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THE 
 
 CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH 
 
 COLONIAL ROMANCE 
 
 BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS, Eso. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE" "THE PARTISAN" "GUY RIVERS 
 "SCOUT" " CHARLEMONT" " VASCONSELOS" ETC., ETC. 
 
 "I nray vou let us satisfy our eyes, 
 
 \Viih the memorials, and the tnii.gs of fame 
 
 That do renown our city." SIIAKESPEAKK. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, 
 PUBLISHERS. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, 
 
 BY J. 8. REDFIELD, 
 
 in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
851 
 
 HON. W. PORCHER MILES, M. C. 
 
 O FRIEND! who satt st beside me in the hour 
 
 When Death was at my hearth ; and in my home 
 The mother s cry of wailing for that doom, 
 
 Long hovering, which, at last, with fatal power 
 
 Descended, like the vulture on his prey, 
 
 And in his talons bore away our young! 
 Thou know st how terribly this heart was wrung 
 
 Thou cam st with watch and soothing, nigh! and day, 
 
 No brother more devoted ! More than friend, 
 Beloved evermore, behold me thine ! 
 Yet have I little worthy that is mine, 
 
 Save love, and this poor tribute; which must blend 
 
 With memories of thy watch, and of our pain, 
 
 And of those precious boys, we both have watched in vain ! 
 
 W. GILMORE SIMMS. 
 WOODLANDS, S. C., April 2, 1859. 
 
 104 
 
THE 
 
 CASS1QEE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SCENE OF ACTION. 
 
 " Away ! away 1 
 
 Once more his eyes shall hail the welcome day ; 
 Once more the happy shores without a law." BYKON. 
 
 the day to be a fine one calm, placid, and without 
 a cKiid even such a day as frequently comes to cheer us in 
 the benign and bud-compelling month of April ; suppose the 
 seas to be smooth ; at rest, and slumbering without emotion ; with 
 a fair bosom gently heaving, and sending up only happy murmurs, 
 like an infant s after a late passion of tears; suppose the hour 
 to be a little after the turn of noon, when, in April, the sun, only 
 gently soliciting, forbears all ardency ; sweetly smiles and softly 
 embraces ; and, though loving enough for comfort, is not so op 
 pressive in his attachments as to prompt the prayer for an iceberg 
 upon which to couch ourselves for his future communion; sup 
 posing all these supposes, dear reader, then the voyager, running 
 close in for the land whose fortune it is to traverse that portion 
 of the Atlantic which breaks along the shores of Georgia and the 
 Carolinas beholds a scene of beauty in repose, such as will be 
 very apt to make him forgetful of all the dangers he has passed ! 
 We shall say nothing of the same region, defaced by strife:* of 
 
 1* 
 
10 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 storm and billow, and blackened by the deluging vans of the 
 equinox ; 
 
 " Wherefore tax the past, 
 For memories of sorrow ? wherefore ask, 
 Of the dark Future, what she grimly keeps 
 Of terrors in reserve ?" 
 
 Enough for us that the Present holds for us delicious compensa 
 tion ; that the moment is our own, exclusively for beauty ; 
 that the charm of the prospect before us is beyond question ; at 
 once prompting the desire to describe, yet baffling all powers of 
 description. 
 
 Yet why describe ? since, as Byron deplores 
 
 " Every fool describes in these bright days." 
 
 And yet, the scene is so peculiar, so individual, so utterly unlike 
 that kind of scenery from which the traveller usually extorts his 
 inspiration, that something need be said to make us understand 
 the sources of beauty in a region which so completely lacks in 
 saliency, in- elevated outlines, in grand mountainous masses, rug 
 ged defiles, and headlong cataracts. Here are none of these. 
 All that you behold sea, and forest-waste, and shore all lies 
 level before you. As you see, the very waters do not heave 
 themselves into giant forms, wear no angry crests, leap up with 
 no threatening voices, howl forth nothing of their secret rages ! 
 We reject, at this moment, all the usual adjuncts which make 
 ocean awful and sublime ; those only excepted which harbor in 
 its magnitude, its solemn sterility of waste, its deep mysterious 
 murmurs, that speak to us ever of eternity, even when they speak 
 in the lowest and most musical of their tones. 
 
 In what, then, consists the beauty of the scene ? Let us ex 
 plain, and catalogue, at least, where we may not be able to do- 
 scribe. You are aware, dear readers, that you may set forth, on 
 a periagua, or, if you like it better, a sloop, a schooner, or a trim 
 little steamer; and, leaving the shores of Virginia, make your 
 way along those of the Carolinas and Georgia, to Florida, almost 
 entirely landlocked the whole voyage ; all along these shores, the 
 billows of the sea, meeting with the descending rivers, have 
 thrown up barrier islands and islets, that fence in the main from 
 its own invasions. Here are guardian terraces of green, cov- 
 
SCENE OF ACTION. 11 
 
 ered with dense forests, that rise like marshalled legions along 
 the very margins of the deep. Here are naked sand-dunes, 
 closing avenues between, upon which you may easily fancy that 
 the fairies gambol in the moonlight. Some are sprinkled with 
 our southern palm-tree, the palmetto ; others completely covered 
 with this modest growth; others again with oak, and pine, and 
 cypress ; and there are still others, whose deep, dense, capacious 
 forests harbor the red deer in abundance ; and, skirting many 
 of these islets, are others in process of formation ; long stripes of 
 marsh, whose perpetual green, contrasting, yet assimilating beau 
 tifully with the glare of sunlight on the sea, so relieves the eye 
 with a sense of sweetness, beauty, freshness, and repose, that you 
 never ask yourself the idle question, of what profit this marsh 
 its green that bears neither fruits nor flowers its plumage 
 that brings no grateful odor its growth without market value? 
 Enough, you say or feel, that, in the regions where you find it, 
 it is a beauty and delight. 
 
 And so, you navigate your bark through avenues of sea be 
 tween these islets and the main ; through winding channels where 
 the seas lie subdued, their crests under curb, and resting in beds 
 of green and solitude, only tenanted by simple herds of deer, or 
 by wandering pilgrims of the crane, the curlew, the pelican and 
 duck. 
 
 Beyond, the great ocean plain stretches wide and far ; and even 
 when it rolls in storm, and its billows break in fury along the 
 islet shores, not half a mile away all here is safe ! On either 
 hand, the sheltering nook invites your prow ; quiet harbors open 
 for your reception, and offer security. Here, the creek that 
 creeps like a shining serpent through banks of green ; here, the 
 bay that has been scooped out in a half circle, as if purposely 
 to persuade you to harborage are both present, affording ref 
 uge ; the great oaks grow close down by the ocean s side, and 
 hang over with such massive shadows, that you see the bath and 
 the boudoir together. You have but to plunge in, and no Naiad 
 takes offence ; and, lifting yourself to the shores by the help of 
 that great branch that stretches above the water, there you may 
 resume your fig-leaves with impunity, assured that no prudish 
 eyes have been shocked by your eccentric exhibitions of a nude 
 Apollo! 
 
12 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 There is a wondrous charm in this exquisite blending of land 
 and water scape. It appeals very sweetly to the sympathies, and 
 does not the less excite the imagination because lacking in irreg 
 ular forms and stupendous elevations. Nay, we are inclined to 
 think that it touches more sweetly the simply human sensibil 
 ities. It does not overawe. It solicits, it soothes, beguiles ; wins 
 upon us the more we see ; fascinates the more we entertain ; and 
 more fully compensates than the study of the bald, the wild, the 
 abrupt and stern, which constitute so largely the elements in that 
 scenery upon which we expend most of our superlatives. Glide 
 through these mysterious avenues of islet, and marsh, and ocean, 
 at early morning, or at evening, when the summer surPis about to 
 subdue himself in the western waters ; or at midnight, when the 
 moon wins her slow way, with wan, sweet smile, hallowing the 
 hour ; and the charm is complete. It is then that the elements all 
 seem to harmonize for beauty. The plain of ocean is spread out, 
 far as the eye can range, circumscribed only by the blue walls of 
 Heaven, and watched by starry eyes, its little billows breaking 
 with loving murmur upon the islet shores these, silvery light, as 
 swept for fairy footsteps, or, glowing in green, as if roofed for 
 loving hearts ; trees, flowers, fragrance, smiling waters, and deli 
 cious breezes, that have hurried from the rugged shores of the 
 Cuban, or the gradual slopes of Texas ; or farther yet, from still 
 more beautiful gardens of the South, where Death himself never 
 comes but wrapped in fragrance and loveliness : look where you 
 will, or as you will, and they unite for your conquest ; and you 
 grow meek, yet hopeful ; excited, yet satisfied ; forgetful of com 
 mon cares ; lifted above ordinary emotions ; and, if your heart be 
 still a young, one, easily persuaded to believe that the world is as 
 full of bliss as of beauty, and that Love may readily find a covert, 
 in thousands of sweet places of refuge, which God s blessing shall 
 convert into happiest homes. Go through these sweet, silent, 
 mysterious avenues of sea and islet, green plain, and sheltering 
 thicket, under the prescribed conditions, at early morning or 
 toward the sunset, or the midnight hour, and the holy sweetness 
 of the scene will sink into your very soul, and soften it to love 
 and blessing, even as the dews of heaven steal, in the night-time, 
 to the bosom of the thirsting plant, and animate it to new develop 
 ments of fruitfulness and beauty. 
 
SCENE OF ACTION. 13 
 
 And the scenery of the main partakes of the same character, 
 with but the difference of foliage. It spreads upward into the 
 interior, for near a hundred miles, a vast plain, with few inequal 
 ities of surface, but wondrously wooded. If, on the one hand, the 
 islets, marshes, and savannahs, make an empire of sweetness and 
 beauty; not less winning are the evergreen varieties that checker 
 the face of the country on the other. Here are tracts of the noble 
 live oak, of the gigantic pine, of the ghostly cypress ; groves of 
 each that occupy their several provinces, indicating as many vari 
 eties of soil. Amid these are the crowned laurel, stately as a 
 forest monarch, the bay, the beech, the poplar, and the mulberry, 
 not to speak of thousands besides, distinguished either from their 
 use or beauty ; and in the shade of these the dogwood flaunts in 
 virgin white ; and the lascivious jessamine wantons over their tops 
 in sensuous twines, filling the air with fragrance ; and the grape 
 hangs aloft her purple clusters, which she trains over branches 
 not her own, making the oak and the hickory sustain those fruits 
 which they never bear ! 
 
 And so, in brief transition, you pass from mighty colonnades of 
 open woods to dense thickets which the black bear may scarcely 
 penetrate. At the time of which we propose to write, he is one 
 of the denizens of these regions ; here, too, the panther still lurks, 
 watching the sheepfold or the deer ! Here the beaver builds his 
 formidable dams in the solitude of the swamp, and the wolf and 
 the fox find their habitations safe. The streams are full of fish, 
 the forests of prey, the whole region a wild empire in which the 
 redman still winds his way, hardly conscious of his white superior, 
 though he already begins to feel the cruel moral presence, in the 
 instinctive apprehensions of his progress. And birds, in vast vari 
 eties, and reptiles of the ground, " startlingly beautiful," are ten 
 ants still of these virgin solitudes. The great sea-eagle, the fal 
 con, the vulture ; these brood in the mighty tree-tops, and soar as 
 masters of the air; the wild goose and duck lead their young 
 along the sedgy basins ; the cormorant and the gull scream across 
 the waters from the marshy islets ; and are answered, with cooing 
 murmurs, from myriads of doves that brood at noon in the deep 
 covert of bristly pines. The mock-bird, with his various melodies, 
 a feathered satirist, who can, however, forget his sarcasm in his 
 passion ; the red-bird and the nonpareil, with softer and simpler 
 
14 THE CASS1QUE OF K1AWAH. 
 
 notes, which may be merry as well as tender, but are never scorn 
 ful ; the humming-bird, that rare sucker of sweets himself a 
 flower of the air, pioneer of the fairies that finds out the best 
 flowers ere they come, and rifles them in advance; and but 
 enough. Very beautiful, dear friends, to the eye that can see, 
 the susceptible heart, and the thoughtful, meditative mind, is the 
 beautiful but peculiar province to which we now invite your 
 footsteps. 
 
 But, as we can not behold all this various world at once, let us 
 persuade you to one fair locality, which you will find to contain, 
 in little, all that we have shown you in sweeping generalities. 
 
 You will suppose yourselves upon a well-wooded headland, 
 crowned with live oaks, which looks out upon a quiet bay, at 
 nearly equal distances between the waters of the Edisto and the 
 Ashley, in the province of South Carolina. The islets spread 
 between you and the sea, even as we have described them. 
 There are winding w r ays through which you may stretch your 
 sail, without impediment, into the great Atlantic. There are 
 lovely isles upon which you may pitch your tents, and take your 
 prey, while the great billows roll in at your very feet, and the 
 great green tree shelters you, all the while, from the sharp arrows 
 of the sun. You look directly down upon what, at the first glance, 
 would seem a lake : the lands appear to enclose it on every hand ; 
 but there is a difference, you see, in the shade of yonder trees, 
 from those on the islet just before us, which is due to the fact that 
 an arm of the sea is thrust between ; and here, on the other hand, 
 there are similar differences which denote a similar cause. But 
 our lake, or bay, is none the less sheltered or secure, because it 
 maintains such close connection with the mighty deeps. Faintly 
 alar, you may note, on the south and west, that there are still 
 other islets, keeping up a linked line with that which spreads in 
 front, and helping to form that unbroken chain, which, as I have 
 told you, spreads along the coast from the capes of Virginia to 
 those of the Floridian. The territory of the Floridian is under 
 its old Spanish master .,till; an ugly neighbor of our amiable 
 English, who tenant, in feeble colonies, these sylvan realms upon 
 the verge of which we stand. The period, I may mention here, 
 is the year of Grace (Grace be with us!) one thousand, six hun 
 dred and eighty-four. Our English colonies of Carolina are less 
 
SCENE OF ACTION. 15 
 
 than thirty years old, and their growth has been a slow one. The 
 country is still, in great degree, a solitude ! 
 
 The day an April day is one of those which good old 
 Herbert so happily describes, by its moral aspect, as 
 
 " A bridal of the earth and sky." 
 
 In truth, it is very sweet and beautiful, repose its prevailing fea 
 ture - repose upon land and sea ; a smiling Peace, sitting in sun 
 shine in the heavens ; a healthy, life-giving breeze gushing up from 
 the ocean, in the southwest, and making all the trees along the 
 shore nod welcome and satisfaction to the river ; and new blossoms 
 everywhere upon the land; all significant of that virgin birth 
 which the maternal summer is about to receive from a prolific 
 spring, which God has hallowed for the uses of Humanity. 
 We muse as we look, and say, with the poet 
 
 " Here all but the spirit of man is divine." 
 
 And, as yet, we may venture to say that the spirit of man is 
 hardly so corrupt here hardly so incongenial with earth s vege 
 table offspring as greatly to shock by the contrast. Man 
 the white man at all events is hardly here in sufficient numbers, 
 massed and in perpetual conflict, to be wholly insensible to the 
 modest moral which is taught by nature. No doubt we shall have 
 enough of him in time. No doubt we shall be forced to behold 
 him in all his most dark and damning colors, such as shadow the 
 fairest aspects of his superior civilization. But he is not yet here 
 in sufficient force or security to become insolent in his vice or 
 passion. 
 
 " But the red man," say you. " He is here." Ay, there are 
 his scattered tribes they are everywhere ; but feeble in all their 
 numbers. He is a savage, true ; but savage, let me tell you 
 and the distinction is an important one, arguing ignorance, not 
 will savage rather in his simplicity than in his corruptions. 
 His brutality is rather that of b& rbarism than vice. He wanders 
 through these woods at seasons; here fishing to-day to-morrow, 
 gone, leaving no trace ; gone in pursuit of herds which he has 
 probably routed from old pasturages along these very waters. 
 For a hundred miles above, there rove the tribes of the Stono and 
 the Isundiga, the Edisto and the See wee, the Kiawah, and the 
 
16 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Ashepoo, all tributaries of the great nation of the Yemassee. You 
 will wander for weeks, yet meet not a man of them ; yet, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, when you least fancy them, when you dream 
 yourself in possession of an unbroken solitude, they will spring up 
 beside the path, and challenge your attention by a guttural, which 
 may seem to you a welcome ; or by a cri de guerre, which shall 
 certainly appear to you the whoop of death ! 
 
 But, at this moment, the solitude seems intact. There are no 
 red men here. The very silence so deep is the solitude 
 seems to have a sound ; and, brooding long on these headlands 
 without a companion, you will surely hear some voice speaking to 
 all your senses perhaps many voices ; especially if you do not 
 use your own. Your ears, that hunger naturally for human 
 sounds, will finally make them for themselves. Nay, you will 
 shout aloud, in your desperation, if only in search of echoes. 
 
 And, as if the better to satisfy us of the wondrous means of 
 shelter and security in this world of thicket and seclusion add 
 ing to the natural picturesque that of the moral even as we 
 fancy this realm of solitude to be unbroken, there is a sound ! 
 There are strokes of the paddle ; there are human voices. A 
 canoe shoots out from the thickets to the east. It emerges from 
 a creek, which opens so modestly upon the bay that the entrance 
 to it remains unseen. The vessel is of cypress, one of those little 
 "dug-outs" which the red men scooped for themselves with shells, 
 after having first charred with fire those portions of the timber 
 which they designed to remove. It skims over the waters like 
 an eggshell, carrying three persons as lightly as if it had no 
 freight. Two of them, one a man, the other a boy work at the 
 paddles not oars ; the instrument is a short one, working close 
 at the side of the boat, even as the sea-fowl uses her feet. The 
 third, a man also, gray with years, sits at the stern, his head hang 
 ing forward, his eyes brooding on the bottom of the canoe. They 
 are all red men. He at the stern is evidently a chief. He wears 
 a sort of coronal of feathers, and a gay crimson coat, hunting-shirt 
 fashion, with yellow fringes, evidently the manufacture of the 
 white man. There is a belt across his shoulders, from which 
 hangs the tomahawk ; another about his waist, which secures hia 
 knife ; his right hand grasps bow and arrows, though the former 
 remains unbent, and the latter lie bundled together innocuous in 
 
SCENE OF ACTION. 17 
 
 their rattlesnake quiver. The man who paddles is a common 
 Indian, one of the vileins, of poor costume and mean aspect. The 
 boy is habited somewhat like the chief, with crimson hunting-shirt, 
 and belt about the waist, but he carries neither knife nor toma 
 hawk. A bow and arrows suited to his youth lie behind him at 
 the bottom of the boat. He may use them at yonder turn of the 
 bay, where you see a little flock of English ducks plying their 
 beaks along the sedgy shallows. 
 
 The canoe passes out of sight, winding through the sinuous 
 passages of yonder marsh ; and for a moment the silence resumes 
 its sway along the shores. 
 
 But, almost as soon as they disappear, another party comes 
 upon the scene. And he is a white man. He glides down to the 
 headlands, looking out upon the bay, from the deep shelter of the 
 thicket on our left. From this covert he has watched the progress 
 of the canoe ; and there were moments when it swept so closely 
 to his place of watch, that it would have been easy, in the case of 
 one so lithe and vigorous of frame, to have leaped into it at a 
 single bound. 
 
 The stranger might be thirty-five or forty ; a hale, fresh-look 
 ing Saxon, with a frank, manly face, bronzed rather darkly by 
 our southern sun, but distinguished only by traits of health. His 
 face is somewhat spoiled for beauty by an ugly scar upon one 
 cheek. He is armed with knife and pistols, which he carries in 
 his girdle. His dress is that of the sailor, loose duck trowsers, a 
 round-jacket, a hat of coarse straw with broad blue ribbons round 
 it, in which sticks an earthen pipe of some bulk, with a stem of 
 Carolina cane. In his hand he carries a ship s spyglass, which 
 seems to have done service. 
 
 Following the " dug-out" of the red men with keen eyes as they 
 sped, he continued to trace their progress with the glass until they 
 were wholly covered from sight by the dense marshes of the creek. 
 Then, thrusting his glass beneath his arm, he turned away, making 
 a sort of moody march along the shore. 
 
 " Blast the red rascals," quoth he musingly, " I can make noth 
 ing of them. That creek leads out to the sea. But there are 
 islands they can stop at, and I suppose mean to do so. There is 
 Kiawah, and a dozen more, that they may work up to in such a 
 light-going craft. Wll, we may look for a plenty of em soon, 
 
18 THE CASS1QUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 now that fish begin to bite. But I want to be off before they 
 come. I ve no belief in the redskins anyhow, and want to keep 
 my own skin sound. Don t want to be stuck full of arrows; 
 don t want to be fried alive in pitch-pine. A Spanish dance 
 rather, with a score of pikes at the rear, to keep one in motion 
 where there s no music !" 
 
 And the sturdy Englishman, for he was a genuine John Bull 
 and of a good order, took the pipe from his hat-band, replenished 
 the mill from his pocket, kindled his tinder, and throwing himself 
 down in a thicket, proceeded to smoke, taking out his pipe occa 
 sionally to soliloquize. We gather up some of his random talks, 
 as they may help us in our own progress in this veracious 
 history. 
 
 "No, I ve no faith in these redskins. They re at peace, they 
 say. Oh yes ! and will smoke any quantity of tobacco in their 
 calumets, making their treaties and putting away their presents. 
 But it s a sort of peace that don t pay for the parchment. Just 
 so long as the colony s strong enough to lick em, and no longer, 
 will they keep the promise. It s only when they see that they 
 can t outnumber you when they can count a bagnet for every 
 bow that they ve any Christian bowels for peace. I wonder 
 what chance I d have here, in this lonesome spot, if these three 
 redskins now had come upon me napping. Wouldn t they have 
 been working in my wool, without saying * By your leave, brother : 
 The red devils! call them human? I d as soon trust a monkey 
 or a sucking tiger, in the matter of human bowels and affec 
 tion !" 
 
 And the soliloquist lapsed away, after this speech, into that 
 dreamy sort of condition, which tobacco is so well calculated to 
 inspire, in which the mind is rather disposed to play than work, 
 or, at all events, in which it rather broods than cogitates. His 
 pipe exhausted, he rose, emptied the bowl of its ashes, stuck the 
 stem into his hat-band, braced his leather girdle closer to his 
 waist by a notch, and, after a long gaze out upon the sea, saun 
 tered away slowly into thicker woods. 
 
 As we follow him, we see that he makes his way through a sort 
 of labyrinth. Such thickets afford at all times a temporary cover ; 
 but he so wound about in the present instance, took up so many 
 clues, and made such circuits, that, did we not follow him so 
 
SCENE OF ACTION. 19 
 
 closely we should never, of ourselves, be able to track his prog 
 ress to his fastness. 
 
 This lies in a still deeper thicket which stretches down to a 
 creek. Here he has a den which a bear might select, fenced m 
 by a close shrubbery, overshadowed by great trees, vines inter 
 lacing them, and, as it were, wrapping them up into a mass which 
 never allowed a sunbeam to penetrate. Art has done something 
 to make the place snug enough for shelter from the weather. 
 There is a rude hut of poles, covered with bark ; within it, there 
 is a box, an iron pot, a gridiron, and a jug. An old tarpaulin hat 
 and coat hang from the same branches. There is a light shot 
 gun in a cypress hollow ; and, from all you see, you conclude that 
 our solitary has arranged for an abode that seems destined for 
 continuance awhile, and has been in use perhaps a month or two 
 already. 
 
