"
And here followed an Ethiopian cachination
that made Sam almost shake in his boots, but
he still scratched on with fierce^determination.
" Well, my good man, what is your business
with me ? "
" Why, you see, Massa Dog—Dodge, I
mean—I'se invented a new kind ob blackin',
and I wants to git your permission to call it
de Dodge blackin', bekase it am bound to shine."
" Well, sit down a moment, and "
" I say, old feller," said another voice, fluc¬
tuating between the neigh of a young colt and
the roar of the north wind—" I say, old feller,
how de dew, how are ye ? Are yew that 'ere
funny chap what's goin' to gin a concert this
evening, that them 'ere red and yaller bills tells
about that's stuck up all raound the streets,
hey ? "
" My name is Dodge, sir."
" Wall, du tell! I'm nation glad to see yew
—am stoppin' up at the same place where yew
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
17
be—-just arrived here this mornin'—stuck my
name right daown under yourn on the books
—axed Milliken where yew was—said you'd
gone down to old Sam B.'s office, so I streak¬
ed right daown here—thought I should like to
take a look at yew—s'pose I can dew that
without payin', can't I ? "
" 0, certainly, sir; I'm glad to see you."
" Same to yew; won't yew step eout and
take a leetle New-England 7 "
" You must excuse me, sir, I don't drink "
" 0 ! well, I only axed for information "
" Sail I 'ave ze plaisir to see Monsieur
Doge ? " said another, evidently a new-comer,
and a native of la belle Erance.
" Curse me !" said Sam to himself, " if the
fellow is not holding a levee in my counting-
room."
" You are addressing Mr. Dodge," was the
reply Sam heard to the last query.
"Ah1? je suis tres happy to see you, Mon¬
sieur Doge. I have come for make one leetle
request, vich is dat you vill permit myself to
translate de belle songs vich you sing into de
langue Eranfais ; and den I sail return to
Paris and vill make one grand fortune; ma
foi, I vill give ze concert, and I vill sing ze
songs. Sare, I vill sing ze Saint a la France
to you dis moment."
" Not at present, my friend, for here is some
one else who wishes to speak to me."
" Och, bad cess to the likes of it, Misther
Dodge, why did ye sind the likes of me upon
a fool's errand, at all, at all 1"
" Another, by all the gods of war ! " ejacu¬
lated Sam, digging his pen into the inkstand.
"A fool's errand, Dennis ; why, what do you
mean ? "
" Sure, didn't I go as ye dhirected me to
the house, and to the gintleman of the house,
and axed him as ye tould me 1 ' I want the
small, dark-colored cook,' says I. ' Step down
in the kitchen, my jewel,' says he. So down
I wint, and who did I find there but a big na-
gur, and when I tould her Mr. Dodge sent me
for the dark-colored cook, she bid me begone,
for a dhirty blackguard that I was."
" Why, you blundering scoundrel, 'twas not
the cook I sent you for." v
" Shure, 'twas the dark-colored cook."
" Pshaw ! 'twas the dark-covered book"
(Here an audible snicker was heard from
Sam's apartment.)
3
" Aw! is Mistah Dodge heah 1 "
" Sir, I am that gentleman."
" Aw, I had—aw—a slight proposition to
make—aw—to you, sah, that is—aw—if you
wish to make your concert dem'd fashionable,
aw—that is all the rage, why I and my friends
will—aw—patronize yah on certain condi¬
tions."
" Sir, you are very kind; what are the con¬
ditions t"
" Aw, veyey slight; you will—aw—only
have to furnish, aw—us with free tickets, and
we shall be there, aw—and make it the concert
—demme !"
" Sir, I shall be pleased to sec you and your
friends this evening, but must assure you that
before entering the hall the pecuniary consid¬
eration: of twenty-five cents from each one of
you must be deposited with the doorkeeper."
" Aw—not at all—we sha'n't patronize yah,
and I'm sure none but—aw—dem'd vulgar
people will be present. Good-mawning, sah."
" Is Mr. Dodge here 1"
" Yes, sir."
" "Well, Mr. Dodge, I've brought that bugle,
and if you wish to hear it tried, I'll give you
a taste of its quality."
("Gracious Heavens!" said Sam, rising
from his chair, " that infernal fellow has got
my counting-room filled with a crowd of peo¬
ple, and now he's going to entertain them with
a key-bugle.")
" 0, yes," he heard Dodge exclaim, " I've
no doubt 'twill please my friends here."
The vocalist's guests seemed to acquiesce,
for Sam heard the ejaculations of—" Dis chile
berry fond of music." " Ah ! ze bugel est une
grand instrument." " Sthrike up St. Patrick's
Day, ye divil." " Give us Hail Columby, old
feller," &c.
Then the bugle, or rather the performer,
commenced running over the scale, and finally
glided into a popular Ethiopian melody, play¬
ing it in the most approved style.
This was too much for Sam. He dashed
open the door with a crash, and rushed forth,
with dire intent, prepared to sweep a crowd
before him, and expecting to find himself in
the midst of a dozen motley characters at
least, but he started back in astonishment, for,
save the imperturbable Dodge, who stood with
the big drops of perspiration on his forehead,
caused by his exertions, the room was empty.
18
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
" SAM DASHED OPEN THE DOOR "WITH A CRASH."
" Why, Dodge," ejaculated Sam," I thought
you had some one here."
" Is Massa Dog in 1"
Sam stared with astonishment—
" Why, you don't mean," said he, at length,
" that you were the imitator of the boot¬
black 1 "
" Yes, nothin' else, old feller."
" What, and the Yankee ? "
" Oui, Monsieur."
" The Frenchman, too ! Lord, what a fool
I've been."
"Ye may say that with yer own ugly
mouth."
"And the Irishman," said Sam, as he was
convulsed with laughter, while Dodge wiped
the perspiration from his forehead, and en¬
joyed the joke exceedingly.
" Well," said Dodge to Sam, who was still
shaking with merriment, and crying "glo¬
rious," " capital," " gammoned, by Jupiter,"
&c.; " well," said he, as the modest individual
whose name graces the head of this sketch
entered the counting-room, " as my friend Bob
has arrived, I will adjourn with him for the
present. I'm much obliged to you for the use
of the room, and," added he, " I sha'n't charge
you anything for the private performance
which was given for your especial benefit."
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
19
THE WAY DODGE STARTED HIM¬
SELF.
BY CHARLES SHEPPARD.
*p¥|^EADEIt, were you ever hard up, short,
|£§j|K| rockless, broke, pocket turned wrong
side out, and completely skinned of
the last red cent t
If so, you can then appreciate the following
little gem or incident in the life of Dodge,
this dodge of all dodgers, Ossian E. Dodge,
one whom every one would suppose could
dodge the sharp corners in life, whose fertile
genius would always keep some of the one
thing needful within reach. And yet 'tis so.
Dodge has confessed that he was once " hard
up," but the following will show how he made
a raise of the " all-healing balm."
'Twas in the year '39, on a cold, wet, drizzly
morning in the latter part of October, that
Dodge found himself standing upon the steps
of a hotel in Philadelphia. Now, no other
place in the Union possesses so many of the
requisites for making a rainy day perfectly
blue and horrible as that same Philadelphia.
The rSin does not come down in moderate
spouts, but in whole squares, and people walk
along like spectres wrapped in great coats and
broad-brimmed hats.
Well, Dodge was thar—lie was, and flat
broke, with a hotel bill of $6 to pay, and but
$3 to cash it with. He thought of every im¬
aginable way to raise the wind, of pushing a
man off the dock, and jumping in to save his
life ; of delivering a lecture on the downfall
of Poland, and taking up a collection to de¬
fray expenses; but, to use an emphatic ex¬
pression, Dodge was floored.
But Dodge's brain was too fertile to remain
long on them steps; so, drawing his well-brush¬
ed beaver close over his eyes, he took a stroll
toward the outskirts of the city, and after con¬
tinuing in this meditative mood for a few
blocks, his ever-watchful eye caught the
swinging sign of a painter, on the opposite
side of the street. %
A thought struck him, that he might dispose
to a good advantage of some " specimens,"
but where was he to get 'em ? Ah, there was
the rub ! A lucky idea!
" I have it," says Dodge; " I'll go to the
printers. I have always ranked them among
my best friends, and now for the grand exper¬
iment."
After having his plans laid, he was not long
in carrying them out, as the sequel will show.
Entering a small "Job-Office," he contracted
for one hundred posters (of the largest size
they could afford for the sum of $3), to be
worked off immediately, and contain the al¬
phabet of seven different varieties, of block,
condensed, shaded, and fancy type.
The job was soon completed, and after
forking over his last $3, Dodge, with chunks
of fun rolling from each eye, sallied forth with
his bundle of posters, to supply the wants of
the young learners with some of the best spec¬
imens of the old masters.
Entering the first paint-shop he came to, he
found the proprietor, a sour-faced Dutchman,
engaged in re-lettering an old sign-board, and
nearly half a dozen apprentices busily em¬
ployed in daubing over the different articles
about the room.
With that bland and affable manner for
which be is so, distinguished, Dodge, in his
most winning tone, addressed the " boss " of
the establishment as follows—
" Can I have the pleasure, good sir, of sell¬
ing you some splendid specimens, this morn¬
ing ? "
" Speshamuns—vat te tivel is dem 1"
" Specimens, sir, specimens of the style of
lettering as now practised by Egnorado Z.
Naisso, the greatest artist of the Italian
school," replied Dodge.
" Atalleon humbug. It ish no petter than
ish mine ; shust some darn Yankee foolin',"
growled the boss.
" It may, sir, be no better than yours in
your .peculiar style. I admit that-yours is
vastly superior to anything I have met with
in my travels; but now, sir, don't you think
that that bold, unflinching ground-work of
yours would be highly improved by introduc¬
ing the soft, mellow, voluptuous, and exquis¬
ite outline that pervades this of the Italian's ? "
says Dodge, directing his attention at the
same time to a ten-line pica, double-shaded II
of the condensed form.
The Dutchman condescended to look, and
the apprentices gathered around, while Dodge,
feeling that the battle was already won, con¬
tinued to pile on the ammunition—
" Your skill, sir, I admit, is wonderful, and
20
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
\~'TM wtIHIW
" THE DUTCHMAN CONDESCENDED TO LOOK, AND THE APPRENTICES GATHERED AROUND.
as a brother in the profession I am proud of
having seen you. I am proud of you, sir, for
this, but doubly so because that you are a
countryman of him I idolize and reverence
more than any other man on earth. I shall
ever consider it a bright day in my existence
when I stood in the presence of one so tal¬
ented, and he a countryman of Rubens. Our
art, sir, is one that we may be proud of. That
humble board, when it leaves your hands, will
meet the admiring gaze of millions. But it
could be highly improved if the camplic defi-
natum of the shade of that E, was only kros-
tickerated by the incipient rays of this imper-
tibulary style. And indeed, noble sir, do you
not yourself think that it would be more im¬
aginatively conducive to the satisfaction of
the optical vision ? "
Dodge paused a moment for the last load
to take effect, while the half dozen appren¬
tices, with eyes starting from their sockets,
crowded still closer, as the old Dutchman re¬
plied—
" Yesh, dat ish goot, I see you understands
te pizziness ; vat is the price of dese spesha-
muns 1 "
" Only fifty cents," says Dodge; " cheap as
dirt, sir—only fifty cents."
" Yal, den, I will take two for mineself, and
te poys can take one apiece if dey ish a mines
to."
Before Dodge left the shop, he was possess¬
or of one more dollar than the bills cost him,
and with a " good-morning, my noble friend,"
he left the good old Dutchman and his six
apprentices trying to study out the philosophy
of the double-shaded H.
Feeling encouraged with his beginning,
Dodge continued to visit the different shops
throughout the city, varying his manner of
address as circumstances and men required,
and long before th£ close of day (having dis¬
posed at different prices his " splendid collec¬
tion of specimens ") he returned to his hotel
with nearly $40 in cash, and the reputation of
being one of the first artists in the country.
He probably on th&t occasion first imbibed
a passion for speculation, as he has, since that
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
21
time, in addition to concerting (in which ca¬
pacity he has gained such an extensive repu¬
tation) dealt somewhat largely in real estate
and stocks, until he is at present generally
supposed to be worth from 80 to $100,000.
DODGE'S ELOPEMENT:
OR,
The Captain Outwitted.
BY FALCONBRIDGE.