 From this cabin he detaches hooks, line, and tackle, for fishing, 
 and takes his way down to the creek. There, snug in close har 
 bor, lies a skiff, of European build, light enough for a damsel to 
 manage. He embarks, glides down the stream, finds his way into 
 the bay already described, and, crossing toward a recess made by 
 the projection of two arms of the marsh, proceeds to anchor and 
 to cast his line. The position he has chosen is one to render him 
 safe from any shaft or shot from the shore ; and we must not for 
 get to mention that his light gun lies convenient across the thwarts 
 of the boat. Satisfied that he has taken all due precautions, he 
 yields himself eagerly to the sport before him. 
 
 He may have been thus engaged for more than an hour, when 
 ne started up suddenly, and his whole countenance assumed an 
 expression of intense interest. A dull, heavy sound was heard 
 reverberating along the waters. 
 
 " A shot !" he cries, " and from a brazen muzzle." 
 
 His line is instantly drawn in his anchor. He no longer 
 heeds the fish. He has had some sport. There are twenty 
 shining sides that glisten at the bottom of the boat. There are 
 sundry innocent victims that seem very much out of their proper 
 depths of water and security. But, now, he gives them neither 
 eye nor thought. His lines are in, his paddles out ; his lusty sin 
 ews are braced to eager exertion. He speeds once more across 
 the bay, passes up his creek of harborage, fastens his skiff to the 
 
20 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 shore under close cover, leaps out, leaves his fish behind him, and, 
 catching up glass and gun, hastens once more to the headland 
 where we first encountered him. 
 
 " Tis she!" he exclaims, after sweeping the southwest passage 
 with his glass. " Tis the Happy-go-Lucky at last. Thank 
 Grod ! I m sick enough of this waiting. 
 
 Following his glance, we see the object which occasions his de 
 light. A small vessel glides through the distant channels. Now 
 we catch a glimpse of her whole figure ; a low long brigantine, 
 that seems to carry admirable heels. The next moment, her 
 white sails and slender masts only gleam above the sand dunes 
 and the marsh. Now she disappears behind a forest ; and anon 
 emerges, running by a sand dune. 
 
 Our solitary runs up a tree that juts out appropriately on the 
 headland. He seems to have used it before for such a purpose. 
 He climbs like a cat ; is evidently a sailor ; is up, aloft ; and, in 
 a moment, a white streamer is seen waving from the tree ! 
 
 The scene grOws animated with a new life. There is no longer 
 solitude. That one brave vessel, " walking the waters," is " a 
 thing of life." How beautifully she comes on ! seems rather to 
 fly than to swim ; darts through the narrow channels, as if certain 
 ^f her route ; and breaks into the bay, with all her canvass belly- 
 Mg out under the embraces of the western breeze, as if Cleopatra 
 herself were on deck. And one, not unlike, and not less beautiful 
 than Cleopatra, was on her deck at that moment. But of her 
 hereafter. 
 
 Our solitary shouts joyous from his tree. Well may he shout. 
 It is with love that he shouts. She is his pet, his favorite ; he 
 loves the gallant vessel, as if she were a bride. 
 
 And she is a beautiful creature. Even in the sight of us sim 
 ple landsmen, who know nothing of her peculiar virtues, how she 
 sails ; how she can eat into the very eye of the wind ; how clean 
 are her heels ; how easy her motion ; what storms she has borne 
 and baffled ; what seas she has traversed ; over what foes tri 
 umphed ; what wondrous ventures made ; even to us she comes 
 on as a beautiful creature, all ethereal a thing of light, and 
 life, and night, and perpetual motion ! Her hull, long and nar 
 row ; her tall, rakish masts ; the vast spread of canvass which she 
 carries, and the elaborate grace of her spars and motion these 
 
SCENE OF ACTION. 21 
 
 strike even the inexperienced eye, as in proof of her speed and 
 beauty. She has a grace of her own ; but you see, too, that there 
 are soul and skill in her management. You feel that there are 
 courage and conduct ; that there is a master-spirit on board, who 
 wills, and she walks ; who shouts, and she flies ; who will carry her 
 forward when the seas are wildest, and train her on to the fearful- 
 lest encounter with superior bulk, even as the swordfish darts to 
 the encounter with the whale ! Even we simple landsmen can see 
 and conceive all these things as we gaze on the beautiful creature, 
 while she flings the feathery spray from her bows. 
 
 But the eyes of the seaman glitter as he beholds, and there is 
 a tear from those of the rough old salt, while ours do but smile. 
 His heart is in it. She is the creature of his affections. How 
 he envies the happy chieftain who sways the movements of his 
 painted beauty. His glance follows every plunge which she 
 makes through the pliant waters ; and as she comes round upon 
 the breeze, without a word or voice, and darts forward, as an 
 arrow from the bow, straight for her harborage, he shouts he 
 3an not help but shout. He can no longer keep silent : he shouts 
 as he glides down the tree, and rather drops from it than descends. 
 
 " Hurrah ! God bless the Happy-go-Lucky ! hurrah ! hurrah !" 
 
 The vessel makes her port. Our solitary is on the edge of the 
 cove to which her prow is bent. He is there to catch the rope 
 ,re it touches earth, and hurry with it to the tree where he makes 
 her fast. The bolts rattle, the sails descend, and, with scarce a 
 rripple, she glides into the mouth of a little creek which has grate 
 fully felt her form before. Her masts mingle with the tall pines 
 that brood over on either side, so that it shall take very keen and 
 curious eyes to detect her presence. A voice, clear, sharp, and 
 musical, is heard from her decks : 
 
 " Well, Jack Belcher, you see we have not forgotten you." 
 
 The tones were affectionate. 
 
 " God bless your honor, and your honor s honor ! May you 
 live for ever, and die at last in the Happy-go-Lucky ! All s 
 well, your honor." 
 
THE CASSIQUE OF KLAWA1I. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HAPPT-GO-LUCKIES. 
 
 " Touchstone. And whither with you now 1 What ioo^e i^tV"j are you 
 bound for ? Come ! what comrades are you to meet withal ? Where s the 
 supper ? where s the rendezvous 1" Eastwai d Hoe. 
 
 " Quoth he" the ancient Marinere " quoth he, there was a ship !" 
 
 BUT a more famous ship, in her day, than ever floated muse of 
 Coleridge, was she, the " Happy-go-Lucky" of the Spanish seas 
 and the year of grace 1684. Of a remote period to ours, she 
 was yet not very unlike in build, nor perhaps inferior in per 
 formance, to the famous Baltimore clippers of the present time. 
 "Long, low, rakish," in her structure, she carries a cloud of canvass, 
 under which we have her seen leaping forward with an impulse 
 which, in a heavier sea and under a livelier breeze, would have 
 buried her bowsprit in a continual crush of foam. In the smooth 
 waters of the bay beneath her, she glides like some graceful sea- 
 bird, exulting in the consciousness only of a pleasurable excite 
 ment. Yet, docile in her sports, she has only heard a shrill 
 whistle, and almost silently her white wings fold themselves up to 
 hor sides, and with scarce a ripple of the wave, and without far 
 ther effort of her own, she passes to her covert among the pines, 
 and her masts are lost among their shady tops of green. 
 
 She is a cruiser. You may guess that from her build, her 
 world of canvass, her speed, her size, if not from the long brass 
 cannon working upon a pivot amidships, and the six brass muz 
 zles that grin significantly with open jaws on either side. She 
 has the capacity for mischief, clearly, whatever be her character. 
 Gently rocking in the narrow lagune where she seeks her rest, it 
 is permitted us to behold something more than her simple outlines. 
 Her inhabitants now tumble into sight on every hand ; a goodly 
 
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKIES. 23 
 
 number of vigorous sea-dogs somewhat more numerous, it would 
 seem, than are absolutely necessary to the working of so small a 
 craft. They constitute a crew, which, we may see at a glance, 
 are to be relied upon when blows are heavy. There are scarred 
 veterans among these fellows, motley enough English, Irish, 
 Dutch, French an amalgam of nations, which, elsewhere, are 
 rarely to be found working amicably together. Yet here, they 
 seem fused, as by one strong presiding will, into a congruous com 
 munity. The most casual eye may detect each national character 
 istic, in shape, look, tone, gesture ; yet here they blend together har 
 moniously, under a common authority. They are docile enough, 
 aiost of them nay submissive ; yet there is a sort of freedom, 
 <oo, amounting to a social license, which forbids the idea that 
 cither of these has sunk his individuality in his obedience to au 
 thority. You hear them laugh and jest together ; there are some 
 tvho sing out aloud, as if to test the healthy capacity of voice and 
 lungs ; and, not unfrequently, a broad, corpulent, aggressive Brit 
 ish oath breaks upon the ear, like the roar of a bulldog, from the 
 lips of some surly islander, who fancies that unless he swears, and 
 can hear himself and make others hear, he forfeits something of 
 the natural independence of his breed. 
 
 You see, next, that these fellows are all picked men. They are 
 rough sea-dogs, no doubt, but sturdy, cool, hardy, stubborn ; ca 
 pable of good knocks ; giving and receiving ; who have been al 
 ready trained and tried in a severe apprenticeship. They are fit 
 fellows for a cruiser with a roving commission. And such is that 
 borne by the " Happy-go-Lucky." 
 
 As we traverse the decks, we find proofs of a late visit to re 
 gions farther south. There are piles of West India fruits strewn 
 about ; pyramids of orange, guava, and pine, secured in the net 
 tings around the guns, showing a more innocent species of artillery 
 than belongs altogether to the other aspects of the ship. The 
 " Happy-go-Lucky" has probably looked very lately into Jamaica 
 and Barbadoes ; has had a squint at Porto Bello, a bird s-eye 
 view of Havana ; and may have enjoyed a loving wrestle with 
 some of the good brigantines of these latter places, in which they 
 have found more fruits than those which lie carelessly strewn on 
 deck. Quien sabe ? 
 
 But these piles of fruit implied, in the present case, neither 
 
24 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 want of cleanliness nor confusion. In a twink, our cruiser will be 
 cleared for action ; and, in the matter of cleanliness, never were 
 decks kept under " Holy Stone" regimen more rigidly than hers. 
 Her captain, be sure, is something of a martinet ; and the nice, 
 trim condition of his ship would, we fancy, have seemed a very 
 idle object to the bluff, less fastidious sailors of the previous gen 
 eration the days of Van Tromp, and Drake, and Cavendish. 
 It needs but a glance to assure yourself that our cruiser is under 
 the management of one who is no mere sailor ; who brings some 
 taste into exercise along with his duties ; who has grace as well as 
 valor ; and can, doubtless, dance a galliard with courtly ease, in 
 the very next hour after making the dons of Mexico foot it to 
 the most vexatious sort of music. 
 
 But let us see him more nearly. He is the same person who 
 first welcomed our solitary, Jack Belcher, at the moment of their 
 mutual recognition. The latter personage has bounded on board 
 the vessel, the moment her sides grazed the shores, and we see 
 that the hand of his superior is extended him, with a frank and 
 hearty freedom that speaks quite as much for friendship as author 
 ity. Our solitary wrings it with warm affection. There is some 
 love between the two, be sure. The superior speaks good hu* 
 moredly : " Well ! tired out, Jack, eh ?" 
 
 " Tired enough, your honor but only of the waiting, not of 
 the work." 
 
 " What ! you d rather be dancing fandangoes with the Cuban 
 barefoots, eh ?" 
 
 And there was a momentary flash of merriment in the blue eyes 
 of ihe speaker but momentary only, for the next instant a cloud 
 seemed to pass across his face. 
 
 This was a handsome one, of the genuine English mould ; per 
 haps, for manhood, the most beautiful of all living models. His 
 features were all noble, decided, and symmetrical. The tout en 
 semble exhibited boldness, freedom, sensibility ; a prompt courage ; 
 an eager temper ; a generous, though perhaps irritable mood. It 
 was full of blood as well as character ; big veins swelling on his 
 forehead, while the sanguine temperament declared itself, in warm 
 flushes, through a skin somewhat deeply bronzed with the intense 
 fervor of the tropical sun. He had the light brown hair and blue 
 eyes of the Saxon ; the great frame, large as well as vigorous ; 
 
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKIES. 25 
 
 the erect carriage, the fearless look and demeanor of the Norman ; 
 and just enough of thought and care in the general expression of 
 his face, as to lift the merely physical manhood into the dignity 
 of intellect and authority. 
 
 Some care sate upon his cheek, and might be guessed from the 
 gradually growing lines about the mouth ; which was nevertheless 
 distinguished equally by its youth and beauty. The broad and 
 elevated brow, large but not massive ; the quick, intelligent, and 
 frequent kindling of the eye, looking out blue and lively ; but, 
 like an April sky, subject to very sudden changes ; the prominent 
 Roman nose ; the full, round chin ; sweetly expressive, yet very 
 decisive mouth ; all declared for characteristics, which, whether 
 we regard the opinions of Lavater or Gall, impress us, through 
 the features, with the conviction that we stand in the presence of 
 a brave, manly soul, having truthful sympathies, and a will that 
 must everywhere assert command. 
 
 His person, as we have intimated, was framed in the very prod 
 igality of nature tall of height, broad of shoulder, and equally 
 athletic and symmetrical. He was probably thirty years old, may 
 have been thirty-five ; but, if we make due allowance for the 
 effects of care, strife, and authority, in situations of great responsi 
 bility, we shall be more safe in assuming him to be no more than 
 thirty. He was clad very simply in loose duck trowsers, and 
 wore a sailor s jacket, but these were of very fine materials. His 
 bosom was ruffled in fine linen, curiously embroidered ; a scarf of 
 blue, worn loosely, and secured by the sailor-knot, was wrapped 
 about his neck. A white Panama hat of ample rim and high 
 conical crown, of the time of Charles the First, covered his head, 
 and was encircled with a light-blue sash. He wore boots of yel 
 low tanned Spanish leather. A baldric of blue silk, hanging over 
 his shoulders, contained a brace of pistols, of rather long barrel, 
 wide mouth, and richly- wrought stocks, inlaid with silver. He 
 carried, at this moment, no other weapons. 
 
 You have the man before you, as he appears to us, shaking the 
 hands of one whose approach, address, tone of voice, and general 
 manner, show him to be a personal retainer, a faithful follower, 
 an old long-tried friend, no less than a subordinate. 
 
 " And so, Jack, you have had a taste of the maroon ? How 
 long have you been here waiting ?" 
 
26 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 But thirteen days, your honor ; but it seems an age more 
 than a month, certainly. I left Charleston " 
 
 " Not yet, Jack wait a little longer." 
 
 And, as he spoke, the face of the superior was overcast with 
 a graver expression. He was approached, at that moment, by 
 another person, who will demand our special attention, even as 
 she coerced his. 
 
 " She ! a woman !" Yes. Our rover, the " Happy-go-Lucky," 
 is richly freighted. Feast your palate upon the choice fruits of 
 summer and the sun, which you see about you ; your cupidity 
 upon the choice bales of silk and merchandises of East and West, 
 which are hoarded in the hold below ; but let your eyes feed upon 
 the, beautiful creature who now challenges our attention. 
 
 Very beautiful, indeed, is she, after the Spanish fashion. We 
 said something of Cleopatra in the preceding chapter. That name 
 is suggestive of but one ideal ; and she who glides before us, and 
 lays her hand intimately upon the captain s shoulder, and looks 
 up with such a brilliant tenderness into his eyes, embodies that 
 model in perfection. She is not a large creature as Cleopatra 
 may have been nay, petite rather but full bosomed, with every 
 look speaking passion music s passion ; the sun s passion ; the 
 passion of storm and fire upon occasion, ready to burst forth 
 without warning and spoil the sky s face, and rage among the 
 flowers. 
 
 She is brown with a summer s sun ; her beauty is of the dark ; 
 like a night without a cloud, far up in the sky, flecked with sol 
 itary stars. Her features are not regular, but, in their very 
 caprice, they harmonize. Hfr large black eye dilates at every 
 glance, reveals every emotion, however slight, and passes, with 
 the rapidity of lightning, from smiles to tears ; from tenderness ta 
 a passion, which may easily be rage as well as love ! It is keen, 
 restless, jealously watchful, intense in every phase. The nose is 
 small, but capable of sudden dilation ; the lips voluptuous, pale, 
 and soon shaken with a tremulous quiver, whenever the feelings 
 are touched. The brow, whiter than the rest of the face, is 
 marked by two blue veins above the eyes, that become swollen at 
 a moment s warning. It is not high, nor massive, nor yet narrow ; 
 the eyebrows are thick and black, the lashes long ; and when the 
 orbs droop, in the languor of satisfied emotions, they form & beau 
 
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKiES. 27 
 
 tii ul and glossy fringe fit for hiding the fiery jewels that bum 
 beneath. 
 
 An easy susceptibility to all emotions ; a sleepless intensity of 
 mood, whatever the direction of the will ; great energy of passion ; 
 an ever-watchful jealousy ; feelings that have never learned to 
 brook control or denial ; a temper not often accustomed to re 
 straint ; these are traits, all visible at a glance, to him who can 
 look through the features, in partial repose at present, to their nat 
 ural susceptibilities, and the moral atmosphere in which the owner 
 has grown to womanhood. 
 
 Her person, though small, is perfect, well rounded, neither too 
 full nor slender ; a model, in short, for that style of beauty which 
 was hers. And every movement was graceful. She swam rather 
 than walked. Her little feet were never heard, in the thin, open 
 slippers which she wore. Her costume was of a light, gay green 
 silk ; her bodice of the finest texture, embroidered openly in front, 
 and leaving the large, well-formed bosom to its own free swell, 
 under the pressure of perpetually striving emotions. Her dress, 
 though embroidered, and decorated besides with little cords of 
 gold and purple, that crossed the white openings in the silken 
 dress, was worn loosely, rather after a Grecian than an Italian or 
 Spanish fashion ; sufficiently showing the perfection of the form, 
 without absolutely defining it ; certainly without embarrassing, or 
 tending in the slightest degree to curb its movements. 
 
 Hair such a mass, all raven black, which, loosed, would 
 sweep the earth behind her as she went eyes, mouth, form, 
 complexion, all seemed to carry you back to the gay season 
 when, in the halls of Zegri and Abencerrage, the maidens of Gra 
 nada borrowed lustre from the sun to light up the darkness, and 
 made the moon and stars tributary to passions which could tol 
 erate no stronger light, but which luxuriated in such as theirs. 
 
 Verily, she was of Moresco, quite as much as Spanish blood ; 
 and you are sure of this when you hear her called " Zulieme.** 
 A little poniard in a sheath of green embossed leather, with richly- 
 jewelled hilt, worn in her girdle, seems to help the faith in her 
 Moorish origin. She is dark, but comely, like the beauty sung by 
 Solomon ; and that wise person was understood to have quite an 
 eye for a fine woman. She was evidently of the or ler which he 
 preferred to crown with flowers and music. 
 
28 THE CASSIQUE OF KIATV iH. 
 
 But but ! ah ! but hereafter. There will be a time for the 
 qualifications to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow! 
 
 Noiv ! We see nothing but the beautiful ; a sensuous beauty 
 a thing solely for the eye : such as Canova makes of that exquisite 
 idiot whom he calls " The Venus." 
 
 And, in all her beauty, costumed as we have shown her, Zulieme 
 approaches her lord, and, with one hand on his shoulder, and her 
 great black eyes peering into his, she exclaims, in tolerable En 
 glish, just sufficiently broken and imperfect to show that she is of 
 another nation, and to occasion a pleasant interest by the discov 
 ery she exclaims : 
 
 " Why, Harry, how is this ? Molyneaux tells me that this is 
 not Charleston ! 
 
 " I should say not, Zulieme. This is a wild region, uninhab 
 ited almost, except by savages." 
 
 " But why have you put in here, Harry?" 
 
 " It is necessary, " he answered, somewhat coldly. 
 
 " But why necessary ? What is to be done here ? Molyneaux 
 says that there is nothing to be done here ; that there is nobody 
 to see, nobody to trade with, and I want to go to Charleston. I 
 wouldn t have come this voyage had you not promised me I should 
 go to Charleston. Molyneaux tells me " 
 
 " Tell me no more, if you please, of what Mr. Molyneaux has 
 told you ; and if you are wise, Zulieme, you will take your future 
 information, as to my purposes and conduct, from no other lips 
 than my own." 
 
 "But I am not wise, Harry, and you sha n t make me wise; 
 and how, if nobody tells me anything but you, and you never tell 
 me anything !" 
 
 " I tell you all, in respect to myself and my proceedings, Zu 
 lieme, which I deem it proper for you to know. Who undertakes 
 to tell you more, in this ship, assumes a privilege which I shall 
 certainly arrest at the earliest moment." 
 
 The gravity had become severity. 
 
 " Oh ! do n t blame Mr. Molyneaux, now ; if anybody is at fault, 
 it s me. 1 asked Mr. Molyneaux, and he answered; and there s 
 no harm in that, Harry." 
 
 " I do n t know that /" was the answer, slowly spoken, and with 
 the air of one who muses upon some other subject. 
 
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCIES. 29 
 
 " Yes, but you do know, Harry ; and when / want to know 
 something, I will ask, and somebody must answer." 
 
 " Ask of me, then, Zulieme." 
 
 " Well, but you won t answer me always." 
 
 " Then, it is not proper that you should seek from another the 
 information that I refuse. You ought to know, in such cases, that 
 the knowledge you seek is withheld for some good reason." 
 
 "But why what reason? And why should Mr. Molyneaux 
 know things that I mustn t know? I m your wife, Harry, am I 
 not?" 
 
 "You are my wife, Zulieme," was the gravely-spoken answer; 
 and the manner did not show that there w r as any satisfaction felt 
 in making the acknowledgment ; " and as my wife, Zulieme, you 
 must content yourself with what /am pleased to tell you of the 
 affairs of th^f. ship. Mr. Molyneaux is an officer of this ship ; and 
 my wife must learn to know, if he does not, that his duty is to 
 keep its secrets. If your business were the management of the 
 vessel, then it would be your right to know ; but " 
 
 " Oh ! I don t care about the ship s affairs, Harry ; it s my own 
 affairs ; and I ask you why you put in here, in this wild place, 
 when we were to go to Charleston ? It was to go to Charleston 
 that I agreed to leave New Providence. You told me that we 
 would go there ; and you promised to stop at Cuba, yet you never 
 stopped, or only for a moment, and I never had a sight of Havana, 
 and you know what I wanted to see there. Ah, the dear Cuba 1 
 the sights, and the bullfights, and the dances ! And now, it seems, 
 we are not to go to Charleston " 
 
 " Who says that, Zulieme ?" 
 
 " Why, Mr. Molyneaux said " 
 
 A stern, impatient look and gesture cut short the communica 
 tion ; and the eyes of the captain glanced quickly and angrily 
 from the lady, in the direction of a person who stood near the 
 companion-way, and who seemed, at that moment, to have the 
 ship in charge. 
 
 This was Mr. or rather Lieutenant Molyneaux, so often referred 
 to by the lady. He was a young man, probably the youngest in 
 the vessel, of middle size, slight build, but apparently of great 
 activity. His face, which was turned toward the parties at the 
 moment, was effeminate, smooth, even boyish ; but its expression 
 
30 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 was that of cai-eiess daring, amounting to effrontery. He be 
 longed to the proverbial " order of the Bashful Irishmen." There 
 was a half smile upon his countenance, as his eye met the glance 
 of his superior, which seemed significant with a peculiar meaning. 
 
 " Did you call, sir ?" he asked, somewhat indifferently, as his 
 eye caught the expression in that of his superior. 
 
 " No, sir no ! and yet I did call, Mr. Molyneaux. One 
 word, sir." 
 
 The other approached at a moderate pace, though without any 
 apparent interest. As he drew nigh, the captain said : 
 
 " Mr. Molyneaux, you will please understand that it is not by 
 any means necessary that you should communicate to anybody 
 but myself the courses and direction of this ship. She may steer 
 east, west, north, or south, and all on board must submit without 
 question, or expectation of answer, to the orders which I give on 
 this and all other subjects. No answer, sir, if you please. I have 
 no purpose to converse now ; only to inform, that we may pre 
 vent mistakes in future." 
 
 The slightest possible smile might be seen upon the lips of the 
 lieutenant as he touched his hat and receded. But a fierce, pas 
 sionate stare on the part of the lady betrayed equal astonishment 
 and indignation, and threatened a sudden outbreak. 
 
 " How, Harry, do you mean that Mr. Molyneaux is not to 
 answer my questions ?" 
 
 " Exactly ! He is to answer no questions, of anybody, in rela 
 tion to the working of this ship, its course, objects, or interests. 
 These are sacred even from you, and do you not attempt to per 
 suade any officer to a neglect or breach of duty. Ask me what 
 you want to know, and if it be proper that you should know, /will 
 answer you." 
 
 " Look you, Harry, none of your haughty ways with me. T 
 won t stand it. You sha n t treat me as if I were only a child. 
 I must and will know, Harry. You said positively we were to 
 come to Charleston, and if you hadn t said that, I never should 
 have consented to leave Providence. You promised me, Harry, 
 to carry me to Havana and Charleston both, and now you bring 
 me here to this wild heathen country, where there are wolves and 
 tigers, and the red savages. I say, I will know, Harry, whether 
 you mean to keep your word, and carry me to Charleston." 
 
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKIES. 31 
 
 A very angry expression crossed for a moment the face of the 
 superior. You could see that it needed little for a storm a 
 sudden burst of thunder; but he subdued the tempest with a 
 severe exertion of will, and in tones not merely sober, but even 
 gentle, though firm, he answered : 
 
 " Zulieme, no more of this at present ; whether I shall go to 
 Charleston or not, depends upon intelligence which I am to find 
 here." 
 
 " And from whom, Harry, in this savage place ? You are only 
 cheating me, I know." 
 
 " You saw the person who met me from this shore ? But, it 
 does not matter. It should not. It should be enough for you, 
 Zulieme, that I have answered you. I do iiot relish this too close 
 questioning. You must learn to believe what I tell you, and 
 submit." 
 
 The lady pouted, and stamped her little feet impatiently ; her 
 companion scarcely heeded it, as he went on : 
 
 " No more of this impatience, Zulieme. Be content with the 
 assurance that I have duties to others, in fulfilling which, I am 
 obliged to put in here which may carry me to Charleston 
 probably will ; but which may require that I shall steer in any 
 other direction. And, as my wife, you must understand that my 
 duties involve yours, and must learn to submit, without complaint 
 or question, to the necessities which I have to recognize. Go 
 below now, or amuse yourself on deck do what you wish 
 while I see Jack Belcher, and procure the information which shall 
 decide my course." 
 
 " And I say again, Harry Calvert, that you treat me like a 
 child !" exclaimed the spoiled beauty, passionately. 
 
 " Ay, and you are a child, Zulieme ! What else ! what else !" 
 This was said very gravely and sadly, but gently, even tenderly. 
 "But go below, and beware how you make me appear ridiculous 
 in the sight of these rude men. There are eyes upon us, which 
 must see in me nothing but the master. Do not let your folly 
 undo my authority !" 
 
 " But why may I not go on shore, Harry ?" changing her tone 
 in an instant. " Why not have supper under those great trees, 
 and fruits, and music? Oh! it will be so pretty, and so nice, 
 Harry." 
 
32 THF CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ! why not ? Do so, Zulieme. Gi e the or 
 ders, and set your maid to work. Call Phipps to help. Phipps 1 
 Phipps !" 
 
 Phipps was the cabin-boy. 
 
 And, so speaking, Captain Calvert was moving away, when the 
 lady caught his arm : 
 
 " But is there no danger of the red savages, Harry ? They 
 say your savages of Carolina are a fiercer race than ours. They 
 eat Christians, don t they?" 
 
 " I have already got a scouting party in the wood, Zulieme, 
 under Lieutenant Eckles. There is no danger. Belcher has 
 been here, alone, for more than a week." 
 
 "Oh! how frightful, and nobody with him! Oh! I should 
 prefer the savages to the silence of these lonely woods. But, go 
 long, Harry. Go long, now ; while I set Sylvia and Phipps to 
 work. We shall have such a nice supper, and music, and a 
 dance." 
 
 And she lilted and warbled as she spoke. Then calling, " Sylvia, 
 Sylvia !" to the maid below, and clapping her hands, with a shrill 
 scream for Phipps, the lady, in a moment after, darted down the 
 companion-way, seeming altogether to forget, in her new fancies, 
 that she was the unhappy proprietor of one of those wretched 
 husbands who refuse to answer impertinent questions. 
 
 Mr. Molyneaux glanced at her retiring figure ; his eyes then 
 followed that of the captain. The latter joined Jack Belcher on 
 the headlands, and proceeded with him into the thicket and out 
 of sight. Upon the lips of Mr. Molyneaux there sat the same 
 smile with which he had met the sudden and stern glance of his 
 principal. It was cool, quiet, full of effrontery and self-esteem. 
 Yet, how feminine were all his features. And how should he 
 so seemingly effeminate, and evidently the youngest person in the 
 ship how should he have risen to the rank of second officer ? 
 
 That smile told the whole story. Girlish though he seemed, 
 he had that degree of audacity and resolution which could carry 
 him through scenes from which greater frames and tougher sin 
 ews, and more hardy-looking persons, would have shrunk in dis 
 may. And he would go into the melee as to a feast. And the 
 very effeminacy of his person deceived his enemies. Under that 
 girlish and delicate exterior, he concealed powerful muscl^ - 
 
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKIE8. 38 
 
 well-knit limbs, and a lithe activity, which, in the moment of 
 danger, left nearly all others behind ! 
 
 But why did he smile as his captain went from sight ? What 
 is the secret in that sinister expression ? And did his superior 
 feel, or fancy, the occult meaning which it seemed to cover ? 
 
 It did not please him, evidently. There was an instinct at 
 work, no doubt, which made Captain Calvert feel that there was 
 something unpleasant in that smile of his second officer. But he 
 is not the man to brood over the occult. And he has other cares 
 on hand at this moment; and, forgetting the whole scene just 
 over, it was with some eagerness that he joined Jack Belcher on 
 the shore, and bade him lead into the thick cover of the forest. 
 
 2* 
 
34 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AGONIES OF A LOST HOPE. 
 
 " Tidings have come to me that on my house a bolt hath fallen at mid- 
 nigb/, and left ashes, where I had left delights, in precious babes, and one 
 that watched them." 
 
 JACK BELCHER led the way for his superior into that clos 
 covert where we have followed the former once before. Here the 
 captain threw himself down upon the little sea-chest which carried 
 all Jack s stores, while the latter leaned against one of the great 
 trees that helped to pillar and roof his sylvan habitation. 
 
 " Well, Jack," said Calvert, impatiently, " you have aeen the 
 governor ? Does he write ?" 
 
 " No indeed, sir ; I think he s a little afraid of putting things to 
 paper. He s scary ! says the devil s to pay ! that the king s 
 been bullied by the Spaniard, and our business is to be stopped 
 altogether. There s to be no more winking at our work in the 
 West Indies. The Spanish embassador demands that when an 
 English sailor shouts out, No peace beyond the line/ he s to be 
 tucked up, out of sight, in a jiffy, and made to swing, just where 
 you find him, whether on sea or land. There s to be no more 
 fair trading on any account, and the governor seems half disposed 
 to close accounts with you for ever." 
 
 The fellow paused. 
 
 Well well! goon." 
 
 " Well, sir, there s little more to tell you. I had some work to 
 get to a private talk with the governor. But when I showed him 
 your ring, and gave him the letter, he let out free enough. Only, 
 I couldn t get him to write. He says the council watches him. 
 But he ll wink, I m a-thinking, an 3 not look too closely where he 
 shouldn t. That is, if your honor takes care to give him the 
 right kind of eye-water." 
 
AGONIES OF A LOST HOPE. 85 
 
 "Yes! yes! I understand him! But how are /he citizens? 
 You went among them ? You saw Stillwater and Franks ?" 
 
 "All right in that quarter. Stillwater says the governor s a 
 cross between a fool and rogue. He has the conscience for the 
 trade, but wants the pluck. Frank says: "Come on; there s 
 just as good custom now as when the king had Christian bowels. 
 As for the people, I see no difference. They don t see the harm 
 or the wrong in riddling a Spanish galleon, or, for that matter, a 
 Frenchman ; they hate em both, and look upon em, sensibly, as 
 natural enemies. They will buy whatever you ve got to sell, and 
 ask no question about the sort of flag you pulled down to get at 
 the goods. I don t see that you ll have any trouble from them." 
 
 " Then we ve nothing to fear from the governor. If such be 
 the temper of the people, Quarry will give us no trouble. As for 
 Charles Stuart, he s a fool. As if the Spaniard and Frenchman 
 were not the natural enemies of England. As if every captured 
 galleon was not gain of strength as well as wealth to us. Fool I 
 fool ! like his father ; and, like him, bought and sold, to the shame 
 and loss of England. But what said the governor to my coming 
 into port ?" 
 
 " lie hemmed and hawed said it was very dangerous ; he 
 couldn t say; you might take the risk if you pleased, but twas 
 your own risk. He could n t say what would be the upshot of it ; 
 he said council was monstrous prying into the business." 
 
 " Any armed vessel on the station ? king s ship, I mean ?" 
 
 " I know, sir. No, not that I could hear. The Lime, Pearl, 
 and Shoreham, were all on the Virginia coast ; the Phoenix and 
 Squirrel at New York ; the Rose at Boston ; the Winchelsea " 
 
 " At Jamaica, we know and so is the Adventure ; did you 
 hear nothing of the Scarborough ?" 
 
 " She s a thirty-gun ship ? There was a report of one that had 
 been on the coast, but I didn t get her name. It s certain there 
 was no king s ship on the Carolina coast when I left ; but the 
 governor said one might be expected soon. He was scary enough, 
 and talked a good deal about character, and responsibility, and 
 dignity, and his office, as if he hadn t buttoned em up long ago, 
 and covered em out of sight with Spanish doubloons. I reckon 
 there s some change in the council, sir, that makes him so scary : 
 there s one person in the council now, sir, that wa n t in it before; 
 
36 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and the name is one, sir, that ll raise your hair a little. It s a 
 Major Berkeley. 
 
 "Major Berkeley!" cried the captain, starting up and ap 
 proaching the subordinate. 
 
 "Yes, sir; but what Berkeley I couldn t find out. I could 
 n t get to see him, and the governor never told me of him at all. 
 Of course, I thought directly of your own brother, and how cu 
 rious twould be if he was removed to Carolina. But I could find 
 out nothing but this, that he s an Edward Berkeley too; they 
 call him Sir Edward, seeing that he s made a cassique, or lord, in 
 this country, and he s got a family wife and children !" 
 
 "Edward Berkeley! and wife! and did you say children?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, he s got children or a child one or more. They 
 told me wife and children." 
 
 " Children ! and by her ! O God ! and I have lived for this ! 
 and Olive is a mother ! a mother ! and her children are not mine I 
 And what am I, and where am I ! after all these struggles, this 
 toil and danger in a doubtful service; denounced by the laws; 
 deserted by my sovereign ; an exile perhaps an outlaw ! Ah I 
 God ! But this, this might have been spared me !" 
 
 And our cruiser strode the wood as he thus passionately spoke- 
 and his fingers were thrust into his hair and clenched with vi 
 olence, while his whole frame shook with the convulsions of his 
 soul. 
 
 " Don t, sir; don t, your honor; don t take on so, dear master. 
 It may not be your brother, after all." 
 
 " Tis he ! I feel it ! They were wedded, I know. That an 
 cient Jezebel, her mother ! She has done it all. She has torn 
 us asunder for ever. Olive s heart was mine mine only. Bui 
 what are hearts to selfish mothers ? What a woman s heart to a 
 mother s ambition ? What a younger brother s heart, when he 
 who claims the birthright requires its sacrifice ? It is he it is 
 Edward Berkeley; and he is come hither now, having robbed 
 me of all that made life precious, perhaps to rob me of life 
 also to bring me to an ignominious death ! Poor Olive ! with 
 thy depth of soul, with thy singleness of passion, to be thus bar 
 tered. And children too 1 His children ! his children ! Oh ! 
 Edward Berkeley, thou hast robbed me of something more than 
 life !" 
 
AGONIES OF A LOST HOPE. 37 
 
 " Master, dear master, remember you have now a wife of 
 your own." 
 
 " Ah ! do I not know it, Belcher ? Great Heavens ! and such 
 a wife ! a doll ! a painted baby ! a poor child-creature, whose very 
 smile mocks me with a cruel memory of all that is lost to me for 
 ever. True, Olive was lost ere I wedded her. Yet why should 
 I have wedded her? Better to have made the heart live on the 
 bitter memciy. Yet, there was excuse. I owed much to this 
 child s care of me. And in what madness of soul did I seek in 
 another the recompense for that most miserable loss !" 
 
 " Alas, your honor, is n t it too late now to " 
 
 " Ah ! as if that were not the worst agony of all ! There is the 
 venom in the wound. It is too late. No more, Jack ! no more ! 
 Olive Masterton has children, and they are not mine ; and these 
 children will beget that love which did not beget themselves. 
 I must not think. Poor, poor Olive ! But I will see her ! I 
 will see her once more !" 
 
 " Oh ! sir, better not !" 
 
 " I will see her, if I die for it ! I can not help it. The Fates, 
 if she is indeed in Charleston, have thrown her in my way. They 
 decree that we shall meet once more. I will gaze upon her face, 
 though she may not see mine. I will startle her soul with my 
 voice, though I may not listen to hers. I will look upon the face 
 of her child her child ! Oh ! Olive Masterton, hadst thou been 
 Srm, strong, devoted hadst thou kept thy faith, and had faith in 
 mine this had never been ! The cruel arts of thy cruel mother 
 had never prevailed to tear our hearts asunder, to blight hope and 
 heart, and yield thee, and yield me, to embraces which are loath 
 some to both. Ay, loathsome to thee, I swear it ; unless, indeed, 
 thou wert all a lie, like that artful fiend, thy mother !" 
 
 " Master, dear master !" 
 
 " Oh ! Jack, I am weak weak unto death !" cried the strong 
 man, throwing himself upon the ground, while a deep groan issued 
 from his chest. The faithful follower hung over him. 
 
 " Dear master, give not way." 
 
 " I will not, Jack. I will be strong. It is too late. Ay, some 
 thing is too late. But, I must and will see her. Do not fear me, 
 Jack, I will be calm calm as the grave when it closes its heavy 
 jaws over the wreck of best affections. Olive ! Olive Masterton ! 
 
38 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 thou hast crushed me to the earth, in thy own wretcued lack *f 
 love." 
 
 " Oh ! Master, she lacked not that ! But what could she do ? 
 You gone lost, perhaps and that old one at her from morning 
 till night. A mother too ! and so cunning. You don t think what 
 the poor girl had to suffer. I know something of it, master. I 
 heard I saw! and it isn t for a young girl to stand a mother s 
 prayers and pleadings long. And they were very poor : and you 
 don t know how they were made to feel it and they who had 
 been used to live in such grandeur." 
 
 u Ay ! she was sold ; and that Edward Berkeley should be 
 the man to take advantage of her poverty, her dependency, her 
 mother s arts, and my absence." 
 
 " Oh, sir, as I m a living man, I do n t believe your brother 
 ever knew of your love for her." 
 
 " He must have known must have heard !" 
 
 " He might suspect, but I don t think he knew, and that old hag 
 never let him know. She kept the truth from him. I m sure of 
 it. You recollect, he was on the continent all the while when you 
 were with her. You were gone before he came home." 
 
 " But my letter ?" 
 
 " Ten to one he never got it. You never got any answer. 
 Oh ! sir, do not suspect your brother." 
 
 " Why was the marriage so hurried, before I could return ?" 
 
 " Twas his passion, sir, and the mother s arts. Besides, 
 twa n t so much hurry, either, since you remember, we were 
 eleven months getting across from Panama, owing to your dread 
 ful sickness." 
 
 " Ah ! that horrid time ! and its more horrid consequences ! 
 T was the terrible news from England that broke me down, and 
 made me deplore the cares that saved me in spite of that pesti 
 lential fever. And then it was, that, in a fatal hour in my de 
 spair and vexation on the one hand, and in a false notion of grati 
 tude on the other I committed the worst of all my errors : gave 
 my hand to this foolish child ; married a woman who could move 
 passion, but not love a toy, not a woman ; a mere trifler with 
 the heart that would like to honor if nothing more like to 
 believe her worthy of some sympathy, if not of mine." 
 
 " But she loves you, sir. Believe me, sir, she loves you I" 
 
A SONIES OP A LOST HOPE. 39 
 
 " Ay, perhaps, as far as she can know to love ; but what a 
 child how weak, how vain, how frivolous ! a continual caprice, 
 that vexes even in its fondness ; that makes you revolt, even 
 when passion most persuades to tenderness. Ah ! Jack, I have 
 sacrificed a solace in a frenzy. I might have cherished pride 
 even in disappointment. I have shut myself out from the conso 
 lations which a cherished faith might have brought me even in 
 moments of despair. What had I to do with a child passion, 
 when I was sure of a noble woman s love ?" 
 
 " But that was lost and gone, my dear master." 
 
 " No ! I had lost a hope, but not the life in which the hope had 
 birth. I had lost the woman I had loved not her affections. 
 Her heart was mine never less mine than when she was wrapt 
 in the embraces of another. And upon this I might have lived 
 To brood upon the precious memory would have been a solace, 
 when passion could proffer none. And that I should be so led by 
 passion I that had suffered in such a school of suffering ! that 
 a mere whim, a caprice, a fancy, should have led me thus into a 
 bondage whose galling chains eat into the very soul, and make 
 every thought a torture." 
 
 " Twas gratitude, sir twas a good feeling that made you 
 marry the senora." 
 
 " Tell me nothing of gratitude, Jack Belcher ; as if any grat 
 itude should justify such a sacrifice justify vows which neither 
 can keep or value." 
 
 " Oh, sir, I do think the senora loves you. She s true to you, 
 sir." 
 
 " Ah, yes! to be sure she s true!" 
 
 " How she did watch your sick-bed ! how she did nurse you 
 when your life hung upon a thread when even I gave up 
 when nobody had a thought you could live ; and only thought how 
 to save you pain in your dying hours ! How she watched and 
 hoped through all, and was never wearied ; and kept bathing your 
 head and hands in the vinegar ; and kept the cooling plantain-leaf 
 upon your forehead ; and, when her mother said you would die, 
 who wept and swore you shouldn t die; and who made all others 
 bend to her and she still nothing but a child. Oh! sir, that 
 was love and it saved you ; and though she hasn t the ways of 
 our English, yet, sir, I do think her heart is full of love for you, 
 
40 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and she s as true to you, though she does vex you so much, aa 
 any woman of England could be." 
 
 " No doubt ! no doubt ! But oh ! Jack Belcher, though I feel 
 and believe all that you say, yet it brings no relief. There is no 
 consolation in it. Better were she wholly the idle butterfly crea 
 ture that she seems ; better false, hollow, heartless, as she is vain, 
 vexing, weak, and capricious. Then, I could fling her off 
 whistle her down the wind with scorn and surrender myself 
 wholly to the bitter memory of that early passion, which was a 
 truth, a faith, a sweet reality of love, no matter what the denial 
 and the loss, instead of fruit and blossom ! But leave me for a 
 ivhile, Jack. I must be alone. Let me lie here in the solitude. 
 I would think think until I forget, if that be now possible." 
 
 Will you take some of the Jamaica, sir? It s a good thin 
 for a solitary man." 
 
 Jack s ideas of solace had something in them very decidedly 
 English. He honestly believed that the seat of the soul is the 
 abdomen, and that Jamaica was the divining power which could 
 reach it. 
 
 " No, thank you, Jack. Nothing. Leave me for a while. 
 Join me in an hour, when I shall be better able to talk with you 
 of ship s affairs." 
 
 The subordinate said no more, but, with a look that still lin 
 gered, the faithful fellow made his way out of the thicket, leaving 
 his superior to brood, with what philosophy he might, over the 
 rash impulses which, in a moment of weakness, had led him to 
 voluntary fetters, which now, to use his own strong phraseology, 
 were eating into his very soul. He had simply done what is done 
 by thousands daily 
 
 Had embraced 
 
 The shadow for the substance, in his passion ; 
 And been requited, for the wretched folly, 
 By thorn in pillow, which forbade all sleep 
 To thought all waking into Hope at dawn." 
 
LOVK AFTER A FOREIGN FASHIOh 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN FASHION. 
 
 " Call you this love ? 
 
 This phantasy, this sighing, these sad looks ! 
 Oh fie ! Love s like the zephyr to the roses, 
 That comes with happiest wing, and sings at meeting ; 
 Meeting and parting sings, and so dreams joyous 
 Of still fresh meetings with as happy flowers." 
 
 IT is part of youth s business to sport and play, dance and sirg, 
 just as certainly as to work and grow. The work and growth 
 depend quite as much upon the play as- the food and nurture. 
 And we must not look too severely upon exuberances which be 
 long to the instincts. We must let youth rollick at due seasons, 
 just as we suffer young colts to kick up their heels upon a com 
 mon ; and we must not see too austerely that this kicking up of 
 the heels, whether of the human animal or the young horse, is 
 calculated to exhibit them in uncouth or ridiculous attitudes. 
 Don t vex yourself., or others, about their attitudes. It is the 
 kicking up which is the essential performance ; the grace will 
 grow afterward, as a due consequence of the familiar exercise. 
 To us who are no longer in the gristle, whose limbs are solidly 
 set, and grow daily more and more uncompromising, there is, no 
 doubt, something quite as impertinent as awkward in this rollick 
 ing of young creatures. But, dear brother, now growing grisly, 
 if not ungraceful, be sure, while you rebuke the absurd antics of 
 boyhood, that you are not governed quite as much by a secret 
 envy, which deceives yourself, as by a fastidious feeling of the 
 proprieties. Be sure, before you sermonize, that you would really 
 refuse these antics, even if you could practise them ; that it would 
 be no satisfaction to you to leap backward forty years or more, 
 and rejoice in the hop-sk and-jump, the somersault, or even the 
 
42 THE CAS8IQUE OP XI AW AH 
 
 bruising-match and buffet of yonder urchins, whom you now re 
 gard with such solemn gravity, as emulous only of the doings of 
 apes and monkeys. Boys have to go through a certain portion 
 of ape-and-monkey practice and experience before they can be 
 men; and we have only to take care that they are duly exercised 
 in man-practice also, so that they do not finally grow into the 
 exclusive fashion of the beast ! 
 