PODGE, the eccentric and unequaled
illEF' delineator; or, as the ladies call him,
the "incomparably ugly man," ap¬
peared " on 'change " again last week, and the
next evening after his appearance, Milliken's
fashionable saloon—Dodge's head-quarters—
was, at an early hour, densely crowded with
the "members of the'order," to listen to the
rib-tickling account of the many incidents
ever to be met with in the life of a Concert-
Singer.
Many a time and oft have we shaken our
sides with uncontrollable laughter, as the tor¬
menting sentences of dry and spontaneous
wit fell from the lips of the joker, as uncon¬
cerned and as careless as the drops of spray
from the over-hanging cliffs at Niagara.
But few, however, of the many rich things
related by him, in our presence, have left the
laughter in us like the following; but, in or¬
der to be fully appreciated, the reader should
see Dodge tell the story.
Dodge, some years ago—about the time- he
quit teaching the art of wax-fruit and flower-,
making, and, fortunately, took up that of con¬
certing, at which profession he has, according
to repute, amassed an independent fortune—
made a break across the mountains, and one
fine morning found himself in the city of
Cincinnati.
Here he took passage in the afterward un¬
lucky steamer, the B S , bound down
to Memphis, Yicksburg, Natchez, and New-
Orleans.
The boat was densely crowded, being stow¬
ed full on deck with agricultural implements,
horses, cord-wood, Dutch emigrants, and other
hard-ware, while the cabin overhead was filled
jam up with trunks, band-boxes, carpet-bags,
umbrellas, gals and boys, men and women, and
sich like plunder.
The boat shoved out, fired her swivel, and
away she headed down stream, under full
steam, while her old pipes breathed forth a
Icook, Icoolc, koolc, which fairly caused the sur¬
rounding hills to echo again.
After supper, Dodge, having, by letter of
introduction, made the acquaintance of a very
useful personage, the Captain of the boat, they
arm-in-arm took a peep into the ladies' sa¬
loon ; it was quite full, and one of the ladies
was playing the piano elegantly, while some
others, having a greater taste for vocal than
instrumental music, were humming over a few
of the late fashionable productions of Balfe,
Glover, Dempster, and other eminent compo¬
sers.
The Captain and Dodge stood, for some
time, in respectful silence, when the lady at
the piano very politely requested aid from
one to assist her in that glorious, soul-exhil¬
arating, and never-dying old duet, the Cana¬
dian Boai-SQng.
This was Dodge's cue; he very readily step¬
ped forward, and begged permission to lead
off.
" If you please, sir," says the lady, whoso
angeliferous voice, Dodge vows, nearly took
away his breath.
However, our hero pitched into the Boatman
like a load of coal, and says that, united with
the angelic voice of the Mississippian night¬
ingale, he fairly made " Home howl."
After the Boatman, came a few selections
from the Operas lately published; and the
night being now far advanced, to wind up,
Dodge was obliged to favor the ladies with a
description of his trip to Niagara Falls^Md'm.
" Egad, old fellow," says the noble Captain,
meeting Dodge in the social hall, about mid¬
night, " you got along swimmingly among the
ladies ! Why, you sing like a bird."
" O, yes, I sing a little," says Dodge.
" And, egad, you thumbed that ladies' guit¬
ar into Jits."
" Well, I ra-ather guess I did torture it
some," replied Dodge; "butHell me, Captain,
who the deuce is that lady dressed in black,
that sings so like a nightingale, and plays with
the finish and perfection of a professor % "
The Captain being a noted wag, and the
terror of all jokers on the Mississippi river,
here suddenly conceived the idea of selling the
Yankee, with a joke which should cowU
22
DODGE'S SKETCHES
" high " among the New-Englanders, in ages
to come, as a model " sell."
" That lady, my dear fellow, is a—a widow.'
" You don't say so ! " says Dodge.
" Yes, but I do, though; and, more than
that, she's rich! rich as mud, sir—rich as
mud! worth seventy-five thousand dollars!
young and beautiful, into the bargain! A
grand chance for a Yankee boy just commenc¬
ing life like you, sir!"
" She's certainly very beautiful," said Dodge.
" Beautiful as an angel! " replied the Cap¬
tain.
" A very fine musician, too !" said Dodge.
" Unequaled on the river," rejoined the Cap¬
tain ; " why, sir, she sings like a seraph! "
" How long has she been a widow ? " in¬
quired Dodge.
" A little over a year now, since her Cap¬
tain was placed under the sod."
" Ah ! then her husband was a Captain, was
he 1 " says Dodge.
" Yes; he was a Captain, but he got blowed
up, poor fellow ! This steamboating is risky
business for a man who cares anything about
life, sir ! risky business ; but then, if you get
the widow—and you can do it, sir, like a knife,
if you only cotton up strong; enough, for she
likes you already ; I saw it in her eye—you
can retire on some large plantation, and spend
the rest of your days in indescribable and un¬
bounded luxury."
" Well, Captain, hang me if I 'ain't a mind
to spread myself for the young widow, and
try my hand at courting for the first time in
my life."
" Go it, my boy, I'll back you with all my
influence ; if I wasn't already a married man,
I'd surely go in for that charming woman; but
you'll win—young ! good-looking ! "
" Don't, don't, if you please, Captain."
" Hang it, Dodge, don't be so modest."
" But, Captain ! gas, soap, putty; think of
my pheelinks."
" Then you sing and play like a book; the
widow loves music, she loves music to distrac¬
tion, and now, my boy, strike while the iron is
hot! Why, sir, if I could. sing and handle
the guitar equal to you, I'd "
" Hold on, Captain, hold on ; I understand,
all about that, but now tell me all about the
young and beautiful widow; give me her
name, age, and residence,"
" Her name," replied the Captain, " is Ara-
mantha Bronson; age, about twenty-four;
residence, New-Orleans; and as we shall prob¬
ably be about ten days running down, you'll
have a fine chance to exert yourself; so now
take my advice, and make the best use of your
time."
" I will," says Dodge, and he didn't do any¬
thing else ; for, always having an eye open for
" fly-traps " and " spring-guns," his suspicions
were aroused by the Captain's attempt at flat¬
tery, and his seeming disinterested endeavors
to bring about a hasty avowal of love for the
young, accomplished, and really beautiful
lady.
So, setting his wires to work, he lost but
little time in discovering that the Captain had
been under the delightful chains of Hymen
but about two weeks, and the pseudo widow
was no more nor less than the identical, charm¬
ing, and idolized wife of the Captain.