 And girls are boys, with a certain difference, and women men ! 
 And they too must pass through a certain amount of rollicking ; 
 and our only solicitude in their case is that they should not show 
 quite so much of their heels as the tougher gender. Just sec that 
 their figleaves are a fraction longer; and if you make some dif 
 ference in the cut and fashion of skirt and small-clothes, you will 
 probably put as much curb on the young creatures as they need 
 in the rollicking season through which they have to pass. 
 
 And if the silly monkeys insist, for their part, on flinging up 
 their heels to the sound of music, don t fancy, for the life of you, 
 that the disparagement is to the heels, however much it mav be 
 to the music. If the fiddle can time the paces of these wild colts; 
 if heels can be made to work together harmoniously ; be sure that 
 there is much less chance of their being cast up in each other s 
 faces. And, one thing let me tell you the more you encourage 
 the shaking of the legs, the more you discourage that incessant 
 wagging of the tongue, which is apt to become a scandal to the 
 sex, in teaching all the arts of scandal. In brief, innocent sports 
 are absolutely necessary to the preservation of innocence; and 
 the heart depends quite as much, for its continued purity, upon an 
 occasional flinging out of legs and arms, as upon your stale saws 
 and owl-like maxims. All that we have need to do, to guard 
 against danger, is that the sports shall be simply those of voung 
 limbs needing exercise, stripped of all conventional adjuncts, by 
 which we teach something more profound than exercise, and more 
 mischievous than the contredanse and pugilism. To the pure all 
 things are pure, even the heels of colts and the claws of kittens; 
 and we have only to see and keep them to the mere rollicking, 
 without suffering this to become tributary to the sensualism at 
 once of thought and blood. And so you shall see that dancing 
 does not mean simply hugging and squeezing ; and that you are 
 not reconciled, by a foreign fashionable name, into those practices, 
 
LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN FASHION. 43 
 
 which, in the plain vernacular, mean anything but dancing ! Of 
 course, this is doctrine meant only for animals of English breed 
 that stern, intense, savage Anglo-Norman nature, which goes to 
 its very sports with a sense of morals, and justifies its pursuit of 
 happiness by a reference to duty. It is otherwise with light flex 
 ible natures like the Italian and the French. To these, sport is 
 its own justification, and sufficiently satisfies of itself. But when 
 we, of rough British origin, undertake their habitual exercise, we 
 are apt to get drunk upon them. The fire rages in the blood, and 
 rushes to the brain, in our intensity of temperament, and the game 
 which we have begun in play is but too apt to end in passion. 
 
 We have said all this, dear reader, in order that you should be 
 properly prepared to look upon a little child s play a colt rol 
 licking without feeling your sense of dignity too much outraged. 
 Remember, too, we are in a wild land, where European law 
 scarcely touches us with a feeling of reserve or caution. Our 
 dramatis persona, also, though of all European stocks, are of 
 rather irregular practice, and will, no doubt, show you many rules 
 not to be found in Gunter. Do n t let these things cause any mis 
 givings. It is your policy to see something of all the world s vari 
 eties to see how Humanity demeans itself in different situations ; 
 and you are wise in just that degree in which you recognise all 
 human practices, irrespective of the laws laid down by your little 
 parish conventionalities. Thus warned, if you blunder, sagely or 
 savagely, in your meditations, the fault is none of ours. 
 
 Our Zulieine has no sooner heard that she is in a place of 
 safety, where she can rollick upon dry land without dreading the 
 loss of skin and scalp, than she begins to fling out her heels. She 
 lilts, she sings, she screams, claps her little hands, and dances, and 
 forgets that she has a master. 
 
 " Sylvia ! Sylvia !" she half shouts, half warbles, as she darts 
 down into the cabin. 
 
 " Phipps ! Phipps !" and Sylvia appears, a thick-lipped ne- 
 gress, mulatto rather, with a turbid current running through veins 
 and skin, great eyes, a flat nose, and glossy black hair of that wiry 
 and frizzled character which, to some eyes, may possess a peculiar 
 beauty. In the hands of some modern novelists, who are ambi 
 tious equally of taste and eccentricity, she might become a hero 
 ine, calculated to provoke the raptures of a Prince Djalma. To 
 
44 THE CASSiQUE OF RIAWAH. 
 
 others, of more philanthropy than taste, she would appear the 
 ideal of a much-wronged race of hybrids, who would be more es 
 teemed for their charms could an eccentric philosophy succeed in 
 disturbing the natural instincts of a superior civilization. But 
 poor Sylvia lives at a period when taste was more proper and 
 natural, and philanthropy more sane, and so we describe her as 
 she appears to all about her an Abigail of very vulgar attrac 
 tions, with all the cunning of her class, sly, deceitful, somewhat 
 clever, and ugly enough for trust, as the waiting-maid of " mi 
 lady." 
 
 Phipps is a brisk cabin-boy, of British bulk and character, six 
 teen years old, sprightly enough in his province as a knife-cleaner 
 and actor of all work in a cruiser s cabin, without any very salient 
 features, moral or physical, his nasal prominence excepted. This 
 is a nose, an unquestionable proboscis ; an ample rudder to a 
 round, fair Saxon face of good fleshy rotundity. 
 
 They both show themselves at the summons of the lady. They 
 are bcth pleased to obey a call which promises pleasure. There 
 is to be a supper and a dance on shore. Phipps plays the fiddle : 
 Sylvia feeds with appetite ; has as great a passion for dancing as 
 her mistress, though scarcely so graceful of movement ; and both 
 are particularly delighted with the idea of a rollicking on shore. 
 
 And they go to work with an impulse which makes preparation 
 easy. Fruits, and sweetmeats, and solids ; plates, knives and 
 forks ; flasks of ruddy wines of Canary and Madeira, are trans 
 ferred in a twink from hold and cabin to the shelter of green trees. 
 Blankets, nay cloaks, and rich couvrelits, are spread upon the 
 turf, and hung from the branches ; and soon you behold the fair 
 Zulieme seated in state under a natural canopy of oaks and ce 
 dars. And anon you behold the sailors, in clean toggery, begin 
 ning to group themselves about the area, though at a respectful 
 distance from the queen of the fete. They are never indifferent 
 to sports which relieve duty ; and they are not superior to the 
 vanity which for ever feels conscious that other eyes are looking 
 on. So you note that their duck trowsers are of the whitest ; and 
 some of them sport red sashes about the waist, in which their pis 
 tols and knives shine with recent furbishing. And they weai 
 jaunty jackets of blue, and green, ar 1 crimson ; and their hats of 
 straw are wound about with shawls or handkerchiefs of quite as 
 
LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN FASHION. 45 
 
 many colors ; and these are of silken stuffs, such as would have 
 been held rare and rich enough in the days of old Queen Bess. 
 And you need but look into the eyes of these several parties, to 
 see, as Phipps tunes his fiddle in a recess of the wood, and the 
 notes come faintly to their senses, that they meditate shaking legs 
 themselves, presuming, no doubt, on indulgences which have nol 
 been denied before. 
 
 And at the feet of the beautiful Zulieme you see the Spanish 
 guitar, thickly inlaid with pearl, and ebony, and silver, in vines 
 and flowers, while a broad scarf of crimson floats around it in the 
 breeze, which said scarf will anon encircle the neck and shoul 
 ders white and bare enough in her present costume of the 
 beauty of the feast. She has made her toilet for the occasion. 
 She has an eye, with all her childish simplicity, to what belongs 
 to such an occasion. She knows that all these rough sailors ad 
 mire ; that they too have eyes ; and failing to figure, as she de 
 signed, in the festas of the Cuban, she is not unwilling to receive 
 the homage of a ruder class of worshippers. 
 
 And so she glows in green and crimson, and her hair wantons 
 free, only sprinkled with pearls, which contrast exquisitely with 
 her raven tresses ; while, wrapping her neck in frequent folds, 
 and dropping down upon her bosom in a gorgeous amulet, with 
 pendant diamond cross, they serve to show how much whiter is 
 the delicate, skin which they do not so much adorn as illustrate. 
 Her dress, open enough for the display of a very admirable bust, 
 is loose enough in skirt for the perfect freedom of an exquisite 
 figure. A cincture of green and gold, with diamond clasp, encir 
 cles her waist, and her jewelled poniard secures the clasp, the lit 
 tle sheath forming the rivet which brings the opposing eyes of the 
 clasp together. 
 
 Zulieme has not forgotten the first of her lessons, the one 
 tanght most easily the one always taught by a fond, foolish, 
 adoring mother, that she is, in truth, very beautiful ; and that 
 the sole object of dress is not, as vulgar people think, to conceal, 
 but to adorn and properly develop the person ; and, as she now 
 sits before us, we are again reminded of Cleopatra 
 
 " Cleopatra, lussuriosa," 
 welling with all the conpoiousness, not only of a most voluptuous 
 
46 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 beauty, but of the masculine eyes looking on, that drink in provo 
 cation at every glance, and grow momently more and more bewil 
 dered with the intoxications of passion. 
 
 To the class of beauties which Zulieme represents, the posses 
 sion of the fascination is nothing compared with its exercise upon 
 the victim. It loses half of its charm in their own eyes, unless 
 they feel that others grow blind beneath its spells. And when 
 vanity and voluptuousness grow together, who shall measure the 
 extent of insanity to which their proprietor will speed ? It was 
 fabled of Circe, that she transformed her worshippers into brutes. 
 But the fable properly implies that they were brutified by the 
 fascination, which, in its own growth of passion, had lost all powei 
 to discriminate in the choice of its worshippers, and had ceased to 
 consider the difference in the quality of the homage, or whether it 
 was accorded by brutes or men. Circe was willing enough to 
 exhibit herself to beast as well as man ; and, like her, our Zulieme 
 was perhaps quite as well pleased with the admiration of Jack Tar 
 as that of her own liege lord, his superior and hers the stern, 
 half outlaw, but noble Captain Calvert. 
 
 " But where is my lord, the while ?" 
 
 We could answer. We have seen where and how. But of his 
 griefs, or of any griefs, our lady asks no questions. The feast is 
 spread. The viands are about to be served, and Lieutenant Moly- 
 neaux sits at the feet of the lady, hands up the cate, and serves 
 her with hands and eyes. He too, always studious of his per 
 sonal appearance, is habited with care and taste for the occasion. 
 His figure, though not massive, is a good one. He prides himself 
 equally on the having, and the making, of a leg. Charles Molyneaux 
 is something of a courtier. He has dressed himself, making as near 
 an approach to the court costume of that day as possible. For 
 example, his neat figure is clad in silk stockings and small-clothes. 
 He wears a diamond buckle at knee and instep. He has on a 
 richly-flowered vest of silk ; and the frills of his shirt protrude 
 six inches from his bosom. His silken cravat is of dimensions 
 which suit rather a levee at St. James, or St. Cloud, than warm 
 weather and the woods of Kiawah. His coat is of brocade, such 
 as Bolingbroke wore at the court of France. It is of Paris cut 
 and so, a sufficient model, of course, for all the courts of Europe 
 Mr. Molyneaux is a person of conventional tastes. He does not 
 
LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN FASHION. 47 
 
 suffer himself sufficient freedom, to consult that better propriety, 
 which makes good taste superior to all convention. In one re 
 spect, however, he left Nature to her own decencies. He wore 
 no pomatum or powder in his hair ; but this forbearance was not 
 his merit. These commodities were neither among the ship s 
 stores nor his own. He possessed a naturally fine shock, which, 
 let go free, had grown into very copious love-locks, which did not 
 misbeseem the days of Rochester and the effeminate style of his 
 own face. His complacency is such as not to suffer him to sup 
 pose that any costume would misbeseem his person ! 
 
 And, sitting at the feet of the gay lady, he played the courtier 
 in speech, and look, and action, no less than in costume. He 
 taught his eyes to languish, looking deathly things into hers. His 
 tores ivere subdued sweetly to those murmuring accents which 
 lovers suppose to be fitly adapted to honeyed sentiments ; and the 
 compliments whispered to her now, and at other periods, were of 
 that equivocal sort half serious and sentimental, and half play 
 ful which the young coquette hears with a thrill, and responds 
 to with a sigh ; and which the fashionable world considers a very 
 natural, proper, and wholly unobjectionable method of conversa 
 tion : Passion feeling his way ; gradually insinuating ; not offend 
 ing all at once, but so preparing his advance that the mind is 
 gradually corrupted, and not apt, when final offence is given, to 
 show itself offended at all. It is, indeed, wonderful how rapid is 
 this progress of safe insinuation in such cases : she who drinks, 
 tasting none of the poison, so infinitesimal is the dose, and so 
 sweet the draught ; but, drinking so frequently that all the veins 
 are filled in brief season, and the poison finally makes perfect 
 lodgment in the heart. Of course, where there are many lovers, 
 there is a corresponding growth of obtuseness ; passion itself no 
 longer finding stimulus, from too great a familiarity with this sort 
 of provocation, and flirtation serving then to gratify the vanity of 
 that passion which has no other appetite. It is curious, indeed, 
 how cold and sterile vanity contrives to render all other passions. 
 
 Poor Zulieme ! she was a flirt from mere vanity and vacuity of 
 thought. It was easy for her to smile and play ; very pleasant to 
 be played with ; very grateful to be taught that she had her own 
 fascinations, and that wisdom, in her case, might very well be 
 dispensed with. She had been made beautiful made to appear 
 
48 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 beautiful ^xi so, to appear beautiful was her great duty in life ; 
 and to receive the continued assurance that she was the beauty 
 that she had been taught to think herself, and was doing the 
 proper business for which she was made, was, of course, calculated 
 to put her mind at rest on all disquieting subjects. That her hus 
 band did not seem to care whether she was beautiful or not, was 
 not so much a cause of solicitude as of vexation. It only showed 
 him a wrong-headed, inappreciative person, who really did not 
 know what the uses of a husband are ! 
 
 But Lieutenant Molyneaux gave no such offence. He was 
 shrewd, quick, selfish ; had those arts in perfection which teach 
 how to take advantage of another s weakness. He soon sounded 
 the shallows of poor Zulieme s little heart and head : thought so, 
 at least ; but was mistaken partly. She was a pretty idiot, vain 
 and capricious ; a spoiled child, insolent as lovely ; charming with 
 out an art, but charming only as a plaything. But, as Molyneaux 
 was wont to say 
 
 " It s a plaything, after all, that a man most wants. Let a man 
 take a wife who will ; a plaything for me ! and why not another 
 man s wife ?" 
 
 There was no good reason, as the world goes, why not ! His 
 comrade, Lieutenant Eckles, whom you see also in attendance, not 
 far from the beautiful Zulieme, but not at her feet ; a young man 
 of inferior intellectual calibre to Molyneaux, but more certainly 
 moral ; a good-looking fellow, too, but by no means beau or cour 
 tier ; he had some misgivings in regard to the policy, if not the 
 propriety, of his comrade s practice. More than once, on the 
 present voyage, he had shaken his head gravely at the presump 
 tion of Molyneaux in respect to the captain s wife : not, however, 
 committing the absurdity of reproaching his morals, but onlj 
 warning him against the dangers of his course. 
 
 " Look you, Molyneaux," he was wont to say, " for all that 
 Captain Calvert seems so indifferent about these liberties you take 
 with his wife, I m sure he don t like it." 
 Likely not, Eckles but she does." 
 
 " I think that likely, too ; but do n t you see that you re in 
 shoal water all the time, and can t say when you ll be among the 
 breakers." 
 
 "Pooh, Eckles! shall one drink his can the less because of 
 
LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN tAbHION. 49 
 
 that ? Shall I refuse fruit lest I be sick to-morrow ? I am not 
 such an ascetic ; no, nor such a fool. I am for taking the pleas 
 ure when and where I find it, without asking myself whether 
 there be a thorn lurking for the fingers." 
 
 " You will feel it prick when you least expect it ; and the wound 
 will, some day, make you feel that the pleasure was a little too dearly 
 paid for. The captain s a terrible fellow when he rouses up !" 
 
 " What do *I care, so long as I do my duty ? The world s a 
 sort of feast, where men gather to get food which they relish. I 
 find mine here and there, and do not ask who is the gardener. 
 Enough if, when I pluck and eat, my appetite smacks its lips. 
 As for the captain s rages, none know them better than myself; 
 but I fear no man that ever stepped a quarter-deck, and he knows 
 it ! But you are mistaken : I take no liberties with his wife that 
 are not the custom of the Spaniard. We dance together, and 
 before his eyes. 
 
 u Ay, but he s an Englishman; and what the Spaniard sees no 
 harm in, the Englishman winces at. And dancing s one thing, 
 but regular hugging another. There s that fandango, for instance, 
 which you and she are so fond of. Would you like to see your 
 wife carrying on such a game with another man ?" 
 
 " When /marry, my wife may carry it on if she pleases. But, 
 so long as I have my senses, and know what other men s wives 
 are, you will not catch me putting my neck into the halter. I am 
 quite satisfied with another man s wife at a fandango." 
 
 "Very well, perhaps, so long as he s satisfied; but if it s the 
 captain, be sure to keep your heels in running order, if he hap 
 pens to break loose. He s not suspicious, not jealous; he s got 
 too much pride for that, I m thinking; but if ever he thinks you 
 grow saucy, and go too far, he ll make no more bones of breaking 
 your bones than he would of cleaving a Spaniard to the chine. I 
 can tell you there s not a man in the ship but sees and says you 
 go too far, and will be brought up some day by a taut rope and a 
 short turn. It s one thing to dance with the lady ; but to do it as 
 you do, with so much unction to bring her up to your bosom, 
 and squeeze her so closely, and keep at it so long it neither 
 agrees with the captain s bile nor with the music. You don t 
 keep proper time, Molyneaux ; and devils seize me, if any hus 
 band will keep proper temper long, if the thing goes on. For my 
 
 3 
 
50 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 part, if twas my wife, I d soon have you ashore, broadsword to 
 broadsword." 
 
 " And get your skull split in the performance." 
 
 " That might be. But, in a case of that kind, you d find even me 
 an ugly customer ; and as for the captain, let me tell you, clever 
 as you are at fence, you wouldn t stand three minutes before him. 
 He d beat down all your guards before you could say Jack Rob 
 inson, and slice off head or arm, making clean work of it, not 
 leaving you chance for a single prayer. Now, do you look to it. 
 The captain begins to grow a little restiff; the wife s a silly crea 
 ture, who can t see ; and your very impudence will help to shut 
 your eyes and open his, where a wiser fellow would never be 
 suspected, by keeping wide awake himself." 
 
 ** My dear Eckles, do you never suspect yourself of being te 
 dious. Other men would only think you envious ; but the envy 
 is forgivable ; the dullness never." 
 
 " You are the most conceited ass, Molyneaux ; and your ears 
 will bring you to the pillory. I envious ! and of you, I suppose ? 
 Oh, that a man s calf should turn his brains so completely !" 
 
 The young men were both dressing for the festa when this dia 
 logue took place : Molyneaux was drawing on his silken stocking, 
 and stroking the limb with evident complacency. Hence the ref 
 erence of his companion to the particular member. The sarcasm 
 of the junior member fell innocuous on the ears of his senior ; in 
 fact, provoked his laughter only. He was too well fortified by 
 self-esteem. It was an additional tribute to the merits of his legs. 
 But this must suffice for clues in this progress. Meanwhile, 
 return we to the festa. 
 
 Molyneaux served the cates and viands. Zulieme shared with 
 him, helping him in turn. Eckles, more respectfully apart, was 
 rather a spectator than participator in the scene. He ate and 
 drank, it is true. He had a genuine English appetite. The sail 
 ors were dispersed in the woods, making merry after their fash 
 ion, little groups of them forming under so many trees, and drink 
 ing, eating, and gambolling, like young donkeys in a pleasant 
 pasturage. Very soon, finding her mistress absorbed in his gal 
 lantries with Molyneaux, Sylvia took herself off to a social circle 
 of more freedom, among her favorites of the crew. Phipps was 
 not so modest as to suppose that he could draw off with safety; 
 
LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN FASHION. 51 
 
 and Lieutenant Eckles, though feeling himself de trop, was yet, 
 for this very reason, unwilling to withdraw. He sat; looked 
 on uneasily ; rose and stood about ; M r as sometimes spoken to, and 
 sometimes spoke ; but formed no essential member of the tableau. 
 
 And the rich wines of Sicily and Madeira were soon put in 
 circulation ; and the joyous Zulieme seemed to yield herself 
 wholly to the intoxication of the scene. Her bright eyes sparkled 
 back to those of her cavalier. Her lively tones answered to his 
 subdued and sentimental ones. 
 
 But it was somewhat disquieting to him that she should talk 
 merrily, in answer to his saddest murmur ; that there should be 
 nothing sad either in her looks or words. She was a little too 
 much the child, at play, for him. He could better prefer a little 
 more of that Anglo-Norman intensity which conducts so readily 
 from play to passion. 
 
 But where should Zulieme learn that sentiment which is the 
 due medium for such transition ? It was neither in heart nor 
 head ; and the hopes of any progress on the part of our roue 
 could be predicated only of her exuberance ; the loose, familiar 
 habits of her race ; her ignorance of all concentrative passion ; her 
 butterfly caprice and infantile restlessness. Such a character 
 naturally baffled the usual arts of the courtly gallant. He relies 
 upon the use of a conventional sentiment of which she had never 
 learned the ABC. That sort of eloquence a compound, in 
 which fancy relieves, yet reconciles us to passion ; which is en 
 forced by sadly-searching glances ; soft, low tones, melting into 
 murmurs all these, the more common agencies in such a game, 
 were wanting in their wonted potency, dealing with so light a crea 
 ture. She was willing enough to sport on the edge of the preci 
 pice, but only because she was so totally ignorant of any precipice 
 in existence. Sin is usually a thing of great intensities, by which 
 one is hurried onward in repeated provocation ; the merely loiter 
 ing nature is as frequently diverted from sin that is, the sin of 
 passion as it is from positive virtues, by its mere caprices ; and 
 Zulieme Calvert, nee Montano, was one whom the sound of a^fiddle 
 could divert from a death-bed whom the grateful occupation of 
 costuming herself for a festa, where she was to be seen of many 
 lovers, would suffice to win from the embraces of the most ardent 
 Whom she herself preferred over all the rest. 
 
52 THE CASSIQI E OF KIAWAH. 
 
 How shall Lieutenant Molyneaux beguile such a nature to a 
 moment of serious thought of love ? for he can only prevail by 
 inspiring her with some such mood. 
 
 Well, he spoke of love, of hearts naturally twinned by Heaven, 
 denied by man ; afflicted with mutual yearnings, but with great 
 barriers of convention between : not insurmountable, however, 
 thank Heaven! Love will find out a way why not? Is love, 
 decreed of Heaven, to be denied of man ? Shall these mutual 
 hearts be defrauded of their mutual rights ? And what are these 
 barriers that rise up to conflict with the purposes of Heaven ? 
 Are they not pretexts and impediments of merely human artifice ? 
 And shall those who have Heaven s sanction upon their affec 
 tions shall they submit to these human artifices ? 
 
 Such was the sort of stuff, of an ancient fashion, which the roue 
 finds stereotyped to his hands in the old romances, with which 
 our amorous lieutenant regaled the ears of Zulieme Culvert, in 
 the effort to arouse her fancies. The case was, of course, put 
 abstractly. 
 