" Now, then," says Dodge to himself, " as
the Captain has planned a joke, he sha'n't be
disappointed; I'll only change or slightly al¬
ter the plot, and if I don't, in the end, give
him a regular ' eye-opener,' then he may ever
have the pleasure of informing his friends
how he ' done the Yankee brown.'"
Dodge had, something like a week previous,
sent on his bills and advertisements to the ed¬
itors at Natchez, stating that he would be at
that stirring little town during the races, and
would, at fifty cents a ticket, treat the inhabi¬
tants and visitors with a series of mirthful,
musical, and facial entertainments.
Not letting any person on board know at
what place he intended to stop, telling the
Captain he would settle his fare when he left
the boat, he improved every spare moment
with the widow over the music port-folios and
piano, until the old steamer came pufiing
alongside of the levee at Natchez.
Ascertaining from the Captain that the
steamer would leave in about three-quarters
of an hour, he gave his baggage in charge of
a resident in town, who was just about leav¬
ing the boat. Then, watching the Captain
until he had entered the counting-room of one
of the large stores " under the hill," for which
he occasionally brought goods from New-Or¬
leans, the vocalist immediately went to the
Captain's wife, and very coolly informed her
that, through a mismanagement of one of the
DODGE'S !
agents, the boat would be obliged to remain
about twenty-four hours at Natchez, and that
her husband had accordingly accepted an in¬
vitation of some friends to visit the race-
ground, and wished the vocalist to come up,
as soon as convenient, in a carriage, with the
Captain's wife.
Not dreaming of anything wrong, the lady
hastily threw on her shawl and bonnet, and
declared herself ready for a start.
Stepping on shore, Dodge hailed a colored
coachman, gave hiin a bright half-eagle, and
in a smothered voice, ordered him to drive
ten miles in an easterly direction, and then,
without a single question, turn around, and
slowly return.
Leaving Dodge and his fair companion to
enjoy their pleasant drive, after a tedious con¬
finement in a noisy and clattering steamer, we
will $ow return to the Captain, who, at the
appointed time, gave the steamer's bell the
accustomed number of rings, hauled in the
plank, bid a " good-day " to his friends, and
shoved out into the muddy river.
After seeing that the additional freight was
well balanced, ropes and chains properly
stowed away, and everything, in sailor's
phrase, " all taut," which occupied nearly an
hour, the Captain entered the ladies' saloon,
to scrutinize his new passengers, and pass an
agreeable half-hour with his sweet and affec¬
tionate bride.
Not seeing his lady, he repaired to het
state-room, where he found the usual variety
of out and inside dresses, night-cap, slippers,
stockings, etc., but no wife ; whereupon, feel¬
ing a little uneasy (the honey-moon not yet
being passed), a general search was made,
from stem to stern, in the old steamboat, but
without the least success.
For a moment the Captain stood like a stat¬
ue. A thought struck him: where was Dodge ?
Some one remarked that he had not been
seen since the boat left Natchez.
With the speed of a madman, the Captain
rushed to the state-room of the Yankee Sing¬
er, when; to his utter astonishment, he found
that the baggage had all disappeared, and on
the bed lay a letter, directed to Captain •,
of the steamer B ■ S .
The letter was quickly torn open, when, to
add still greater fury to his frenzy, his eyes
fell on the following:—
KETCHES. 23
" Dear sir :—Thinking that you might
possibly have the pleasure of relating to your
friends how you caught Dodge ' nappingby
persuading him to make a declaration of love
to your talented and truly accomplished lady,
you tried your utmost, both by misrepresenta¬
tion and personal influence, to get me in the
meshes of your skilfully-woven net; and
thinking that when we are among the Romans
we are justified in doing as the Romans do, I
have by the same method taken possession of
your beautiful wife, without either her own, or
your consent.
" Your lady shall receive that attention and
kindness that none other better than a Boston
man knows how to bestow; and unless you
conclude to ' 'bout ship,' acknowledge the
corn, and immediately take possession of the
prize (which, between you and myself, I con¬
sider the most manly and wisest course), I
shall, if it meets her approval, take her under
my charge in the next steamer bound for the
Crescent City.
"Yours for fun, let it come at whose ex¬
pense it may, in a horn, » *
" Ossiatt E. Dodge,
" The Boston Vocalist.
" P. S.—Enclosed you will find the amount
of my fare, and inasmuch as I have taken
possession of your fair, it is perfectly fair that
you should take possession of my fare."
In a voice of thunder, the Captain gave or¬
ders for the action of the engine to be revers¬
ed, and taking possession of the pilot-house
himself, he had for a time an excellent oppor¬
tunity of cooling himself down into some¬
thing like a state of. reflection and reason.
Being naturally of a generous, noble-heart¬
ed, and lively tarn of mind, he was soon oblig¬
ed to acknowledge to himself that the " infer¬
nal Yankee " outwitted him ; and that, after
all, if his wife had received that attention
promised in the letter, it would be better not
to make a fool of himself by a great splurge
and show, but handsomely acknowledge that
he had been -whipped by his own weapons, re¬
turn the vocalist the amount of his fare, and
then present himi with a life-ticket for the
steamer B S , current at all seasons
of the year.
. About the time that the Captain was raging
the wildest, Dodge was explaining to his fair
companion the manner in which her lawful
lord had compromised her honor and dignity,
by representing her as a widow, and the prop¬
er person to receive the addresses of any and
all who might by accident or otherwise en¬
gage a passage in the same steamer.
Little by little, in his usual shrewd manner,
24
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
the vocalist revealed the complicated plot
from beginning to end, until the whole con¬
versation, plans, &c., were brought to light,
including even the capsheaf of the whole—
the vocalist's letter, left in the state-room.
The lady trembled, wept violently for a few
moments, and finally wound up with a merry,
ringing laugh, exclaiming—
" 0, won't he be angry for a few minutes !
But he's a noble soul, and will, in half an hour
afterward, be willing and happy to forgive and
forget! But he sha'n't forget, as long as I
have a tongue !' 0, won't I hector him ? But,
Mr. Dodge, hadn't we better have the driver
hurry 1 For the Captain will return immedi¬
ately, on the receipt of your note, I know he
will; for O, sir, we are very fond of each oth¬
er—indeed, we are."
Dodge ordered the driver to increase his
speed, and if he should discover a steamer com¬
ing up the river, to immediately inform them.