 And he looked so languid and sad, so wretchedly interesting, 
 while he said it, that poor Zulieme sighed too, and looked very 
 wretched herself for a moment, and said : 
 
 " T was, indeed, very sad and very cruel, Mr. Molyneaux ; and 
 I wonder why people do submit to such denial. I m sure I 
 wouldn t. If I loved a gentleman I d have him, and he should 
 have me, and I d no more mind what mamma said than I d mind 
 Sylvia. But I don t think such things happen often, lieutenant. 
 I don t think love makes one so wretched. If it did, twould 
 be no better than grief or melancholy. Now, when I was in love, 
 I was always the gayest creature in the world. I told every 
 body. I had a hundred friends, and we talked of it all the time ; 
 and we made songs about it, and dances " 
 
 " Dances !" 
 
 " Yes ! we made dances about it ; and one played the gentle 
 man, and the other the lady. And oh ! you should have seen us : 
 how we bowed to each other, and sidled by each other, and smiled 
 and looked up, and sighed and looked down ; and then, on a sud 
 den, the gentleman seized the lady in his arms, and drew her up 
 to him, and gave her such a kiss. Oh ! I vow, when I was in 
 love, or only playing love, it was the most joyous time of my life* 
 
LOVE AFTER A FORKKIN FASHION. 53 
 
 and I was never so gay so happy. Love never made me 
 wretched." 
 
 "But was this when you married the captain? He did not 
 court you in that way, did he ?" 
 
 "Oh! no! poor fellow, he couldn t do much courting, any 
 way. When I first saw him, he was half dead. Father brought 
 him home. He was wrecked, you know, and cast away ; and he 
 and Belcher travelled over the isthmus, till he was taken sick, 
 and brought to our hacienda. And he was so sick ! He hardly 
 knew anybody ; was out of his head ; could see nothing ; and 
 talked all sorts of thin.. j about England, and fighting, and a lady 
 whom he called Olive. It was always Olive Olive, Olive ! 
 And he spoke so softly and sweetly, and I could see that he was 
 a handsome man, and a brave, though he was so feeble. And so, 
 when he called me Olive, I answered him ; and I nursed him ; 
 and he was so pleased, and I was so pleased to nurse him. He 
 was like a doll, and I washed his face and bathed his head, and I 
 combed his hair, and all that did him good ; and when he was 
 raving, he kissed my hands, and called me his dear Olive, and I 
 let him call me so, and answered him, and never told him that I 
 was not Olive, but Zulieme. And I sang and played to him on 
 the guitar, and when he got better we played together. Oh ! he 
 was a great doll for me, and it was in playing together that we 
 made love and carried on our courtship. It was very funny. 
 Such plays as we had such rompings ! And I taught him how 
 to dance our Spanish dances ; and he sang with me he s got a 
 beautiful voice for singing ; and I chased him through the orange- 
 groves, and found him out where he used to hide himself; for he 
 loved too much to hide himself among the thick groves ; and he 
 looked so sad when I found him ; but I cheered him up, and he 
 Avould smile, and sing and dance with me, all so good ; till, one 
 day, he started up in a sort of passion, and looked very grand, and 
 said I should be his little wife ; and I said, Yes, why not ? it will 
 be so funny to become a wife. And so the priest married us. But 
 he s changed since then he is not funny now. He s so serious, 
 and so cross ! all you English are so cross and quarrelsome." 
 
 "But /am not." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, you are, though you do try to please me and make 
 me happy." 
 
54 THE CASSIQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 " Ah, Zulieme, what you call love is very different from what I 
 mean. I could teach you a better sort of love more sweet, 
 more precious which would fill your soul rather than your 
 eyes ; for which you would be willing to die ; for which, alone, 
 one who knows what it is would be willing to live !" 
 
 " Do teach me, then. I d like to know every sort of love. I 
 suppose it s different in all countries; but I don t think you 
 English know much about it; at least, I don t like your rough, 
 hard, quarrelsome sort of love. It seems to me as if you are 
 always angry when you love. There s Harry, now why, when 
 he made love to me, it was like a tiger. I didn t know but he 
 wanted to eat me. And when he spoke of love, even before we 
 were married, it was as if he spoke of some great sorrow and 
 trouble ; for he groaned, and clasped his head in his hands, and 
 then he would start, and dash out into the groves, and almost run, 
 till he got into the thickest part, where the sun never shines." 
 
 " I would teach you another sort of love from his," responded 
 the courtier in low tones, looking sadly sweet, with that intense 
 stare of the eyes, which, with a slight dash of melancholy in the 
 gaze, makes the usual ideal of devoted and inveterate passion, 
 among professed artists. 
 
 " Oh ! don t look so wretched !" cried the lady, flinging a hand 
 ful of Brazil nutshells into his face. "It s enough to scare love 
 out of the country to look so while you talk about it. Don t 
 you you hurt me." 
 
 He had seized her hand, and would have carried it to his lip, 
 when a guttural sound, rather a grunt than groan, aroused him to 
 the consciousness that there were other parties on the ground. 
 With a fierce glance he looked around, and met the ominous vis 
 age of his brother lieutenant, who, fearing lest^the scene should 
 too greatly shock his own, or the modesty of some other party, 
 sent forth the doleful ejaculation, which had arrested the gallant 
 ries of our cavalier. Molyneaux could have taken him by the 
 throat. 
 
 " Oh ! you had reason to groan, Mr. Eckles," said the laughing 
 lady ; " for such a doleful picture as Mr. Molyneaux made of 
 himself was absolutely distressing. Now hear me tell of love: 
 when you love, you must look sweet, and bright, and happy; 
 you must sing, and you must dance ; and go together into the 
 
LOVE AFTER A FOREIGN FASHION. 55 
 
 groves, and get oranges, and bananas, and figs, and nnts ; and 
 then have a chase, and pelt one another as you run, till you re 
 ready to drop with laughter, and only shake it off to dance. For 
 you mustn t laugh out when you re dancing only smile ; you 
 need all your breath, you know, if you want to dance beautifully. 
 But, hark ! Phipps has gone off with his fiddle, and the sailors 
 are at it. Hear what a shouting and shuffling: and that Sylvia, 
 she s gone, I vow, and I suppose she s footing it with the best of 
 them. How funny ! Come, let s go and see." 
 
 And she sprang up, gathered up her skirts with one hand, 
 grasped the arm of Molyneaux with the other, and crying to 
 Eckles, " Come, Mr. Eckles, won t you ?" she lilted away in a 
 capering motion, which required that Molyneaux should adopt a 
 new step, somewhat difficult to his execution, in order lo ke-;p 
 time with hers. Eckles slowly following, with uplifted hw !* >.nd 
 eyes, the three soon buried themselves in the deeper wood<, V.ere 
 a more inspiriting and less pathetic action was in progress 
 
$6 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SIMPLY, LEGS AT Ol TLAAYRY. 
 
 " The piper loud and louder blew ; 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew; 
 They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, 
 Till ilka carlin swat and reekit," &c. Tarn O Shanter. 
 
 SAILORS ashore have a proverbial character for rollicking. 
 So. too, is High Life Below Stairs matter for the proverbialist. 
 Colts on a common, boys in the holidays, girls at a match or 
 merry-making : fools all, you say. Oh, ridiculous moralist ! throw 
 olf your cloak of wisdom for a while, as Prospero does his magic 
 garment, and relieve your shoulders of the dignity which should 
 break any camel s back. Do not require us to apologize for these 
 silly ones, because you claim to be wise or virtuous. " Shall there 
 be no more cakes and ale," because you have come to your inher 
 itance from Solomon ? Sessa ! let these children slide ; and stop 
 your ears at the uproar, but do not complain, lest Apollo stretches 
 them for you to the dimensions which he gave to those of Midas. 
 
 Great is the uproar, wondrous the antics, measureless the fun, 
 among our rollickers on shore ! Is it Bo-peep, Hide and Seek, 
 Hunt the Slipper, or only a new fashion of the fandango ? The 
 apes the urchins the grimalkins the donkeys ! what are 
 they after ? What a charivari ! Jack Tar, Ben Bobstay, Jim 
 Bowline, Bill Bowsprit, Mike Mainsail, and a score besides, are 
 all busy in a merry contest for the hand of Sylvia, that model 
 among mulattresses. 
 
 And all this to the perpetual clang of Phipps s fiddle ; and the 
 yell and laugh chase each other through the woods, till every 
 sleeping echo, starting up in terror, screams it out again from 
 ewamp and thicket 
 
SIMPLY, LEGS AS OUTLAWRY. 57 
 
 And Sylvia, how she runs, and skips, and bounces ! What 
 legs she shows ! They toss her about, the Jack Tars, from hand 
 to hand, like a bird from the shuttle ; yet, with catlike agility, she 
 keeps upon the wing, and out of all clutches. There ! Ben Bob- 
 stay has her no ! she slips through his fingers. At the very 
 moment when he shouts, " Shiver my timbers, but I ve got her," 
 she breaks loose and skips away, with a joyous yell of her own, 
 that sufficiently testifies her sense of freedom, and her own fun in 
 the chase. 
 
 She rather likes this rough usage ; is evidently nowise disin 
 clined to " the situation ;" and takes good care not so far to dis 
 tance the pursuer as to discourage his pursuit. Sylvia, poor 
 thing, is neither fun nor man hater ; and, in the absence of other 
 people, held the tarry -breeches folks to be quite passable, and by 
 no means to be despised. She is sufficiently removed from her 
 own set to have no dread of vulgarity. And this humble self-esti 
 mate is always a commendable virtue among our colored Chris 
 tian brethren. We commend her example to her race, especially 
 at this philanthropic era. Let them not despise the whites too 
 greatly because they have so especially won the admiration of the 
 Caucasian world. Let them sometimes condescend to a dance 
 and fling with their ancient master, if only to show that they do 
 not pride themselves upon their elevation beyond the usual scale 
 of humanity ! 
 
 Sylvia is just now a model, not only of modesty, but agility. 
 But the odds are against her. Sailors have great virtues in their 
 legs also, and there are twenty pair now busy to circumvent her 
 one. Ah, poor Sylvia! Jim Bowline, this time, has got the 
 weather-gauge of her ; Bill Bowsprit, with great arms stretched 
 wide, is ready to cut her off from port ; and that famous reefer ? 
 Jack Tar, has taken her amidships ; i. e., around the body. 
 
 Ha ! no ! Bravo ! Bravissimo ! She eludes the pack. 
 
 " Well done, Cutty Sark !" 
 
 What a leap was that, involving prodigious muscle, and a lib 
 eral display of legs ! 
 
 But it is a last effort. She flags. They surround her. She 
 can no more escape ; and, encircled by their outstretched forma 
 and arms, she is constrained to join in the fandango. 
 
 Never was there such a scene. It is at its height when th 
 
 3* 
 
58 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 Seriora Zulieme, attended by her cavaliers, comes upon the 
 ground. 
 
 Zulieme is ready to die of laughter. She cheers, claps her lit 
 tle hands, and finally, in a very convulsion of merriment, fiin^s 
 herself fairly upon the shoulders of the more courtly of the two 
 lieutenants, and screams her laughter. And, taking advantage of 
 her " situation," perhaps misconstruing the action, Moiyneaux 
 wraps her in close embrace, and snatches a kiss from her mouth ! 
 
 The act is requited, quick as lightning, with a slap, laid on his 
 cheek soundly, and with all the breadth, and weight, and muscle, 
 of her little hand. And she tears herself away from his clutch, 
 and says, very coolly as if the girl simply resented the imper 
 tinence of the forward boy 
 
 "Look you, Moiyneaux, don t you try that again, or you shall 
 have it harder. I don t like such play. I won t have it." 
 
 Play ? Moiyneaux looks confounded. He never meant it for 
 play. He can not well understand her. Moiyneaux, you are to 
 remember, is only a cavalier, not a philosopher. He was trying 
 to teach her serious things, however, and she takes it all for fun ; 
 but for a sort of fun for which she simply has not a bit of taste. 
 What a strange sort of education she has had ! 
 
 The kiss was seen, was heard ; and so much more cer 
 tainly was the slap ! 
 
 And the horse-laugh of Eckles, followed by that of all the 
 sailors, echoed throughout the circle, and somewhat diverted the 
 merry crew from the humors of Madame Sylvia. 
 
 Moiyneaux, with red face, shot a thunderbolt from his eyes at 
 Eckles, which only made him laugh the more. 
 
 But the sports went on. Phipps s fiddle was working wonders ; 
 and, as if wholly forgetting kiss, slap, and all offence, Zulieme, 
 laughing all over, threw herself into an attitude, winning, volup 
 tuous, graceful, stretched out her arms to Moiyneaux, and chal 
 lenged him into the charmed circle ; and, not slow, the lieutenant 
 leaped forward, wondering still at her capricious temper ice and 
 fire by turns and joined in the passion-feeding movements of 
 the fandango. 
 
 This was Zulieme s great accomplishment. In this she excelled 
 all her sex. Her whole person was suited to it. Exquisitely 
 modelled, lithe, giaceful; her tastes harmonized wondrously with 
 
SIMPLY, LEGS AT OUTLAWRY. 59 
 
 her person, to exhibit all its charms, in the most capricious and 
 voluptuous movement. Every limb consorted with the action. 
 The whole contour of her figure was developed, in all its sym 
 metry, roundness, beauty, ease, and freedom. And the expression 
 of face, eyes, mouth, speaking to and with each several gesture, 
 combined to make the successive movements so many studies for 
 the artist ; each constituting a scene to itself, but all happily 
 blended, so as to form a story of eager passion, with all the fluctu 
 ations of love, in the usual caprices of young and amorous hearts. 
 Looking at her, you are reminded of what Ulysses says of 
 Cressida : 
 
 " Fie, fie upon her! 
 
 There s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip ; 
 Nay, her foot speaks. Her wanton spirits look out, 
 At every joint and motive of her body. 
 Oh, these encountcrers, so glib of tongue, 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, 
 And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To every ticklish reader ! set them down, 
 For sluttish spoils of opportunity, 
 And daughters of the game." 
 
 But we should be doing Zulieme injustice were we to apply this 
 language to her. She deserves it in appearance only. Were she 
 a Greek, or an English woman, it might be true. But it is not 
 in her heart or her passions that her offence lies. It is because 
 she possesses " wanton spirits," not wanton desires, that she plays 
 the voluptuous one. It is with her just so much play nothing 
 more. She is an actor, and in her part of the play. In our pres 
 ent sense of the word, she is not voluptuous. She is. in fact, 
 rather cold than passionate. Her blood dances to the intoxication 
 <)f music not her head or heart. The dances suffice her are 
 sufficiently compensative in themselves, conduct to nothing, and 
 rather relieve passion than provoke it. The character of such a 
 woman is not an uncommon one, even with the sterner Anglo 
 Norman nature. She will suffer the passionate embraces of 
 Lieutenant Molyneaux in the dance, but not otherwise. She will 
 float with him in the languor of soft music, or dart and bound to 
 his persuasions, when the violin discourses with enthusiasm ; but 
 if he ventures to kiss her, she will slap his face ! There is some- 
 
60 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 thing serious in kissing which she will not suffer ; none in dancing 
 waltzing though these sometimes demand pretty close hug 
 ging none in fandango, or castanets ; none, in brief, in the fash 
 ions of her country, which train the sexes to familiarities, through 
 these media, which, in the case of other nations, more intense and 
 of colder climates, would inevitably awaken all the storms of 
 passion. 
 
 And thus it is, that, while the blood of Lieutenant Molyneaux 
 courses through his veins like a lava flood, the bosom of Zulieme 
 Calvert beats as temperately as if she lay at ease in her veran 
 dah, while the sweet breezes of the southwest swept over with an 
 ever-fanning wing, waiting upon the drowsiest empress that ever 
 sate on the cushions of apathy. 
 
 Lieutenant Molyneaux broke down in the dance. But thera 
 was no breaking down in Zulieme. She challenged Eckles to the 
 encounter ; caught him by the arm, forced him into the ring, and 
 soon laughed merrily, as, after a series of horrible leaps, bounds, 
 and " cavortings" he succumbed also, throwing himself down upon 
 the sward, and declaring himself " all a jelly !" 
 
 Zulieme leaped into a grapevine ; swang ; called for her guitar ; 
 played awhile ; and, while she played, Molyneaux placed himself 
 behind her, and with officious hands upon her person, kept lady 
 and swing in gentle motion ; and with all this, she took no sort of 
 offence. 
 
 But, anon, she tired of the guitar and swing ; leaped down, 
 turned to Molyneaux, forced him anew into the waltz, and be 
 trayed as much grace, elasticity, and vigor, as before. 
 
 We are free to state, that, however grateful to our lieutenant, 
 to be able to grasp hand, and arm, and waist, and to feel her warm 
 breath upon his cheek, he was himself troubled with a shortness 
 of breath, and a heaviness of limb, which made his movements 
 almost as awkward as those of his junior officer, Eckles. 
 
 And even while they thus swam and danced together, in that 
 
 ild, warm, fantastical movement of the American Spaniards an 
 
 exaggeration of all that is wild and voluptuous in the dances of 
 
 the Spaniards in the old world in the regions Biscayan or 
 
 Andalusian there came other spectators to behold the scene. 
 
 On the edge of the little amphitheatre, thus occupied, suddenly 
 stood Harry Calvert and his faithful follower, Jack Belcher. The 
 
SIMPLY, LEGS AT OUTLAWRY. 61 
 
 formei leaned against a tree, with folded arras, and watched the 
 scene for a while with a gloomy but vacant aspect. He had 
 emerged from the sylvan recess of the latter, ere he had ap 
 proached him, and found Belcher in waiting. The more violent 
 emotions of the captain were then subdued, but a deeper tint of 
 sadness bad overspread his countenance ; and, as now he gazes 
 upon the voluptuous and fantastic sports of his wife with his 
 young and amorous lieutenant, it is, perhaps, quite pardonable 
 in his faithful follower to assume that some portion of the fero 
 cious sadness of his features may be caused by the lady s levity, to 
 call it by no harsher name. And, almost unconsciously, Belcher 
 says to him as it were apologetically 
 
 "It s the custom of the people, sir; she means no harm." 
 
 " Surely, she means no harm ! It is all child s play. Songs 
 and dances fools and fiddles. Surely, no harm. Surely not, 
 Jack." 
 
 And, speaking thus, Harry Calvert turned away, almost con 
 temptuously, and moved slowly out of the woods. 
 
 Was it pride, was it indifference, that rendered the captain 
 heedless of this loose indulgence of festivity on the part of his 
 wife these freedoms of her sex, so unfamiliar to English eyes, 
 which, in spite of his apologies, revolted those of Jack Belcher ? 
 or was it obtuseness ? Had the sensibilities of his master become 
 so callous, or brutified, that he neither saw, nor cared to see, how 
 eager was the embrace of Molyneaux, how heedlessly Zulieme 
 yielded herself to his embraces ? He could see the satyr in the 
 eyes of the former what was it in those of the latter which made 
 him indifferent ? Perhaps he knew her sufficiently. Perhaps 
 but wherefore farther supposes ? Enough, that he says, moving 
 off, with Belcher close following : 
 
 " A child, Jack a mere child. Child s play all. Happy 
 that there is neither thought nor memory to stir up passion, or 
 make it bitter ! Zulieme is simply a happy child." 
 
 And the two walked together along the shores ; and their far 
 ther talk was of the ship, cargo anything but love or woman. 
 And, as they went, the darkness came down, and the moon shot 
 up into the heavens, and the stars stole out ; and fires were lighted 
 in the woods where the revellers still lingered ; and while Zulieme 
 strummed the guitar, and sang some of those wild ballads, Mooi 
 
62 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ish or Castilian, in which the latter language is so prolific, the 
 merry Jack Tars turned their dancing into a drinking party, and 
 the clink of the cannikin served to soberize their antics, in gradu 
 ally bringing them into the province of drunkenness ! We have 
 no homily for the occasion. They were less virtuous in those 
 days than we in ours. 
 
 Meanwhile, not an ear heard the dip of that paddle which 
 elowly traced the windings of the marsh on the other side of the 
 Day not an eye beheld that "dugout" of the redman, as it 
 slowly swept along under cover of its green fringes, a mere speck 
 in the moonlight, across the bay, and into the very creek where 
 Dur cruiser lay at her moorings. But a little while had elapsed, 
 when the sharp, snakelike eyes of the Indian warrior watched the 
 revellers as they lay, or sate, or danced, or slept, around their 
 ftres ; never fancying that, even then, there was one near who 
 made nice calculations of the number of white scalps which might 
 be taken, were there with him, instead of one, but a score of his 
 lithe and active warriors ! 
 
 And the two redmen stole away from their place of espionage 
 in the gorge of the forest, and behind its thickets ; and soon the 
 little dugout, which had been simply attracted by the shouts 
 of the revellers to see, stole once more quietly out of the creek, 
 and took its course for the open bay. But, this time, not without 
 observation. Calvert and Belcher were upon the headland as it 
 went. The keen ears of the former heard a sound of paddles ; 
 the keen eyes of the latter detected the slight dark speck, as it 
 rounded the opposite point into the full blaze of moon and star 
 light ; and the summons : 
 
 " Who goes there !" was only a moment quicker than the pistol- 
 shot which aimed to punish the insolent refusal to answer. 
 
 That pistol-shot, ringing clear over the creek and forest, brought 
 the revellers from the thicket. There was prompt pursuit. But 
 the canoe of the redman was nowhere to be found. Belcher then 
 reported that which he had before discovered, and rightly divined 
 this to be the same canoe which he had seen several hours before, 
 steering for the unknown island of Kiawah. 
 
 "The Indians are not here yet in any numbers, sir, but it s 
 well to look out for them, now that fish have begun to bite." 
 
 "Nay, twill not need. We shall be gone to-morrow." 
 
SIMPLY. LEGS AT OUTLAWRY. $% 
 
 At this moment, our captain and his follower were joined by 
 Zulieme and Molyneaux, closely accompanied by Eckles, Sylvia, 
 and the rest. The pistol-shot had served to end the revel. Of 
 course there were a thousand agitating queries, which were soon 
 answered, but without satisfying anybody. When Zulieme found 
 that nothing could be known, she was all reproaches to her lord. 
 
 " To break up the dance just when it was so delicious. I was 
 so happy. And why, Harry, didn t you come and dance with 
 me, instead of this MoJyneaux? lie s so slow, and he wears such 
 tight breeches, that he can do nothing in them. Now, Harry, you 
 can do so much better, and you wear such loose breeches, and 
 you can stand it so much longer !" 
 
 Calvert smiled sadly, as he chucked her silently under the 
 chin. Belcher noted that when Molyneaux presented himself, his 
 master smiled again ; but he fancied, this time, that it was quite 
 another sort of smile that there was something sinister in it 
 which, had he been the object, he should not have wished to see. 
 And Belcher had his own cogitations in respect to this difference 
 of smile. 
 
 "It s one thing for the senora to be free in them Spanish 
 fandangoes; but it s a very different thing for such a person as 
 Lieutenant Molyneaux to have the freedom too. Oh, yes, indeed ! 
 That s a difference! She s not thinking at all: but what s he 
 thinking about all the time ? Oh ! I know him and I reckon 
 the captain knows him too. His thinking, indeed ! The goat ! the 
 monkey! But let him look to it. I remember that sharp smile of 
 Harry Berkeley Calvert, I should say from the time when 
 he was only knee-high to a cocksparrow ; and when he smiled so 
 through them half-shut eyes, there was mischief in it; and he s 
 one to work with a word and a blow ; and the word is just so 
 much thunder, always after the flash." 
 