" Dah's one comin' now, Massa," immedi¬
ately replied the driver.
" What's her name 1" inquired Dodge.
"I reckon Massa's from de Norf! Don't
know, nigga can't read," rejoined the laugh¬
ing prince of darkness.
Dodge and his fair companion immediately
took a view of the distant steamer from the
window of the coach, and soon satisfied them¬
selves beyond a doubt that she was none other
than the identical B S .
" Where does Massa want nigga to drive
now ? " inquired the wonder-stricken but re¬
spectful driver.
" To Natchez, under the hill," replies
Dodge, "and govern yourself according to
the speed of yonder steamer, as we wish to
board her "
" Yas, sah ! "
As the bow-line was thrown ashore, Dodge
and the pseudo widow alighted from the car¬
riage, and walked slowly toward the boat.
The Captain, overcome with joy at the
sight of his young and beautiful bride, sprung-
from the taffrail, and soon had her clasped in
his arms, and after a hug, a kiss, and a few
words in private, he turned round to Dodge,
who stood looking on, like one convinced he
had no right to enjoy the scene, and exclaim¬
ed—
" My dear fellow, this is happiness, and no
mistake ; but I'll own up, that I've been sold,
completely sold; and that you're too many for me
altogether ! and now, sir, if you'll promise me
that you'll never relate the facts of this case,
south of Mason & Dixon's line, you shall
receive a ticket which shall entitle you to a
cabin passage on my boat from the present
time to the fall of 1895."
" I am much obliged to you, Captain, for
the offer," replies Dodge, " but should prefer
not to accept it, as jokes that are paid for are
not, as a general thing, so long remembered
or so well enjoyed as those founded on affec¬
tion for the Yidders."
" Hit again, by the great father of rivers ! "
exclaimed the Captain; " but I'm now behind
time, and must hurry off; so God bless you,
my dear fellow, but don't, amid the exciting
scenes in concertizing, ever forget Captain
, or the steamer B S , or your
elopement with another man's wife"
On his arrival at New-Orleans, the vocalist
found a letter in the Post-Office, containing,
together with the good-wishes of the Captain
and wife, an elaborately-finished and massive
gold ring, on which was engraven the Cap¬
tain's name and residence, and underneath, in
very fine lettering, the simple but expressive
word—" SOLD."
Dodge showed us the ring, and amid the
shouts of the fraternity, exclaimed— '
" Boys, I have preserved this ring with great
care and attention for a wedding-gift, but
haven't as yet found the first woman who had
the courage to offer herself; and it's all non¬
sense for me to mention the subject, for they'd
insist upon it ' Old Dodge ' was coming an¬
other of his jokes."
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
25
MYSTERIOUS MAPPINGS EX¬
PLAINED:
Or, An Artful Dodge.
BY BOB LIVELY.
ha, ha! " rang out the laugh
from, a group of roysterers,
■who were assembled on the
portico of a little tavern in a pleasant coun¬
try village, in the State of .
" Ha, ha, ha!" replied the echo, like .the
voice of some taunting demon amid the tall
cliffs that rose dark and silent beneath the
mild Summer moonlight.
And peal on peal of laughter interrupted
the conversation of the group, and judging
from the merriment, the topic must have been
ludicrous in the extreme. So thought a short)
fat, broad-faced individual, who, after laugh¬
ing heartily three or four times, till his fat
fides shook, and the echoes rang again, ven¬
tured to say—
" Well, what sort of a looking man is he 1"
" "Well," said the principal speaker in the
group, who, by his recital of what he had
lately witnessed, so fcighly amused them,
" well, uncle Zeb, you olight to have been at
the concert in the vestry to-night; it would
have added ten years to your life to have
heard Dodge sing the Unfortunate Man"
" Humph!" said the old man, " 'twas a fine
night for me to be perspiring and sweating in
the vestry, with all the village, to hear a com¬
ic singer."
" But, uncle Zeb, don't you believe it would
have been as profitable as smoking tobacco
and drinking hard cider ? "
" Young man, you'll know more when you
get older *, but who is this fellow that's been
making you all laugh yourselves hoarse ? "
" Why, it's Dodge, uncle Zeb—Ossian E.
Dodge, the renowned joker and singer."
" Humph! " said uncle Zeb, taking a pull
at a cider-mug that stood near him; " Dodge,
Dodge, ain't he the feller they talk so much
of in the papers 1"
" Yes, the very same; and one of the fun¬
niest chaps in all creation."
" Humph! don't tell me " (the old man felt
envious, having been the wit and joker of the
village till within a year or so), " don't tell
me ; I've seen the feller's picture, full length,
in my paper, and he's gaunt as a
4
" But, then, uncle Zeb, you ought to see
him himself; one look at his droll phiz would
make you laugh to kill yourself."
" Fudge! do you think there's any real fun
in such a lean fellow as that ? No, no! it's
the fat, round fellows that have the fun in 'em
(here uncle Zeb laid his hand upon his capa¬
cious waistcoat) ; it's all gammon with your
lean, lank, hungry fellows like this Dodge."
" But," said the other, " this Dodge is one
of the greatest and most original practical
jokers about, and his jokes are the drollest
things I ever read of."
" Practical jokes! well, I wish the feller
would try one on me ; I'd like nothing better
than to show him up," said uncle Zeb, giving
his pipe an indignant pulf, " Besides," con¬
tinued he, " I consider him one of the great¬
est humbugs of the day."
" 0, you are too hard on the poor fellow,"
said another young farmer," you are too hard.
Why, the vestry was crowded ; all the village
was there, and I saw parson Brown himself
laugh till the tears ran down his cheeks."
" If he is one of the humbugs of the day,
uncle Zeb,, why I suppose the Eochester
knockings are another," said a second, with a
wink to his companions.
" Well, well, boys, you may poke fun at me
for paying a dollar to hear those knockings,
when I was in New-York," said the old man,
" but I tell you there's something more than
humbug in them."
" Why, you do not believe in it, do you ? "
said one of the young men, in a tone of as¬
tonishment.
" Believe in it ? " said the old man, " why,
didn't I converse and talk with my Betsey,
who's been dead these two years, by means of
knocks ? "
" Well, I thought she talked enough when
living, and threw in the knocks, too," said a
young man.
This sally produced a roar of laughter
(aunt Betsey having been a desperate scold,
when living).
" Well, you may laugh, boys; but the last
thing they told me afore I come away was
that I should have another conversation with
her, here in this village, on some time, by
means of those same knocks."
This announcement produced a low whistle
of astonishment from one of the unbelievers
26
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
in the group. The old man, however, puffed
away at his pipe, and, as the smoke rolled
forth upon the clear summer air, he raised his
eyes toward the bright moon, and muttered
again—
" Humph ! Dodge ; I wish he'd try one of
his jokes on me."
All the time this conversation had been go¬
ing on, an individual who sat but a little dis¬
tance off, leaning his chair back against one
of the pillars of the portico, but turned away
from the group of villagers^ had been a quiet
but attentive listener, while he sat enjoying
the cool night-breeze and the beautiful moon¬
light-scene before him. He now arose and
passed into the bar-room of the house. The
group were so busy in conversation that they
scarcely noticed his presence, and even his
movement did not excite their attention.
But this quiet individual was no more nor
less than the redoubtable Dodge himself, and
could the twinkle of his eye and the fun that
lurked round the corners of his mouth have
been seen, it would have satisfied the gazer
that the spirit of mischief was aroused.
While lighting his candle, he inquired of the
landlord who the individual designated " un¬
cle Zeb" was.
" Why," replied the landlord, " you remem¬
ber him well; old Zeb Hanson, who used to
live down at the foot of Sugar hill."
" What," said Dodge, " he that married
Betsey Hopper ? "
" The very same," exclaimed the landlord ;
" and a pretty life she led him of it—sixteen
years—why, her tongue wagged night and
day, andj Zeb had no peace at home ; but he
was always a fat, jolly fellow, for all his scold¬
ing wife, and the best hand at a joke in the
village."
" Does he still live at the foot of Sugar
hill?"
" No," said the landlord; " Bet died about
two years since; Zeb carried on the farm
alone till a short time ago; but he was lone¬
some like, and as he never had any children,
and didn't seem to wish to marry again, why,
about two weeks ago he sold his farm, and is
going to move to York State, where he has a
brother."
" He's boarding here at present, then 1 "
" Yes; he occupies the room directly oppo¬
site yours."
"Ah!" said Dodge, as his eyes twinkled
merrily again; and taking his leave and a
candle, retired to bed.
The night being sultry, nearly all the cham¬
ber-doors and windows of the lodgers' rooms
were open for a free circulation of air. The
rooms were arranged on either side of a long
entry, at one end of which was a flight of
stairs communicating with a broad entry be¬
low.
Dodge was hardly ensconced before he
heard the heavy step of " uncle Zeb," who
was coming to bed, the party having broken
up, and he finished his last pipe. It was not
long before the measured breathing and occa¬
sional snoring that came from his chamber
proclaimed that " uncle Zeb " was in the land
of dreams.
Creeping cautiously from his couch, Dodge
donned his inexpressibles, and glided softly
across the corridor to the room of his oppo¬
site neighbor. The moon had now sunk be¬
hind the hills, and all was profoundly dark
and still. With a careful movement, Dodge
inserted himself beneath the sleeping man's
couch; then, after listening to see that all was
quiet, he reached up between the head of the
bed and the wall, and gave three distinct
knocks on the head-board.
" Hey! hallo! come in," said uncle Zeb,
starting from his sleep.
But all was silent.
" Sure I heard a knock," said Zeb, in a half-
frightened tone, as a breeze swept through the
old elm in front of his window with a melan¬
choly moan.
Just then, another low but distinct knock
was heard, and a shrill, but well-remembered
voice, proceeding apparently from the ceiling
over his head, exclaimed—
" Zeb, O, Zeb! "
" Lord bless me," exclaimed the old man,
trembling with fright, while the promise of
the Rochester ladies, that he should, at some
future time, converse with aunt Betsey, flashed
upon him. " Lord bless me, but it's her
voice." Then, in a quaking tone, he asked—
" O, Betsey, is it you 1"
" Yes, you sinful creetur," was the reply,
" does not the sound of my voice make your
flesh creep ? " Zeb remembered that it often
had when living, and he shuddered. " O, Zeb,
you wicked creetur, you, what arc you comin'
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
27
-~-\\\\ '
"AT THE HEAD OP THE STAIRS STOOD DODGE, VIEWING THE SCENE OP DISASTER."
to ? to think of your sellin' the farm, and try¬
ing to marry another woman."
" As I live," said Zeb, honestly, "I never
thought of another."
" You lie, you villain," said the voice, in a
shrill tone. "
" Hush ! hush!" said Zeb, anxiously,
" hush ! you'll wake some one in the next
room."
" O, you wicked being, I'll haunt you for
this," sobbed the voice.
" But," said Zeb, beginning in a pitiful tone.
" No such thing, you scoundrel," was the
reply; " get up and follow me, and you shall
have the proof."
Zeb tremblingly got out of bed and felt his
way into the entry, from whence he could now
faintly hear the voice, telling him to " come
along, you villain." He had. riot proceeded
far ere he stumbled against a pair of boots
that a lodger had placed outside his door.
" Hallo, there !" said the aroused individual.
Zeb said nothing, but proceeded cautiously
on, raising his feet very high for fear of en¬
countering another obstacle ; and scarce had
he proceeded ten steps ere he put his light
foot down heavily into a wash-pitcher that had
been set outside of another room. His foot
had been forced so suddenly through the
narrow neck of the pitcher into the broad
lower part that in his hurry and confusion he
found it impossible to extricate himself. He-
made two or three stumbling steps forward,
tripped at the head of the stairs, and fell down
28
DODGE'S
SKETCHES.
them with a terrible clatter. How much inju¬
ry uncle Zeb might have sustained, had he
struck upon the hard floor, is not known; but
fortunately for him, a huge barrel of home¬
made apple-sauce stood at the foot of the
stairs, and into thi9 the head and shoulders of
the unfortunate individual were plunged, the
force of the fall bringing it over and com¬
pletely deluging him with its contents.
Of course, this terrible clatter aroused the
whole household—night-caps popped out of
the half-opened doors, and men, in a very sim¬
ple costume, made their appearance to ascer¬
tain the cause of the uproar. One individual,
with one boot and half his pantaloons on, and
a candle in his hand, rushed from a side-door
just as Zeb regained his feet, and, with the
aforesaid boot, trod boldly and heavily upon
Zeb's corns.