 Like all favorite body-servants, Jack Belcher had his omens 
 and memories together. 
 
04 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHATTER VI. 
 
 CLEOPATRA IMPATIENT. 
 
 " Oh, we arc children all, 
 That vex the elements with idle cries, 
 For playthings, that we throw away anon, 
 Seeking still others ; which not satisfy, 
 But mock us like the rest. We would be wise, 
 And are but wanton." 
 
 PROMPT in execution as resolve, the captain of the " Happy- 
 go-Lucky" had ordered that, with the dawning, that clever little 
 cruiser should be got ready for sea. 
 
 Zulieme was awakened ere the dawn hy the rattling of bolts 
 and chains, and the weighing of anchors. She started up from, 
 no doubt, very pleasant slumbers in that luxurious cabin, and 
 found herself alone. 
 
 That cabin ! Cruisers, privateers, pirates, are all understood 
 to have luxurious cabins. This is the conventional understanding, 
 among your writers of prose fiction. 
 
 And there is reason in it. Such snuggeries as they must be, in 
 such long, low, dark-looking craft as these generally are, must 
 necessarily imply boxes for cabins, such as would better suit the 
 physical dimensions of elf and fairy than stalwart men of Saxon 
 brood. And, being thus small and snug, why not lavish upon 
 them the nice tastes which commend the cottage, and reconcile us, 
 through beauty and neatness, to the absence of vastness and mag 
 nificence ? Besides, having the wealth, why should not privateer, 
 or cruiser, have a taste ? and these being their homes, why not 
 make them as cheerful and attractive as we are ail apt to render 
 our cabins when dwelling on dry land ? Something, too, of the 
 compensative must be sought, in this respect, for the absence of 
 many of the comforts, to say nothing of the ease and freedom 
 
CLEOPATRA IMPATIENT. 60 
 
 which we can only seek upon the shores. There will, accordingly, 
 be found huddled together in the cabins of the merest seadogs a 
 variety of treasures, such as we rarely find, in any similar space, 
 in other situations. There will be luxuries at waste, gauds and 
 gems, toys of art and fancy, and appliances of enjoyment and 
 ostentation, such as will be apt to confound the sight of the lands 
 man, even when he shall happen to be born in the purple. The 
 privateers, quasi pirates, of the days of good Queen Bess were 
 famous for their ostentatious habits and indulgences. There was 
 Cavendish, for example, who entered the British ports with silken 
 sails, as well as streamers, and got himself knighted, just as he 
 showed himself a man of taste and splendor, as well as a man of 
 blood. Stars shine famously on a crimson ground, and the blend 
 ing, or with gules, has never mortified the pride of any nobility, 
 ancient or modern. 
 
 There is no difficulty in reconciling these anomalies of taste and 
 mood in the character of those who trace back to the northern 
 vikings. Enough, that most cruisers of the good old times, when 
 " there was no peace beyond the line," found it ea jy to discover a 
 propriety in such combinations of voluptuous glitter with the most 
 savage outlawry. 
 
 And the taste has hardly died out in the present day. At all 
 events, our cruiser of the " Happy-go-Lucky" was sufficiently 
 familiar with the practice of the preceding generation, and suffi 
 ciently approved it to continue its exercise : though, by the way, 
 we are to admit that much of his present display was due. to the 
 simple fact that the fair Zulieme was his passenger. (Qaery 
 why passenger? why notpassager?) The magnificence was rather 
 hers than his. His cabin, hardly more than twelve feet square 
 an empire to himself alone was necessarily so decorated as to 
 be specially pleasant in the sight of his wife. He did not stop as 
 to the necessary expenditure. Everything, exquisitely little, in 
 that little domain, was exquisitely nice. The furniture, the fix 
 tures, were all of fine mahogany. There were two trim sleeping 
 places, panoplied with gilding and purple. Rich curtains of 
 crimson silk draped the chamber. There was a most exquisitely 
 nice divan, covered also, back and cushion, with silken draperies. 
 There was a pier-table of pearl-inlaid ebony, upon which, in a 
 wicker-work of gilt wire, stood vases filled with flowers^ that were 
 
66 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 now no longer fresh. Bijouterie chains, and clasps, and medal 
 lions lay confusedly on this table ; and, something of a contrast, 
 poniards and pistols enough for two were oddishly among 
 them. And rich shawls of silk, and line workmanship, were scat 
 tered over couch and sofa in rare confusion, mocking taste with 
 mere exuberance and splendor. And there were gay shining 
 weapons, cimeters and pistols, that hung in racks against the wall ; 
 and a lamp, feebly striving to give forth its fires, swung suspended 
 from the ceiling, the glasses that environed it being of thick cut 
 crystal. Altogether, the snuggery, if small enough for the fair 
 ies, was richly enough garnished and decorated for the more vo 
 luptuous genii of Eastern fable the djinns of Gog and Magog 
 dimensions. 
 
 And there, starting from sleep as the heavy chain falls upon the 
 deck, Zulieme found herself alone. 
 
 She did not conjecture that the cabin had, that night, enter 
 tained no other inmate than herself. Her lord had strode the 
 decks, or slept upon them, through all the watches of the night. 
 But you are not to suppose that this occasioned her any concern. 
 
 To wrap a morning-gown of silk about her shoulders ; to fling 
 a silken turban over her head ; and thus in dishabille, with black 
 hair dishevelled, to dart up the steps of the companion-way, and 
 hurry to the quarter-deck, was the work of but a moment, calling 
 for no single interval of reflection, with any creature so child 
 ishly impulsive. 
 
 Harry Calvert, with arms folded, eyes half shut, and looking 
 inward rather than outward, sombre as a thunder-cloud hardly 
 conscious of anything but that he was obeyed did not see her 
 approach, till he felt her arm on his shoulder. He acknowledged 
 her presence with a start, then turned away, and strode to the 
 opposite side of the vessel. She followed him. 
 
 "Why, what s the matter, Harry?" 
 
 "Matter! what matter! Nothing s the matter! Don t yo 
 see we re at sea ?" 
 
 " Yes : but where bound for, Harry ?" 
 
 " Charleston." 
 
 "Oh! I m so glad. So you were only plaguing me all the 
 while." 
 
 " Plaguing you / plague you ? Why should I plague 
 
CLEOPATRA IMPATIENT. 67 
 
 Zulieme ? Why plague anybody ? Do I look like a man to 
 engage in monkey-tricks ?" 
 
 And verily, none might reasonably think so, judging from his 
 brows at that moment. 
 
 " Oh, don t think to scare me, Harry, with such a face." 
 
 " Scare you ?" 
 
 "To be sure scare me. If you don t want to scare me, why 
 do you look so? Boo! There s for your sulky faces. I m sure 
 I don t mind em, Harry; and now that we re really to go to 
 Charleston, you may blow yourself up into a thunder-storm as 
 soon as you please." 
 
 And she hummed and lilted as usual, swept across the quarter 
 deck on light fantastic toe, then darted back to him, and with hand 
 again on his shoulder, asked 
 
 " But how long, Harry, before we get there ?" 
 
 "It may be half a day, Zulieme it may be never! 
 
 " Now, that s too sulky. Why will you talk so ? Half a day ? 
 I must go and begin to get my things ready." 
 
 And she disappeared under a new impulse. He gave her but 
 a single glance, then turned away, and looked out upon the dim 
 waste of sea, now growing white in the increasing light of morn 
 ing, as, shooting out between the green islets that guard the mouth 
 of the Edisto, our cruiser made her way into blue water. 
 
 With a fair wind, indeed, it needed but a few hours to bring the 
 ship to the Charleston entrance, and, in the case of one of such 
 light draft, into port. But, for the present, our cruiser kept the 
 offing, and hung off and on, under cover of the shores, her masts 
 hidden behind stripes of pine forest. 
 
 And so she kept till twilight. 
 
 Meanwhile the eager and giddy-souled Zulieme, with all the 
 impatience of a child bent upon its day of pleasure, had roused up 
 Sylvia, and set Phipps in motion, preparing to go on shore. 
 
 The cabin was soon a scene of wild confusion. Trunks were 
 rummaged and emptied. Silks and satins, gowns and garments, 
 skirts and laces, covered couch and cushion. She made her toilet 
 with care ; sat in deliberation on each article of costume ; chose 
 and rejected each in turn, until Phipps was beside himself, and 
 Sylvia in despair. More than two hours were thus consumed ; 
 and when she ran again upon deck, to ask more questions, she left 
 
68 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 to her Abigail the task of restoring to order a wardrobe, ample 
 enough for a princess of the blood, which, had she tried, could 
 scarcely have been thrown into a condition of more admirable 
 confusion. But Sylvia was more patient than her mistress ; and 
 in two hours more she had contrived to render the little chamber 
 once more habitable. It was not long before our captain drove 
 her headlong from it ; flying himself from the perpetual question 
 ing of the fair Zulieme on deck. 
 
 The restless senora had utterly failed to extract any satisfaction 
 from her lord. She next had recourse to Molyneaux. But, 
 whether he really knew nothing of the purposes of his superior, as 
 he alleged ; or whether he had taken counsel of prudence from 
 the warning remonstrances of Eckles ; or whether, as is more 
 probable, his impudence led him to adopt the policy of piquing 
 the lady into a better recognition of his own importance ; he had 
 suddenly become exceedingly shy of his communications. She 
 could get nothing from him ! 
 
 And so she petted and pouted through half the day ; would eat 
 no dinner a circumstance, we are constrained to say, that had 
 no sort of influence upon the appetites of either of the lieutenants. 
 Zulieme was somewhat consoled as she saw that her lord ate as 
 little as herself. She was soon again upon deck, especially as 
 she heard the ship in motion. But the prospect was as little 
 grateful as before. The " Happy-go-Lucky" seemed to be exer 
 cising herself, simply in a purposeless progress ; to and fro ; in 
 the precincts of the port which she seemed coy to enter, yet wist 
 ful of the approach. It lay inviting enough before her. Sulli 
 van s island, then well wooded, lay on one hand, and her eye 
 could trace, in the clear atmosphere, the white houses in the city, 
 some six miles off in the west. It needed not an hour to reach 
 the goal. And that hour that six miles were these to be 
 the barriers between her impatience and its object ? And why, if 
 not to enter, had they come hither, and thus far? Who will answer 
 
 The captain kept 1 is cabin. He had already been employed 
 through certain weary hours, writing, reading, examining, and 
 preparing papers, with a wilderness of them spread upon the table 
 before him. A savage silence, save for the sounds made by his 
 pen, and the rustle of unfolding sheets, prevailed throughout the 
 chamber. He seemed vexed, wearied, uneasv. striving, it would 
 
CLEOPATliA IMPATIENT. 6D 
 
 seem, to concentrate upon inferior objects those thoughts which 
 were marvellously willed to wander. While thus engaged, Zu- 
 lieine had sought him repeatedly, but in vain ; failing to secure 
 his attention, and only provoking him to signs of impatience 
 which, with some effort a fact she scarcely perceived forbore 
 to express itself with harshness and severity. She failed entirely 
 to wear or worry him into a revelation of his objects. 
 
 u Tell me, Harry Calvert," said she, after repeated intrusions, 
 ** what s the use of all these foolish papers? And why can t you 
 wait to do them till you get to Charleston ? And why, now that 
 we ve got here, why do you wait at the door, as if wanting per 
 mission to go in? What s to prevent? Molyneaux says there s 
 water a plenty and wind in the right quarter, and that it only 
 needs an hour to be at the docks. And don t you see I m ail 
 dressed and ready to go ashore ? I shall die if you keep me 
 another night at sea. And I won t be kept. Do you hear me, 
 Harry ?" 
 
 He had hardly heard a syllable ; but he answered, " Yes, I 
 hear," but without once looking up. 
 
 " Harry Calvert, you are a great sulky cayman ; and I m only 
 sorry that I ever saw you." 
 
 He seemed to hear that, and answered, very soberly, while still 
 continuing to write 
 
 " So am I, Zulieme, very sorry." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? you great alligator man ! I tell 
 you, Harry, I m sorry 1 ever nursed you, and made you well; 
 for you don t care if I die here, in your vile vessel. Oh ! you ve 
 cheated, and deceived me, and made a fool of me, Harry Calvert, 
 and I hate you ! I do, Harry, and I never did care about you ; 
 and if I told you so, I lied. You hear me I tell you, I never 
 loved you, and I lied when I said so." 
 
 It is charity to suppose that the person thus addressed never 
 heard a syllable of this grateful assurance. He simply nodded 
 his head approvingly, and went on writing. She looked at him a 
 moment with a stronger expression of indignation than she had 
 yet shown, then rushed again on deck to the courtly lieutenant. 
 
 " Look you, Mr. Molyneaux, didn t you tell me there was noth 
 ing to prevent our going to Charleston ?" 
 
 " No, senora, I did not." 
 
70 THE CASSIQUE OF K1A.NVAH. 
 
 " But I say you did !" 
 
 " You misunderstood me, senora. I said that neither wind nor 
 tide prevented." 
 
 " Well, that s the same thing." 
 "No, ask the captain." 
 
 "Ask the great bear and the grand cayman. He s a brute and 
 monster, and won t hear a word I say. Now, I ask you, if the 
 wind and water serve, what s to keep us here what prevents 
 our going in ?" 
 
 " Nothing, but the captain. He says no, and the wind and 
 water must wait on him." 
 
 " But /won t." 
 
 " Ah, Zulieme, a beautiful woman like yourself may do what 
 she pleases." And the lieutenant smiled very dutifully, as he 
 looked up and said these words in very subdued accents. " You 
 can will and others must wait." 
 
 "How s that, when here I can t get any of you to stir and 
 carry me to Charleston ? Don t tell me such things, and don t 
 you call me beautiful, when you don t mind a word I say. Ah ! 
 before I was married, everybody minded me. Now they all treat 
 me just as if I were a troublesome child. I wonder what I ever 
 got married for. I m sure I m sick of it." 
 
 " You have reason," said the courtly lieutenant, with tones of 
 sympathy, and looking into her face with the utmost tender 
 ness. 
 
 "That I have; and I ll never come with Harry again, though 
 he begs me on his bended knees. I d have died here, if I 
 hadn t had you to amuse me. But tell me, Molyneaux, why 
 don t Harry go up to Charleston? What s the reason? Don t 
 you know ?" 
 
 He answered her only with a very annoying, provoking smile, 
 which seemed to say, plainly enough 
 
 " Well, yes, 1 do know, but you are not to know." 
 
 So she understood the smile. 
 
 " But I will know, Mr. Molyneaux." 
 
 He smiled still more knowingly, and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Now do n t you make that impudent motion again. I won t 
 have it. You mustn t treat me so,-I tell you." 
 
 Molyneaux was suddenly seized with a feeling of profound 
 
CLEOPATRA IMPATIENT. 71 
 
 duty, and grew busied with certain charts of the old Spanish 
 geographers. 
 
 Just as suddenly, she pulled the great sheets from his hands, 
 and scattered them about the deck. 
 
 " Now, I say, listen to me and answer." 
 
 Stooping and picking up the charts, with great placidity, 
 Molyneaux looked up and said, in subdued tones, softly and 
 insinuatingly 
 
 u Ah, senora, would you treat the captain so ?" 
 
 " And why not, if he will not answer ?" 
 
 The courtly lieutenant shook his head in denial. 
 
 " Better not try it, Zulieme, while he is in his present humor." 
 
 " But I will try it ! What do I care for his humors ?" 
 
 " Nay, senora, I do not suppose that you do care much ; but, I 
 know you would never dare do to him what you have just done 
 to the poor lieutenant of this ship." 
 
 The wilful creature darted below on the instant. Looking 
 after her, with a cunning smile upon his countenance, Molyneaux 
 caught the eyes of Jack Belcher fixed steadily upon him. 
 
 " Did that fellow hear me ?" quoth he to himself. Then, a 
 moment after, with a reckless air, and half aloud, " If he did, I 
 care not." 
 
 He was not quite so indifferent as he said. Still less was he 
 indifferent to the events which were probably, even then, going on 
 in the captain s cabin ; but he concentrated his whole regards now 
 upon the charts which he had gathered up from the deck, and 
 seemed heedless of everything besides. 
 
 Meanwhile, all below was silent to the ears of those above ; and 
 yet, to those who had witnessed the scene, the feeling was one of 
 suspense and anxiety. The ears of Molyneaux, however seem 
 ingly indifferent, were watchful. So were those of Jack Belcher. 
 He had heard every syllable. Though of coarser -^lay, and infe 
 rior education, yet his instincts, improved, by love for his master, 
 were just and sagacious. He could see he suspected the 
 mischievous purposes of Molyneaux. He could also suspect their 
 source. He would have given much to be able to go below, and 
 interpose, if necessary, in the scene which he anticipated. But 
 he dared not. He pitied the silly child, who, in a false relation 
 ship to his and her superior, was thus made a tool for mischief in 
 
T2 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAfi. 
 
 the hands of one who could easily make it appear that his whole 
 course was natural enough, if not absolutely proper. We may 
 readily understand how he should be uneasy how Molyneaux 
 himself should be anxious about the result of this ridiculous 
 proceeding. 
 
 But no sounds reached them from below. Yet had Zulieme 
 kept the silly purpose for which she had darted down. She had 
 approached her lord without a word of premonition. "With one 
 fell swoop she had swept the papers from the table to tho floor, 
 exclaiming 
 
 " You sha n t bother with these papers any more, Harry, You 
 shall come on deck and talk with me, and answer me oil my 
 questions." 
 
SHADOWS ON THE SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SPIADOWS ON THE SEA. 
 
 " Know that the fates, frail creature, have decreed 
 Thy bondage to a power that broods in gloom, 
 While thou Avouldst sing in fancy : that will mar 
 Thy music, which hath taken an April chirp 
 From nature, and in place of pleasant carol, 
 Make it a boding omen, still of evil !" 
 
 THE act was like a flash quick as lightning one for which 
 not a syllable had prepared our cruiser. He had not heard or seen 
 her approach was deeply busied in the work before him, which 
 seemed to tax all his attention, and to absorb his whole existence. 
 
 But with the act he started into terrible consciousness started 
 to his feet, thrust the table from before him, and confronted her 
 with uplifted hand and clenched fingers. His brow was dark like 
 a thunder-storm ; there was a lurid fire in his glance that seemed 
 to smite ; and the veins grew suddenly corded across his forehead. 
 The change was instantaneous. Never had Zulieme beheld such 
 a countenance in man never such a look from him, the power 
 ful man before her. She recoiled from it, as with all the instinct 
 of imbecility, cowered, crouched ; and the broken murmur from 
 her lips, speaking which she was hardly conscious, attested her 
 first sense of her own folly and of his rage. 
 
 "Oh, Harry! don t don t strike me." 
 
 " Strike you !" was the hoarsely-spoken answer. 
 
 "Strike you!" and he drew himself up to his fullest height, 
 and threw his arms behind him, as if fearing to trust his own 
 emotions. And it was admirable to behold the wonderful effort 
 which the strong man made in his pride, in all the conscious 
 ness of power to subdue himself, as Strength ever should in the 
 conflict with Imbecility. In a moment his countenance had be 
 come composed. There was still a quiver of the muscles which 
 
 4 
 
T4 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the woman did not see. And then he stooped down deliberately 
 and began picking up the scattered papers, as quietly as Moly- 
 neaux had done on a similar occasion overhead. The woman 
 little dreamed that he thus employed himself only to gain time in 
 the struggle with his own passions. She said something, and 
 laughed hysterically, seeing him so employed; then, with sudden 
 impulse, she sprang to assist in gathering up the sheets of paper. 
 And he suffered her, but continued himself, until all the documents 
 were restored to the table. This done, he said and with a tone 
 so sad, accents so subdued, an emphasis so melancholy, that the 
 simple words had in them a significance which even she could 
 feel, and which no language could define 
 " It is you, Zulieme." 
 
 He did not say so, but we may, that, had the offender been a 
 man any other person, indeed he would have brained him 
 where he stood. There would not have been a word spoken. 
 
 He took her hand. He led her to the divan, seated her, and 
 stood before her. She was now submissive enough to all his 
 movements. 
 
 " Zulieme Calvert, you once saved my life ; and you are my 
 wife. God forbid that aught should ever make me forget what 
 you are, what I owe you, and what I am ! But, sit here. I must 
 speak with you. It is necessary that 1 should try, at least, to lift 
 you into some sense of what you are, what I am, and what is abso 
 lutely necessary between us." 
 " Oh, Harry, it was all fun." 
 
 " Life, Zulieme, is not a funny thing. Men and women are not 
 made for fun. Life is a sad, serious thing, in which fun is very 
 apt to be impertinence. If I were dying on that couch before 
 you, would you think the affair funny? Would it makt you 
 funny? Would you laugh, sing, dance, while I lay struggling with 
 the last enemy of man? There are women wives, it is said 
 who would rejoice at such a spectacle ; but even they would deem 
 it proper to conceal their delight. They, at least, would not con 
 fess that it was funny in their eyes, or try to make it appear so 
 to the eyes of others." 
 
 " Oh, Harry, how can you speak so and to me when you 
 
 know " 
 
 u Do I not tell you that I believe you saved my life ? do I not 
 
SHADOWS ON THE SEA. 75 
 
 avow that I am your husband ? Let this assure you that I will 
 not forget, in what I say, what are the relations between us." 
 
 " But oh ! Harry, to speak of your dying and that I should 
 be funny !" 
 
 " I did not say that, Zulieme. Hear what I do say : when, in 
 your fun, you tore the papers from my table, I w r as writing my 
 last will and dying testament." 
 
 " Ah Dios ! O, Harry ! why should you write such things?" 
 
 " Because, the very hour that takes you into Charleston, for 
 which you long so much, may take me to the gallows." 
 
 She answered with a scream of horror. Pie soothed her. 
 
 " Let this secure me your attention. If you will be funny 
 Zulieme, pray be attentive also." 
 
 " You stab me to the soul, Harry." 
 
 "And I must so stab you to the soul, Zulieme, if only to make 
 you feel that you have one. If, in the pursuit of your merest 
 pleasures, your soul becomes insensible to the anxieties and suffer 
 ings of those whom you profess to love, of what use to have a 
 soul at all? It is sometimes necessary to bruise the plant to make 
 it give forth its precious virtues ; so, to the cold or sleeping soul 
 it needs that we should sometimes give an almost mortal stab, in 
 order that we may make it feel that life, of which otherwise it 
 makes no sign. You have seen that I suffer, yet you heed not ; 
 you have been told that I have cares, yet you despise them ; I 
 have shown you that I command a turbulent people, who would 
 soon cease to obey if I failed in proper authority, yet you wan- 
 tcnly put that authority in danger. But of these things I have 
 already spoken, and always in vain. I will speak of them no 
 longer. I fear, from what I know of you, that the impressions, 
 even of a great terror, will possess your soul only for an instant ; 
 that a gleam of sunshine, a bird song, the sound of music, the 
 laughter of a child, the voice of a gallant in compliment or his 
 hand in the dance will make you forget that Danger stands 
 waiting at the door, and that Death lurks, looking over your 
 shoulder, as over mine." 
 
 tf Ch ! Harry, what a fool you must think me !" 
 