Groaning with anguish, Zeb struck a
straight-forward blow at the fellow, who, how¬
ever, ducked and avoided it, but the landlord
suddenly appearing, Zeb's fist, missing its
aim, fell like a sledge-hammer upon his (the
landlord's) nose, and the three becoming en¬
tangled, and the floor being slippery with ap¬
ple-sauce, they all went down together.
The lights now approached the scene of
disaster, and curses, groans, and shouts of
laughter filled the house.
At the head of the stairs, however, stood
Dodge, arrayed in a pair of duck trousers,
and holding a lamp in his hand, his quizzical
face glistening all over with jollity as he joined
in the hearty laugh that greeted the group who
were rising from the floor. And in truth it
was a ludicrous sight.
Zeb, with apple-sauce clinging to his hair
and streaming down his face and shoulders, a
fragment of the pitcher hanging to his leg,
the landlord, with the blood streaming from
his nose, and the individual with the boot and
pantaloons half on, with the latter article of
clothing fearfully torn and covered with the
apple-sauce, while a rent, divided his under
garment from the flap to the collar, and
caused him, as well as the rest of the princi¬
pal actors in the scene, to make a precipitate
retreat to their apartments.
The morning after, the company being as¬
sembled in the bar-room, the landlord looking
ferocious with a swelled proboscis, and " un¬
cle Zeb " with liis hair still moist and sticky,
the conversation turned, very naturally, upon
the last night's adventure.
Dodge stood composedly at one side of the
room, directly beneath the portrait of a mat¬
ronly-looking old lady, and listened to the
conversation.
" Uncle Zeb " told a straight-forward story,
although it was evident he was a little morti¬
fied at the result.
" Poh ! poh ! " said one, " uncle Zeb had a
dream, got walking in his sleep, and tumbled
into the apple-sauce."
" No such thing," said Zeb, turning toward
the speaker, who stood in the door-way; " no
such thing; I heard my dear Betsey's voice
as nat'ral as life ; she said, just as she used to
when I came home at night" -
" Is that you, Zeb, you villain ? " broke in
the shrill, never-to-be-forgotten voice, appar¬
ently proceeding from the portrait on the wall.
Uncle Zeb started; some of the company
laughed, but the landlord, placing his hands
on his sides, burst into a most uproarious roar
of laughter.
" Gentlemen," said the landlord, after he
had in a measure recovered from his fit of
merriment, " gentlemen, let me introduce you
to Mr. Ossian E. Dodge " (leading that mod¬
est individual forward, who now took off his
broad straw hat, revealing his face to the com¬
pany), " he, gentlemen, will explain. Mr.
Dodge, Uncle Zeb, Uncle Zeb, Mr. Dodge."
Here the landlord went off in another roar
of laughter.
Uncle Zeb looked cautiously at Dodge, and
took his outstretched hand, but as he did so,
that shrill voice from the roguish mouth of
the humorist said—
" 0, Zeb, you villain! "
Uncle Zeb dropped the hand as though it
were red-hot, and started with astonishment.
A quiet, good-humored smile illuminated
the face of Dodge, and the company, to whom
the joke was now apparent, made the room
ring with their peals of laughter.
Uncle Zeb looked discomfited, but Dodge,
who is as good-hearted as humorous, stepped
forward in his usual frank and open manner,
and holding out his hand to Zeb, said—
" Mr. Hanson, I think the joke has been
carried far enough. You were rash enough
last night to express a wish that Dodge would
play a practical joke upon you; that wish he
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
29
lias been whimsical enough to gratify, espe¬
cially when liis reputation was at stake, for
you know that you thought there could be no
fun in a thin man ; come, Mr. Hanson, don't
let us be enemies for a joke, though I'll own.
it was a severe one."
" Young man," said uncle Zeb, " you have
done this business well, and for a thin man
you are the drollest piece of human natur' I
ever see ; there's my hand, we'll forgive and
forget."
" Thank you, Mr. Hanson," said Dodge;
" and, landlord," he continued, " put the apple¬
sauce and broken pitcher in my bill."
" You shall have 'em without charge, Mr.
Dodge, and this nose I'll charge to uncle
Zeb," said the landlord, laying his hand upon
his swollen proboscis.
" O, blow your nose," said Zeb, pettishly, as
the company began to laugh, " but, gentle-
men? I own up beat. There is some fun in a
thin man"
DODGIXG A CROWD:
A Scene in the Chinese Junk.
BY FALCONBRIDGE.
you ever seen Dodge? Not
mm Parson Dodge, nor Dodge the paint-
fc&ySJ® er, but that queer, quizzical Dodge,
Ossian E. Dodge, the singer, writer, and pun¬
ster ? He is emphatically a " queer guy," and
what he don't happen to know about setting a
table or a fashionable house in a roar, Ham¬
let's facetious friend Yorick never could have
taught him. This Dodge has such a face,
giving him fearful odds over your every-day,
ordinary joker, and if face ever did conspire
against conventional forms in carrying a jolly
fellow safe through the world, the physiogno¬
mical developments of Dodge will certainly
make him a handsome competency. I hope
it may, for such jolly gods are far more con¬
ducive to the quiet health and general happi¬
ness of a community than your army, lancet,
or law-book men.
A man with such rare abilities and profes¬
sional fluency in the art and science of Joe
Miller, must inevitably get off no few flashes
of merriment and quaint things, by the way¬
side, as he floats about the country.
It will be remembered by many of the news¬
mongers and close observers in general, that
the great Chinese Junk, Keying, lay in the
harbor of New-York, a few years ago, and
everybody, far and near, was splurging down
to the Battery, to see the wondrous ark of
the Celestials. A meaner, more uncouth old
salt-box, mortal man nor beast this side of the
Atlantic never did see, if we except the Brit¬
ish Steamboats (!) of Nova Scotia and New-
Brunswick ; they being specimens, par excel¬
lence, of marine architecture not to be beat
for filth and ugliness by Junks or any other
known water-craft of the present century.
The interior of the Junk was, or was sup¬
posed to be, a leetle more attractive than her
outside, hence many of the gay and curious
resorted on board to relieve their pent-up
wonderment and overflowing purses.
Dodge was there—he was—and the cabin
was crowded with that unselect mass of folks
generally designated " all sorts of people."
Happy land, where we have not yet hardly
come to the conclusion that the nob's half
dollar is better, than that of the snob !
Now, Dodge is not only mentally an odd
fellow, but his entire tout ensemble is strongly
impregnated with the air distingutf. His chin
is tipped with a goatee that a Mussulman
might swear by; his face is of vast length, ca¬
pable of being drawn out to the longitude of
a boot-jack, and moulded into forms of piety,
sorrow, and dejection enough tQ prove the
meekness of a pilgrim bound to Mecca with a
pea in his shoe. Then that cane ! Yes, there
he has everybody: it would be maniacal to
hope for a rival to Dodge's cane, the history
of which embraces several languages, its com¬
ponent parts having been snatched by various
adventures, at divert times, from the wreck
of matter and crush of worlds, in every knowp
clime and sea; and, in short, it is an instru¬
ment that deliberately floors everybody !
Dodge sauntered up and down, solus, among
the queer things and motley crowd, without
finding anything particularly rich to fasten
his optics on. At length, sitting down by a
stand in the middle of the cabin, he placed
his cane upon the stand and began scrutiniz¬
ing a Chinese book, filled with the poetic im¬
agery of sundry inspired celestial literati,
doubtless.
" Jee-roo-salem!" broke upon the joker's
ear, and turning about, he discerned a long,
3©
DODGE'S SKETCHES.
'BE CALM, KEEP COOL, GENTLEMEN; YOTT SHALL ALL BE SATISFIED
slab-sided genius, whose physique and patois
clearly denoted him from " the land of pork
and beans," and who, with a fellow native, had
fastened their eyes upon Dodge's mate.
" Ha-a-um, well, neow, that is sleek, any
how ; ain't it, Gabe 1"
" Doos look pooty sleek," the other respond¬
ed, and he continued, taking Dodge's valued
cane into his sacrilegious fists—" Guess, Siah,
them spaw-ts (spots) or speckles are seelver,
treou ; yes, by gosh, they be—and such a head
teou to't, Abraham and Jacob ! "
" Let's have a nigh look at 'em, Gabe," said
Siah, getting at the cane, which had now be¬
come an object of considerable speculation
among the lookers-on, and Dodge deemed it
about time to rescue his property from the
rude investigation of the inquisitors.
" Say, yeou," observed one of the " down
Easts," as Dodge took possession of his staff,
" that yeour 'n, eh ? "
" It is not exactly mine," said Dodge, " but
it is in my charge."
" 0, yes! Yeou b'long teouthe^show, I
reckon ?"
" Yes, I'm one of 'em ; that is," said Dodge,
" I have charge of this instrument."^
"Well, s'pose yeou now tell a fcller^what
it's for, and all that, eh ? "
"0, certainly, with pleasure. _ We. call'it
the chop-chee-stickoo, or Mandarian^mace, and
staff of the Emperor's Divan, or glashopoo
replied the joker, enjoying the attention of
the crowd.
" Want to know ef it is ? " inquired both
Siah and Gabe, in a breath.
" Fact! " said the imperturbable Dodge.
" Well, cuss the nation, ef 'tain't an all-fired
queer-looking consarn, any how. Now what
mou't the cost of sich a stick as that be,
yeou 1"
" Couldn't say, indeed," said Dodge. " Cost
a power of money, though."
" Guess they might be got up down our way
pooty cheap," continued Gabe. " I wonder
ef I couldn't make one ; I made a feedle once,
DODGE'S SKETCHES,
31
and cleaned pap's waw-tch nice as anybody
could; left out a little wheel or two, didn't
hurt the waw-tch the least, though, made it go
faster 'n ever, in fact!"
" But, say, yeou," interrogated Siah, who
had laid hands on the cane again! and com¬
menced screwing about the ivory head, " doos
it come apart? hain't got umbrellers, dirk-
knives, fishin'-rods, nor nothin' in it, has it 1"
" No," said Dodge, seizing it again, " but it
has magical properties. When a tumult or
riot takes place in China, the mere waving of
this chop-chee-stickoo before the eyes of the
multitude will disperse them instantly."
" Jee-roo-shy ! yeou ■ don't say so," inter¬
rupted Siah.
" Tact!" continued Dodge. " And if the
wives of the Emperor disobey his commands,
or seek other attachments out of his Divan,
sweet music issues from the chop-chee-stickoo,
and the women will be deterred at once from
making Judy, that is to say, victims of them¬
selves to the Emperor's wrath."
"Want to know ef it will! Well, then, I
stow," said Gabe, " ef I don't know a felle?
or teow deown eour way that had better buy
that choppen what-ye-may-call it, to keep
their wives and gals to hum ! "
" Well, yeou," said Siah, " doos it play
choons 1 Kin yeou play on the thing, eh ? "
" Sometimes I do," says Dodge, grave as
two Mandarins.
" Jee-rooshy !" says Gabe, in excitement.
" Well, s'peosc yeou gin a choon, any how."
" The instrument is not in very good order
now," said Dodge; " the weather here don't
agree with it, and it has been out of tune by
people handling it so much. But I'll try if it
will go a little this morning."
And here the joker fumbled the top of his
curiously-wrought cane, wiped the silver and
tortoise-shell sides and spots with his silk
handkerchief, blowed in the string-holes where
there are some curiously-wrought figures, and
otherwise twisted and screwed and spat upon
it, and blowed and sneezed and coughed until
nearly every one in the Junk, bald-pated, long-
queued Chinaman, and all, wedged about the
fabled instrument in anticipation cf most as¬
tonishing results! The two Down Easters
were boiling over for Hq.il Columbia and Nan¬
cy Dawson, while the elit€ requested the gen¬
tleman to favor them with 11 Pirata, or Mar•
hie Halls, and a blood-thirsty devourer of two-
shilling novels wanted the Pirate's Flag.
" Be calm; keep cool, gentlemen," said
Dodge," you shall all be satisfied."
And again he screwed, twisted, snorted, and
blowed, but nothing came except a delicate
trill—Dodge is not only a good singer and
mimic, but a good ventriloquist—the faint,
fairy-like sounds of which were heard gently
oozing from the wondrous instrument. The
crowd were breathless. Dodge raised his big
eyes, full of melody and fun, toward the open
sky-light overhead; a loud shriek and cry—
" Child overboard! Help ! " was heard upon
deck. Everybody rushed up the steps, but no
child was there in peril! And, about that
time, Dodge and his cane disappeared sud¬
denly and mysteriously.