 " A child, Zulieme ; but one that can never grow. Your whole 
 people are children. You have no voice in the soul, no urgent 
 thought, which compels growth. Happy only, if the world s cares 
 
76 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 and yojr own resources will let you remain a child let you sing, 
 dance, sleep." 
 
 He paused, strode away, then turned and resumed. She would 
 have spoken, but, with uplifted hand, he silenced her. 
 
 " No, Zulieme, you must hear me now. You force me to speak. 
 In marrying me, you married a care I a child. We were both 
 in error. I have brought you into an atmosphere for which you 
 are unaccustomed. You should have married a man \vho was 
 willing to dream away life, among the plains or hills of the isth 
 mus, between dance and siesta. I am one whom care and thought 
 do not permit to sleep. You are a bird, that, even in sleep, must 
 sing. You are not asked to do battle in the storm. My whole 
 life is a battle. Mine is a life of passion. You know not what 
 passion is. You sob and sleep, sing and sleep, prattle and sleep, 
 and sleep comes to you, rounding life with dream, and rousing it 
 only to new dreams with the morning. What had you, poor 
 Zulieme, to do with a stern, dark, careful man like me ? I have 
 brought you to an experience of care, to a life of thought, for 
 which you have no sympathy. It was my fault, perhaps, Zulieme, 
 and your misfortune. And so, we live in different worlds, Zu 
 lieme, and though we do not part, we never meet. When we 
 meet, your song is spoiled. I make for you a sky in which no 
 bird can sing, unless the hawk, the vulture, the cormorant. Is it 
 not so, Zulieme ?" 
 
 "I don t know 7 , Harry; only I feel you are saying terrible 
 things to me. I don t want to hear you !" 
 
 " But you must hear now. The time has come when you must 
 be made to see clearly how vast a space divides us makes for 
 us different \vorlds and fates. Your world changes every day, 
 sometimes every hour. Of the fates, you take no more care than 
 the bird. To-day, you would find your sufficient world in Charles 
 ton. In that little town of twelve hundred people, you would 
 dnnce and sing, quite satisfied, so long as there came a crowd to 
 admire, and a good waltzer to be your partner. And so would it 
 be in Havana. To me these are all childish things." 
 
 "Harry, don t talk to me any more. I won t dance again. I 
 will never " 
 
 " Nay, that will be to give up your life, Zulieme. Do not be 
 impatient. You have forced me to speak, and you must hear, 
 
SHADOWS ON THE SEA. 77 
 
 and I promise you that I will not again speak to you, in this man 
 ner, till you shall again force me. Now, you must let me finish. 
 I shall never, Zulieme, cease to repent the selfishness and weak 
 ness that made me marry you. I should have known the dangers 
 and the sufferings to which such an alliance would expose you. 
 I should have known you well enough to see that you were unfitted 
 for the encounter. And I did know it. But I was weak after 
 long sickness, and you were very beautiful, Zulieme, and very 
 tender, and you had saved my life by your nursing, Zulieme." 
 
 "Ah, Harry, but didn t I nurse you well?" 
 
 " No one could have done it better." 
 
 " Yet, you are so cross to me." 
 
 " Cross ! alas, Zulieme, I try in vain to teach you. Cross ! 
 Child woman ! were you any other than you are, I would have 
 towi you limb from limb, and thrown you, without remorse or 
 scruple, to the sharks of yonder deep sea." 
 
 " Harry ! you horrid Harry." 
 
 "Ay, I am tender to you, Zulieme tender for my nature; 
 considerate of yours. But I must try and make clear to you the 
 absolute truths in my situation, however impossible to make you 
 comprehend the necessities of my nature, or of the character of 
 yours. When we married, I was weak, and sick, and sore, and 
 mortified. I had suffered a great disappointment." 
 
 "Ah! I know there was a lady, Harry. And I know her 
 name, too. You called her often enough when you were out of 
 your head. And you married me, a poor child you say, because 
 she wouldn t have you. That s it, Harry." 
 
 "That s not it, Zulieme. The woman of whom you speak was 
 mine, all mine heart, soul, voice all ! all !" 
 
 " And why did you not marry her, then ?" 
 
 " I was an outcast, an exile ; but seeking fortune that I might 
 do so; and in this search I was wrecked, narrowly escaped 
 drowning, found my way to -your father s hacienda, and narrowly 
 escaped dying ; and, after seventeen dreary months of absence 
 from home, she was made to marry another. But, do not force 
 me upon this, Zulieme. Rather hear what I would say in regard 
 to the present, and ourselves ; let the past bury its own dead. 
 Enough for me sad solace that it is I knew her to be faithful ; 
 feel that she has been betrayed by those who should have been 
 
78 THF CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 true ; feel that she has suffered like myself; that never pang went 
 to my heart that did not find its way to hers. Let there be no 
 more of this. Let it suffice you that I am your husband that 
 she is now the wife of another." 
 
 Here he paused, strode aside with averted face, and hastily 
 swallowed a cup of water. 
 
 " Your father found me a dying man, almost glad to die. Had 
 I been conscious when he took me into his dwelling, I had cei 
 tainly died. Insensibility, however, came to the relief of nature, 
 and in the very aberration of intellect the animal recovered. It 
 was with pain only that I grew to consciousness, and your fond 
 nursing, Zulieme, gave me the first pleasant impression of return 
 ing life and health. I do not reproach you ; I am grateful. Yet, 
 a thousand times better had it been, for you as well as me, had 
 your sire and self suffered me to perish on the burning highways, 
 ere you took me to the shelter of your hacienda." 
 
 " No ! no ! Harry no !" 
 
 "Ah! you know not yet the end. And how it all must end. 
 The sting is yet to come. You are of light heart, a bird nature, 
 and you will not feel it long. There is consolation in that." 
 
 "But, Harry don t " 
 
 " Stay, Zulieme, hear ! 
 
 " Your father s protection, your cares, a vigorous constitution, 
 and, perhaps, my utter mental unconsciousness for the time, saved 
 my life. Your father helped me with his means. I bought a 
 share in this vessel. I finally became sole proprietor. I made 
 her famous. She became the terror of the Spaniard on the seas. 
 And here, in this and other ports of the English, she was ever 
 welcome as a Spanish terror. The Spaniards had been their ter 
 ror. They knew them only as enemies ; could know them only as 
 enemies ; and he who strove with the Spaniard was to them an 
 ally and a friend. I was one of these. The English people 
 knew me as a friend, and when I tore down a Spanish flag I was 
 hailed by the plaudits of my people. To do this very work I had 
 the commission of my king ; yet, he now abandons me. Bribed 
 by the Frenchman, bullied by the Spaniard, faithless to himself 
 and people, my own king sacrifices me to the foes of both. He 
 disavows my commission ; he denounces me as a pirate of the 
 eeas, whom it is permitted to all men to destroy." 
 
SHADOWS ON THE SEA. 79 
 
 "Oh Harry, I wouldn t fight for him again. Leave these 
 English ; they re a hoggish sort of people leave them and live 
 with our people. And why should you follow the seas, Harry ? 
 What s the use? It isn t money that you want. You have 
 enough, and I have enough, arid we ll go back to the Isthmus, 
 where no English can ever find us out; and there, Harry, 
 there we can be so happy. No troubles, Harry ; no cares ; noth 
 ing but dancing and delight, and fruits arid pleasures. Let us go, 
 Harry ; let us leave this place ; and leave the seas ; and have no 
 more trouble, safe, high up in the mountains of the Isthmus." 
 
 He shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " Rather a single year of life, all storm and battle, than the 
 stagnation of such a life. No peace, no calm for me, Zulieme. I 
 can now live only in the storm. This is what I fail to make you 
 understand. My lot is cast on reefs of danger, through seas of 
 storm, with rocks on either hand, and the hurricane for ever on 
 the wing. It requires all my manhood to steer amid these dan 
 gers. It is not for me to skulk them. But, though I do not fear 
 them, and will meet them as becomes a proper manhood, I do not 
 find it easy to win merriment from, or seek it while I am in the 
 death-struggle with, these warring elements. And when I am thus 
 wrestling for life, it is not easy to endure the jest, or the peevish 
 humors, of one even who has saved my life ! even a woman 
 even a wife ! a being whom, in moments of thought, we regard as 
 a thing to cherish close to the heart, and not to gaze on with look 
 of less than kindness. Do you see now why it is that I go to 
 Charleston with mood so different from yours ?" 
 
 " Do not go, Harry do not! I did not know that there was 
 danger. I m sure, Harry, I don t care to go there. Why should 
 I care ? I can be seen by quite as many people in Havana, and 
 then we have a thousand times better dancing, I m sure ! No ! 
 no ! Do n t go there, Harry. Rather go home, to our old home 
 on the isthmus." 
 
 " I. must go, Zulieme, though the gallows waits me at the dock ! 
 But I will do nothing rashly, Zulieme, unless goaded to it by your 
 passion for the dance, and by the passions of others not so inno 
 cent." 
 
 " What passions what others ?" 
 
 " Enough, that they are unknown to you. In that ignorance is 
 
80 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 my security and yours ! You know, now, why I avoid Charleston 
 by daylight why I hide my vessel among these headlands, and 
 under cover of these pines. With midnight we will run into port ; 
 we will run up Ashley river, and harbor there in a well-known 
 place of security. I will go ashore in disguise. You will remain 
 on board till I tell you that you may come forth in safety. You 
 must be content with this. If not if stimulated by any foclitJi 
 love of show or amusement you allow yourself to be discovered 
 it may lead to my ruin. You must rely on me so as to believe 
 that the restraint I put upon you for awhile, is absolutely neces 
 sary for my safety." 
 
 " Oh, Harry, I will mind all that you say." 
 
 " One word more : beware, Zulieme, how you mind anybody 
 else." 
 
 "Who else should I mind, Harry, but you ? And if I don t 
 mind you always, Harry, it s because you are such a great Eng 
 lish bear sometimes ; showing such great teeth and such big paws, 
 and not letting a body laugh as much." 
 
 And she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. He 
 loosed himself tenderly from her hold, took her to the cabin-en 
 trance, and put her out even as one gently puts out of the win 
 dow the little bird which has flown into his chamber unadvisedly, 
 and which, ignorant of his purpose, is throbbing with terror under 
 neath his hands. But he had scarce done so, when she returned : 
 
 " Harry, let me stay here awhile. I can t go up there now." 
 
 " Very well. Lie down, Zulieme." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! That s what I want !" 
 
 And throwing herself down upon the divan behind him, whil 
 he went on writing, her great black eyes suddenly gushed out 
 with tears. 
 
 But she suppressed the sobs. 
 
 After awhile, she started up and cried out : 
 
 " O Harry ! there was no truth in what you said about the gal 
 lows. You only meant to scare me." 
 
 " What my danger may be, Zulieme, I know not. It may not 
 be the gallows. It may not even be death. But there is danger." 
 
 He now distinctly heard the sobbing. She could no longer sub 
 due it. He rose, went to her, and, bending over her, kissed her 
 tenderly, while he said : 
 
SHADOWS ON THE SEA. 81 
 
 "Zulieme, I don t think my neck will ever be defiled by a hal 
 ter. But it is certain that I am threatened with it by mv king. 
 By yours I am threatened with the garote. But I am in danger 
 from neither shame, Zulieme, while I have my strength and senses 
 about me, and carry such a friend as this convenient to my grasp." 
 
 And he touched the pistols in his belt, and pointed to certain 
 daggers that hung wiihin reach against the wall. 
 
 She started up, and drew the poniard from her own girdle, as 
 she cried 
 
 " And I would kill myself, Harry, if harm should ever come to 
 you." 
 
 " Zulieme, if ever you hear of me in prison, come to me if you 
 can, and bring with you that pretty toy ! But let them not see it 
 when you come. Weave it up in the masses of your hair, and 
 silence all speech of eyes or tongue, that might declare for wtat 
 you carry." 
 
 Enough of this scene. Zulieme in half an hour was asleep, and 
 laughing merrily in her sleep, with those fancies which, in the 
 dialogue, she had been compelled to stifle. Calvert looked round, 
 half confounded, half amused. 
 
 u What a contradiction," he muttered to himself. " An April 
 creature. In play a very hurricane in passion a child that sobs 
 itself to slumber only to dream of play ! Yet, though feeble as an 
 infant, she is faithful. If wanting in force and concentration of 
 soul, she is not wanting in truth ; and if her love be of the sun 
 shine only, it is pure a shallow brooklet that can satisfy no 
 thirst, but limpid as the light, and gliding openly, always in the 
 sunshine." 
 
 And he resumed his writing for awhile ; finished, folded up his 
 papers, and hurried on deck, leaving Zulieme sleeping. She only 
 woke, roused by the vessel s motion, to be told that they were al 
 ready within the harbor and pressing up toward the infant city, 
 Then she spiang upon her feet and joined her lord on deck. 
 
 4* 
 
82 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SNUG HARBOR. 
 
 "Now we re in port and safety, let me ask, 
 What is your farther purpose ? Spare me nothing. 
 In a false pity that still mocks at sorrow : 
 What fate do you design for her who follows 
 Such a capricious Fortune ?" 
 
 THE moon had gone down, but the night was one of mar. y stars. 
 The seas were rising, with the winds fresh from the south. The 
 mists of evening had all lifted from the ocean. The land lay de 
 fined on each hand with perfect distinctness. The little city 
 which rose between the twin rivers of Kiawah and Etiwan, or 
 as the English called them, the Ashley and Cooper, grew mo 
 mently more and more plain to the spectator in the foreground. 
 On the right, silent as stars and midnight, the narrow islet lay 
 which we now call Sullivan. Then, it was a well-wooded strip, 
 almost to the beach ; but, then, it had but a single dwelling, 
 where a watch was maintained of four men, under a corporal, in 
 a petty blockhouse, defended by an ancient sixpounder of iron. 
 It stood not far from the present fortress. The forests were sub 
 sequently cut down, for the very reason that they served to con 
 ceal, from the eyes of the city, such cruisers as the " Happy-go- 
 Lucky" a little less innocent in fact a pirate craft, which, at 
 one period, lay in wait for ever at the entrance of the port, ready 
 to dart forth on the unsuspecting merchantman. Equally bare of 
 inhabitants, and even more dense in forest, was the opposite shore, 
 now known as James island. 
 
 Not a sound of human life came from either side. The guard 
 at the blockhouse slept, no doubt. It was midnight. The city 
 lay buried in deep sleep ; and so the progress of the " Happy-go- 
 Lucky" was unnoticed. She clung as closely as possible to the 
 
SNUG HARBOR. 83 
 
 southern side of the harbor, sheltered in some degree by the 
 shadows of the forests. And thus ran the cruiser when Zulieme 
 Calvert made her appearance on deck. Calvert was already 
 there ; had, indeed, navigated the craft into the harbor ; and was 
 still engaged, knowing thoroughly the route, in steering her for 
 Ashley river. Every officer and seaman was at his post, and a 
 like silence with that of sea and shore, and midnight, prevailed 
 throughout the vessel. 
 
 Zulieme crept to the side of her husband with some timidity 
 She had not quite recovered her confidence in herself certainly, 
 was not yet prepared to resume her wilfulness after the seen 3 of 
 Ihe previous evening. Besides, she was impressed by the novelty 
 jf her present progress, and the new objects which employed her 
 thoughts : thus entering, at midnight, by stealth, the harbor of a 
 foreign state and people, among whom, as she had been told, 
 lurked some angry terrors for her husband. The very silence 
 which prevailed in the vessel, still pressing on her course, was 
 calculated to awe the glib spirits of the thoughtless creature into 
 reverence. And so, creeping quietly to the side of her husband, 
 she watched his progress, as, with a single word, " larboard" or 
 "starboard," or "port" or a mere waving of the finger he 
 directed the movements of the helmsman. 
 
 " Oh ! what is that, Harry ?" 
 
 She pointed at the mud reef, on which, at this day, stands Cas 
 tle Pinckney. It lay immediately upon their right. Then, it was 
 but a mud-reef, having on it a single cabin, near which stood a 
 heavy framework of timber, the uses of which Zulieme could not 
 conjecture. It stood out clearly defined in the starlight, as the 
 eye ranged up the Etiwan, a Avell-known object to the eyes of our 
 English not so familiar to those of the Spaniard. 
 
 Little did poor Zulieme dream of the answer she was to receive. 
 Calvert looked as she bade him, and quietly putting his hand upon 
 her shoulder, said, in impressive but low tones, scarcely above a 
 whisper : 
 
 " That, Zulieme, is the gallows that is where they hang the 
 pirates !" 
 
 And such, in that early day, was the only use of the reef. 
 
 " Ah, Dios ! Oh, horrid ! And just a* the entrance of the city 
 Oh, what a horrid people !" 
 
4 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 What Zulieme ascribed to the popular taste, was, in that day, 
 supposed to be the public policy. They hung men then, "pour 
 les encourager les autres /" and the more conspicuous the place, 
 the greater the elevation the larger the crowd of spectators 
 the more horrible the writhings of the victim the more beneficial 
 the example to society. 
 
 Whether we are justified in hanging a man as a warning and 
 example, is a question which we do not care to discuss. There 
 aie so many crimes which are justified by law and society, that 
 one feels it a mere waste of time, if not of temper, to endeavor 
 to prove their absurdity. We will, accordingly, suffer the poor 
 Zulieme to suppose that the whole practice was the result of pure 
 British taste ; a taste by the way, which, however sanguinary, was 
 not a whit more so than that of her own people, whether under 
 the rule of old Spain, or of its Creole progressistas who succeeded 
 the Castilian. " But the garote" says our refined Spaniard, " is 
 surely not the gallows." 
 
 But the " Happy-go-Lucky" has left the gallows islet. She is 
 rounding Oyster point not a fine stone parapet as we now be 
 hold, girdling a famous drive, but a mere strip of sandy beach, over 
 which the waves are breaking with the gentlest murmur. We are 
 now in Ashley river the Kiawah of the redmen, a fine broad, 
 poetical stream, an arm of the sea rather than river here a mile 
 wide, and of sufficient depth to float a seventy-four. The green 
 marshes bound us on either hand. To the left you see the open 
 ing of Wappoo. At high-water, our low, light-draught cruiser 
 might pass through it, and make her way, by a back door, again 
 into the Atlantic. But a couple of miles above, and we pass the 
 primitive settlement of Sayle, where the first settlers of Charleston 
 drove their original stakes, little more than twenty years before. 
 But we stop not here. Our vessel presses on, several miles be 
 yond, where the stream narrows, where the marshes grow less 
 vigorously ; where the oaks bend down and kiss the waters ; and 
 the marl crops out, seeming, in the moonlight, like a marble mar 
 gin for some green islet in the Adriatic. We glide into the mouth 
 of a creek on the western bank of the stream, which is thickly 
 fringed with oaks and cedars. Here we shall lie snug, secure 
 from any passing scrutiny. Our sails are quietly furled, and the 
 masts of our cruiser are almost hidden among sheltering pines. 
 
SNUG HARBOR. 85 
 
 By the time that all this was effected, the day had dawned upon 
 river and forest. Watches were set upon the vessel, and the 
 larger proportion of the crew disappeared from sight, seeking 
 sleep Cither in their bunks, or in the shelter of the woods. Mean 
 while, a bmall scouting party had been sent out, under Lieutenant 
 Kekles, whose business it was to explore the thickets for a circuit 
 of a mile or two all about. It was important to assure themselves 
 that no encampment of the redmen was within the immediate pre 
 cinct. They might prove as mischievous as a gipsy band in the 
 neighborhood of a hen-roost. Another small party crossed the 
 river, in order to scour the woods along the opposite shores. 
 These precautions taken, Calvert, who had not closed his eyes for 
 thirty-six hours, threw himself down in his berth, leaving Moly- 
 neaux in charge of the cruiser. 
 
 It was fortunate for our captain that custom had trained him to 
 sleep promptly, as soon as the exigency had passed which kept 
 him wakeful. Habit had made it easy for nature thus to recu 
 perate after excessive toils. He slept, even as the honest labor 
 ing man does, as soon as he touched his pillow. But we do not 
 venture to affirm that he slept so peacefully that he had no 
 dreams. For, even as he slept, Zulieme stole into the cabin and 
 looked steadily into the face of the sleeper. He was murmuring 
 in his sleep ; and again did the ears of the watcher catch from his 
 lips, as she had done more than once before, the name of one, to 
 hear which always brought a flush upon her cheeks. She had too 
 often heard it ; and that, too, mingled with language of such ten 
 der interest, such fond reproach or entreaty, as to awaken in her 
 heart, so far as that could be roused by such feelings, those of dis 
 trust, jealousy, and a vexing suspicion, not only of the past, but of 
 the future. She little dreamed that the occasion was rapidly ripen 
 ing which would mature suspicion into conviction, and convert a 
 vague jealousy into a source of absolute fear, if not hate and 
 loathing. But we will not anticipate. 
 
 Enough, that the lips of the sleeper moaned and murmured 
 that his sleep was troubled that he writhed upon his couch, 
 under emotions which were now those of tenderness and grief, and 
 anon, by quick transition, of anger and threatening violence. And 
 over his sleeping hours not many that erring but beautiful 
 child of the sun brooded with changing moods, drinking in the 
 
86 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 while a bitter aliment, which served to strengthen those feelings 
 which work for the enfeebling of the better nature. Sometimes, 
 too, you might note that what she heard served to impel her to 
 like exhibitions of her own secret nature. Her cheeks flushed, 
 her eyes flashed, her lips muttered, also, in broken speech, of vex 
 ation, or hate, or mortified vanity, and, more than once, you might 
 seo, her grip, with nervous hand, the jewelled toy of a poniard, 
 which she almost always wore at her girdle. It was only when 
 her lord subsided into deep slumbers, which naturally fell upon 
 him in consequence of his long exhaustion, and ceased to writhe 
 with torturing thoughts, or to moan with mortified affections, that 
 her muscles grew composed, and that she stole away from the 
 cabin, not satisfied, but in silence. 
 
 She stooped over him, down toward him, as about to kiss him 
 ere she went, but suddenly drew back, muttering 
 
 " No, I won t ! He cares nothing for my kisses. He shall 
 seek them before he gets them." 
 
 And she ascended to the deck. There she joined Molyneaux ; 
 and, after awhile, under his assurance that there was no danger 
 from the redmen, strolled out into a grove of great live-oaks, at 
 tended only by Sylvia. Three hours might have elapsed, when 
 she returned to the vessel, re-entered the cabin, and found Cal 
 vert not only awake, but busily engaged with papers at the table 
 
 " You do n t ask where I ve been, Harry." 
 
 He nodded his head, and showed himself incurious. She was 
 piqued. 
 
 "You might ask. You might go with me, Harry, and see these 
 beautiful woods; such great trees, all green, with such mighty 
 arms ! I ve been climbing trees, Harry. You should have seen 
 me." 
 
 To all this there was only a vacant shake of the head. She 
 looked at him with vexation. 
 
 " How long, Harry, are you to keep at these papers ? and when 
 will you go ashore witji me ?" 
 
 " If you wish it, now, Zulieme." 
 
 "Oh, I m tired now! but if you ll promise me after dinner." 
 
 " After dinner be it, Zulieme : I shall have to leave you to-night." 
 
 "Leave me, and to-night? and what for, pray?" 
 
 " To go to Charleston." 
 
SNUG HARBOR. 87 
 
 " But if you can go there, why can t /, Harry?" 
 
 " It is necessary, as I thought I had already told you, that 1 
 should go thither, if only to see if I can do so with safety." 
 
 " Well, that seems to me very foolish, Harry." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Zulieme ; yet it is the best wisdom that I can 
 command under the circumstances. You will suffer me to judge 
 of it, however, in my own way, as it is my neck, and not yours, 
 that is mostly in danger." 
 
 " Pooh ! I do n t believe your neck s in any danger at all. You 
 gave me one fright about that matter, Harry, last night, but sha n t 
 give me another. I know something, I tell you ; and I can see 
 that you don t want me to go to Charleston, /know. I m not 
 so deaf that I can t hear ; and I m not so blind that I can t see." 
 
 "What do you know?" said he, gravely. "What new discov 
 eries have you made in the last three hours ? What have you 
 seen? what heard? What fool, or scoundrel, has been filling 
 your ears, in this little time, with nonsense ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no fool, and no scoundrel unless you call yourself by 
 these pretty names. But I know what I know, and you get no 
 more out of me." 
 
 This was said with a childish sort of triumph, mingled with a 
 look of suspicion and a meaning shake of the head. He surveyed 
 her, for a moment, with a glance of impatience, which had in it 
 something of contempt ; but the expression soon changed to one 
 of sadness, as he said, resuming his papers 
 
 " It is hopeless, Zulieme, to keep you in one settled impression 
 of mind. You will not rest till you do the very mischief that I 
 fear. You are warned God knows how solemnly warned ; but 
 the warning passes off, like a bird s song in a drowsy ear, and all 
 exhortation is hopeless. Before I depart to-night, I will give you 
 all the information I can as to what I intend for you and myself. 
 Leave me now, if you please." 
 
 " Ah ha ! I ve vexed you again and you do n t want to know 
 what I know. That s because you re afraid, Harry." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but go now." 
 
 " Yes, you may well drive me away ; for I know you hate me. 
 There s one you love better, Harry. There s that Olive, that 
 you talk of in your sleep." 
 
 He looked up. 
 
88 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Sa, you have again " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and you again blabbed all about her." 
 
 " I have told you more in my waking moments, Zulieme, thar 
 I ever uttered in my sleep." 
 
 " Ah ! but you don t know that." 
 
 " I think so. I meant to do so. But it matters not how you 
 hear, Zulieme It is impossible that you should grow wiser from 
 any communication." 
 
 " Oh ! I m a fool, of course." 
 
 He resumed his labors. She walked round him ; he never 
 looked up. Suddenly she clapped her hands over his eyes, and 
 laughed out, though with some effort. 
 
 "You sha n t write any more, Harry." 
 
 He offered no resistance, uttered no complaint; but, quietly 
 laying down the pen, seemed resolved to wait patiently her 
 movements. She released him, and, looking over his shoulder, 
 said : 
 
 " Now you could eat me up, Harry, and without salt. Are you 
 not in a fury now ?" 
 
 He did not answer. She looked into his eyes. The sad, 
 resigned air which he wore seemed to say "This foolish crea 
 ture saved my life ; her father s fortunes have repaired mine ; I 
 owe her everything ; I must bear with everything." 
 
 She seemed to read this in his expression. 
 
 "Don t look so, Harry, p,s if you had to take it from me, 
 whether you would or no." 
 
 " And I have, Zulieme." 
 
 " Why ? If you hate me, Harry, say so." 
 
 " But I do not hate you, Zulieme." 
 
 " But you don t love me, Harry, any more !" 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Yes, I understand it. Well, if you tell me go from you, I II go." 
 
 " Whither would you go ?" 
 
 " Anywhere ; but I would n t stay with one who wants to be 
 rid of me." 
 
 " If you desire to leave me, Zulieme, you are free. But you 
 must take the ship. She is rightly yours. She was bought with 
 your father s money." 
 
 " Oh ! Harry, do n t fling that money into my face. I d rather 
 
BNUC HARBOR. 89 
 
 you d bo n t me at once. I don t want the money, Harry. I only 
 want you to love rne as you should." 
 
 " Love ! Alas, Zulierne, love is not for me now. But if you 
 desire my love, why do you not submit to my wishes ? why thwart 
 and strive against me always?" 
 
 -Do I?" 
 
 " Even now " 
 
 "And when I m trying to be fond with you, Harry, you call 
 it striving against you. If you had any love for me, Harry, you 
 wouldn t call it so. What am I to do? You don t give me any 
 thing to do ; and I want to go with you wherever you go. Let 
 me go with you to Charleston, and I won t vex you any more. 
 But if you go and leave me here, what will I be thinking all the 
 time? That they ve put you into the calaboose, and are going 
 to aarnte you gallows you, I mean." 
 
 " Tour presence might help me to it, Zulieme." 
 
 "How? I would fight for you!" And she griped her little 
 poniard with a sudden hand. 
 
 " Go, go, Zulieme I believe what you tell me believe that 
 you would fight for me with your feeble strength, and perhaps not 
 shrink to die for me ; but your presence would only embarrass me 
 in Charleston, and might lead to the very danger that we fear. 
 At all events, I must first see how the land lies. I have friends 
 there. I must communicate with them. If they report favorably, 
 I will take you to the town. Let that content you." 
 
 We need not pursue this dialogue. It was resumed at evening, 
 just before Calvert s departure. Zulieme was still very trouble 
 some. It was to his credit that he was still as patient as before. 
 Again she reproached him with want of love ; and, without con 
 tradicting, he sought to soothe her. In a fit of childish anger she 
 beheld him leave the vessel. Lieutenant Molyneaux entertained 
 a very different feeling ; but he concealed it under an appearance 
 of great demureness, and a profound attention to the instructions 
 given by his superior. Under cover of the night, Calvert dropped 
 down the river in one of the small boats of the cruiser. He was 
 accompanied by four men as rowers. To Jack Belcher, who 
 expected to accompany him, he said, briefly, but in significant 
 tones, which reached only the ears of that faithful fellow : 
 
 " No, Jack, your place is here. You will need to watch. I 
 
90 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 will be back in forty hours at most. Should I not, then, remembei 
 my commands. You know where to seek the boat the old 
 creek, the shell bluff landing : the three pines, and the hedge of 
 myrtle. In our next trip. I shall need you with me ; but not 
 now. Good-by, old fellow." 
 
 The oarsman put out with a will. In a few strokes the boat 
 was out of sight of the vessel, and Calvert surrendered himself 
 up to his own dark musings, which did not need to receive their 
 color from the night. 
 
 "After all," he thought to himself, "what need I chafe ? Were 
 she less a child, less foolish, what would it better my condition ? 
 Even were I in no bonds were I as free as air of what avail 
 now, since she, for whom I could wish to be free, is in bonds no 
 less heavy than mine ? Look which way I will, the cloud rests 
 upon the prospect ; and such a cloud ! I am so deep in despair 
 that I am above anger." 
 
BEN JACkSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER. 91 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER. 
 
 " This is an honest comrade ; 
 
 One you may trust when danger grows most pressing; 
 And foes are thickest ; loyal, who will follow, 
 With courage, born of faith that never falters." 
 
 THE tide, which affects the Ashley nearly to its sources, was 
 falling, and it required but moderate effort of the oarsmen to 
 send the boat down the river. It reached the precincts of the 
 little town, an hour after midnight; ran into one of the numerous 
 creeks which perforated the land on every side ; and we may 
 mention, in order to more precision, that she took shelter in one 
 of those little arms of the river, which, pursuing a sinuous prog 
 ress, finally terminated in the neighborhood of the spot now occu 
 pied by the statehouse, on Meeting street. At that early day, 
 this region was skirted by a marsh along the water, and by a dense 
 shrubbery upon the higher lands. This afforded ample covering 
 for so small a craft ; and as the station chosen was out of the ordi 
 nary routes of the citizen, and, by reason of strips of marsh and 
 beds of ooze, was not easy of approach, the chances were that, 
 except to a casual eye, she might lie in the snug basin which she 
 occupied for days, or even weeks, without discovery. 
 
 We must take for granted, at all events, not only that such was 
 the opinion of our cruiser, but that it was one well justified by his 
 experience. He had found this harborage a safe one on previous 
 occasions, and the boatmen seemed to know what was requisite to 
 make it so. They took care that the cover should be as complete 
 as possible. The tall marshes of the creek sufficed for this ; 
 while the channel had always sufficient depth of water to enable 
 them to emerge into the river without waiting for the tide. 
 
92 THE CASSIQUE OP FT A WAIL 
 
 The English settlements of South Carolina were, as we have 
 said, begun only some twenty years before ; at first, at Port Royal, 
 upon a noble port, famous in colonial chronicle, but where the 
 very facility of access, and the excellence of the harborage, proved 
 at that period, because of these very advantages, the greatest dis 
 couragements to the colony. These characteristics, which would 
 commend such a region now to a commercial people, were then 
 obstacles to the success of a commercial settlement, planted in 
 such close propinquity to such powerful maritime enemies as 
 French and Spaniard. Easily assailed, they were difficult of de 
 fence ; and some early experience of harm, very soon after his, 
 arrival at Port Royal, prompted Sayle to remove his infant col 
 ony to the western side of Ashley river. 
 
 Here Saylc died. In the hands of his successors the settlement 
 pined in feeble condition. If, here, they found themselves more 
 safe from invasion of French or Spaniard, they were yet even 
 more liable to danger from the redmcn by whom they were every 
 where surrounded. The obstacles in the way of their maritime 
 enemies were, also, obstacles to the approach of their European 
 friends ; and gradually, between 1 670 and 1 680, the settlers, indi 
 viduals first, and groups afterward, passed from the west bank 
 of the Ashley, or Kiawah, to the west bank of rhe Cooper, or 
 Etiwan ; until the government, nearly left alone on the west side 
 of the Ashley, was compelled to follow its people to the east. 
 
 After this remove, the colonists received a considerable addition 
 to their numbers from various sources, and accordingly a new 
 impulse to their energies. There was, for a time, some such rush 
 toward the new establishment, as we note daily in present times, 
 when, under the arts of the speculator, the wanderers from the old 
 states crowd to the competition for lots, in fancy cities of the west 
 ern territories. People came in from North Carolina, and from 
 other colonies still more remote, to the Ashley river establish 
 ment; and the mother-state, taking an interest in a settlement 
 which was founded under the patronge of its chief nobility, con 
 tributed the help of government to this new impulse. The prot- 
 estant French were sent out, at the cost of the crown, to manufac 
 ture wines, and cultivate the mulberry, and rear the silkworm. 
 Already the foreign visiter to Carolina had reported " five kinds 
 of grape as already distinguished" making good wine, which has 
 
BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER. 98 
 
 met with British approval at home ; approved by the " best 
 palates" by "mouths of wisest censure," even at this very 
 early period ; leading to the prediction, even then, that " Carolina 
 will, in a little time, prove a magazine and a staple for wines to 
 the whole West Indies" a prediction which we are now dis 
 posed to carry to still farther height of fortune, by substituting 
 Britain herself for the West Indies. In no very distant time, she 
 will probably receive her very best wines from the same and con 
 tiguous regions. But our purpose now affords little time for 
 prophecy. Enough that we show what was the promise in 1684. 
 Not only does the vine grow here in a native and peculiarly ap 
 propriate soil, but the olive, brought from Fayal, has been planted, 
 and is flourishing also, to the great delight of the prophetic settlers 
 and proprietors. These prophecies and prospects, with actual 
 exports of furs and hides, of lumber, tar, pitch, turpentine, &c., 
 to England, and these same commodities, as well as pickled beef 
 and other marketable productions, to the West India, islands, suf 
 fice to show that the track has been blazed out sufficiently to be 
 guile the discontents and fugitives of Europe, and that they have 
 begun their march, from various quarters, to the new port of 
 promise in the west. 
 
 But the colony, in spite of sudden influx of people, and pro 
 phetic gleams of promise, is still in its merest infancy. Instead 
 of twelve hundred people (as Calvert estimates) in Charleston, 
 then newly christened being, nearly up to this period, " Oyster- 
 Point town the whole colony scarcely numbers twelve hundred 
 whites, distributed sparsely about the Ashley and Cooper, the 
 Edistow, Winyah, Santee, and Savannah ; and these, thus scat 
 tered, are enforted in block-houses, having mortal dread of their 
 red neighbors, who are too powerful still not to inspire fear. 
 Charleston has its fort also, mounting two big guns ; and you may 
 note in its precincts certain convenient block-houses, designed as 
 places of refuge. We have shown, besides, that the island, at 
 the entrance of the harbor, mounts its block-house and its big 
 gun also. This is meant simply as an alarm gun, to be fired 
 when mousing pirates, or Frenchmen, or Spaniards, show their 
 whiskered vi.-ages along the coast. 
 
 As a thing of course, there is no city. Charleston is but a scat 
 tered hamlet of probably eight hundred inhabitants, all told 
 
THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 white, black, and equivocal. The grand plan of a city has just 
 been received from the lord s proprietors, but not yet put in exe 
 cution. The town, as far as settled, possesses avenues and paths, 
 rather than streets. It occupies but a small cantlet of the present 
 city, lying pretty much within the limits comprehended by Tradd 
 and Church streets on the south and west, and Bay and Market 
 streets on the east and north ; and these streets have, as yet, re 
 ceived no names. Above, and in the rear that is, north and 
 west the land is perforated by creeks, ponds, and marshes ; an 
 occasional wigwam marks one of the ridges between, and the 
 abode of some one of the surliest or poorest of the settlers. There 
 are, properly, no churches, no marketplaces, no places of amuse 
 ment, religion, pleasure, trade ; all being individual, though but 
 little of it, as yet, has been the fruit of individual enterprise. The 
 community -has scarcely begun yet to work together as a whole. 
 
 Of course, there are lusts, and vanities, and human passions ; 
 many vices, and perhaps some goodly virtues, scattered broad 
 cast among the goodly people of the town, even as at the present 
 day. And of this stuff, we must even make what we can in our 
 present history. But, also, almost of course, there was a strug 
 gling upward of individuals and circles, just as now ; striving fee 
 bly, according to a poor idiotic fashion, after wisdom, virtue, reli 
 gion, and money. And these, too, will have their uses in our 
 sober narrative. These are just the very elements, mixed and 
 warring, of which all worlds are made ; and, whatever moralists 
 and philosophers may think, it is not for the artist to quarrel with 
 the very material out of which his proper wares are to be fabri 
 cated ; and he surely is not to challenge that wisdom which ha? 
 provided him with his proper means of manufacture. 
 
 From this rude sketch of the first beginnings of the Palmetto 
 city, you may easily conjecture many things; that the dwel 
 lings generally, for example, are very rude ; that there is little 
 real wealth accumulated, whatever the promise in the future , that 
 the avenues from place to place are riot always in travelling con 
 dition ; that piles of lumber obstruct the pathways ; that you 
 sometimes get from point to point by means of trees thrown 
 sprawling over creeks ; that " corduroyed" causeways help you over 
 mudflats ; that, on dark nights, and after heavy rains, the streets 
 are literally impassable, unless with the aid of guides and lanterns ; 
 
BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER. 9 
 
 that a large proportion of the people are quite as rude as street 
 and dwelling ; and that the assortment of character among them 
 is such as will afford you any variety for selection. Though not 
 yet infested with drones, the town has a few specimens of the idle 
 gentleman ; chevaliers d industrie are to be met at certain well- 
 known reunions ; there are two or more proverbial places where 
 you will meet " white gizzards" and " blacklegs" sots and 
 gamesters ; already the precincts of Elliott street, then the " Bog 
 gy Quarter," are known as a sort of Snug-Harbor for sailors ; and 
 among these you will find whiskered bandits who have wrung the 
 noses of the Spanish dons, and levied heavy assessments upon the 
 galleons of Panama and Vera Cruz ; and lost no credit with the 
 British world by the exercise of the peculiar virtues of the flibus- 
 tier. 
 
 Well, it is to this very precinct, called " Boggy Quarter," that 
 our hero made his way, stepping out from his boat at the head of a 
 creek which continued its progress sinuously up through portions 
 of Queen and Broad streets, till it spread out in ooze just in the 
 wake of Courthouse and Mill s House. Supposing St. Michael s 
 to have been existing in that day, you might almost have hurled 
 a pebble from its galleries into the pinnace of our cruiser, where 
 she lay concealed in marsh and myrtle. And could you now dig 
 down some twenty feet, you might gather any quantity of this ooze 
 from beneath the foundations of the Roper hospital, on one hand, 
 and the Catholic cathedral on the other. Whether church and 
 hospital are better fortified on a muddy than a sandy foundation, 
 is a question in morals and masonry which we leave to the dealers 
 in such precious commodities as souls and stone. 
 
 Well, stepping out of his boat on a cypress trunk that spanned 
 a hundred feet of bog, our captain of the " Happy-go-Lucky" 
 made his way into the town, pursuing an eastward ly course, a 
 point or two to the south, which took him, after no long period, to 
 that Boggy Quarter, Snug-Harbor, Pirate-Hold, which, in more 
 civilized times, and within the recollection of decent people had 
 scarcely a higher reputation, under the more innocent appellation 
 of Elliott street. There may have been twenty dwellings of all 
 sorts and sizes in and about this precinct, chiefly in that part of it 
 where Elliott enters Church street. The latter was the more 
 choice and courtly region. Here dwelt the governor ; here, Land- 
 
96 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 graves Morton and Marshall, Middleton, and other prominent 
 men of the colony, maintained a sort of state in their mansions, 
 and were comfortably lodged according to the standards of the 
 place. It was the court end of the town, and almost its west end 
 also. A block-house stood very near the spot occupied by St. 
 Philip s, and closed up the street in that northern quarter. An 
 other might be seen at the opposite or southern extremity, which 
 fell a long ways short of its present handsome terminus in " the 
 Battery." And but we must not suffer details of this sort fur 
 ther to interfere with the progress of Captain Calvert. We may 
 have to conduct him and the reader to others before we have 
 done, but sufficient for the scene should be the action thereof, and 
 the approach to the event will necessarily imply such description 
 of the locality as will serve for its proper comprehension. It 
 contents us now to accompany Captain Calvert to one of the hab 
 itations of Boggy Quarter, Elliott street, a nest of rookeries ; two 
 or three frame houses huddled together around a square fabric of 
 logs, which in process of time ceased altogether to appear upon 
 the street, and formed a sort of donjon, or keep, to an otherwise 
 innocent-looking habitation, of very rude and ungainly structure. 
 It lay now in perfect silence and utter darkness ; doors shut, win 
 dows fast ; everything secure without, as becomes the caution of a 
 householder who well knows that night-hawks range about new 
 settlements as impudently as about those which have been made 
 venerable by the knaveries of a thousand years. 
 
 Calvert, armed with an oyster-shell, made himself heard against 
 an upper window. 
 
 A head, covered with a red flannel nightcap, was thrust forth. 
 
 " Happy" was the single word spoken by the cruiser. 
 
 " Go-Lucky" was the countersign, promptly answered, and the 
 head was instantly withdrawn. In a few moments after the door 
 was opened, no word was spoken, the captain entered, and the 
 house was made fast as before. 
 
 We must follow the two into the log-house, which was original 
 ly built as a block-house, commanding a creek, and was, by the 
 way, the very first dwelling raised in the Palmetto city, by that 
 race whose generations have reared it to its present goodly 
 dimensions. 
 
 Following our guide and companion, we find cursives ii a rude 
 
BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER. 97 
 
 chamber twenty feet square. A lantern burns dimly uj Dn a pine 
 table in the centre of the room. There are shelves around the 
 apartment, on which you see kegs, boxes, jugs ; these may contain 
 pipes, tobacco, bacon, sugar, and Jamaica rum. We need not in 
 quire more particularly. You see weapons, too, such as were 
 familiar to the brawny muscles of that day. There are a few cut 
 lasses which hang against the walls ; a blunderbuss rests upon 
 yonder shelf; you see a pair of huge pistol-butts protruding from 
 a corner in the same quarter, and a couple of long fowling-pieces 
 lean up below them. Kvidently, a clever squad of flibustiers 
 might equip themselves for sudden action from this rude armory 
 in Boggy Quarter. 
 
 The host who has welcomed our captain, is clearly one who 
 has been upon the high seas in some professional capacity. He 
 yaws about with the natural motion of a sea-dog. He wears the 
 hard, sun-browned cheeks of Jack Tar ; you see that his hair is 
 twisted all over into " pigtails," such as constituted, at an early 
 day, a sort of proper style of marine headdress. A coarse flannel 
 shirt, red as his nightcap, makes his only upper garment, which a 
 riband secures at the throat. The bosom is open, the muscular 
 breast seeming to have burst all such small obstacles as a score of 
 buttons might present ; and his arms are bare, the sleeves rolled 
 up, showing the maritime tokens, ships, anchors, and other caba 
 listic insignia, deeply ingrained with gunpowder, from elbow down 
 to wrist. Jack is clearly one who, if he has left the profession, is 
 not ashamed of it. He is probably on furlough only. 
 
 He receives the captain with some warmth, but quite as much 
 reverence, as he draws out a chair of wicker-work from the cor 
 ner, brushes it carefully with some garment hastily snatched up, 
 and places it before the captain. 
 
 " Glad to see your honor. Been looking for you now three 
 weeks. Glad you didn t come before, though; you might have 
 missed stays getting out or in ; we ve had a smart showing of 
 king s ships on the station. But Belcher told your honor all !" 
 
 "Yes; but king s cruisers haven t troubled us much, Ben, up 
 to this time. What makes you all so scary about them now ?" 
 
 "Why, for that matter, sir, so long as you Ye in the Happy-go- 
 Lucky, I don t see as how kings ships could do you hurt at any 
 time. She s got the heels of the best of them ; and I know you 
 
98 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 can fling a shot just as close as the best gunner that ever sighted 
 a Long Tom. But it s here, when you git into port, that the break 
 ers git worst. That s the say now. There s new orders come 
 out from council that don t suffer any more fair trading." 
 
 " Well, Ben, we ve been used to orders from council for a long 
 time already : and these gave us no great concern, so long as we 
 had staunch British hearts, here and about, to give cheer at the 
 smashing of a Spaniard s deadlights." 
 
 " That s true, your honor ; but they say, now, there s a change 
 in the great folks here. There s to be better pay to keep em 
 vartuous." 
 
 " Not such good pay as ours, I fancy." 
 
 "Well, I should think not, your honor; but there s no telling, 
 when men begin to git vartuous, what pay will satisfy them ; and 
 when they re a-gitting religious, as well as vartuous, they re mon 
 strous strong in their ixpectations." 
 
 " But are there any among our friends who are thus raising 
 their prices to the virtuous and religious standard ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, sir; it s a sort of fight now twixt the puritans and 
 the cavaliers, I m a thinking, which shall git the first places in 
 heaven. The cavaliers didn t always make a business of it; didn t 
 set up for it; wa n t no ways ambitious; but now that they see 
 that the puritans are a-gitting on so well, they sort o begrudges 
 them the advantage ; and tho they drinks the Jamaica out of a 
 silver mug, jist as they always did afore, yet they ve learned to 
 look over the cup, into heaven, as I may say, jist to* see, at least, if 
 they can t make a reckoning for the promised land. The puritans, 
 they sticks to the pewter mug, and they says just as long a prayer 
 over their sinnings as they ever did; but there s signs enough in the 
 land that they only wants a chance to snatch the silver mug from 
 the hands of the cavaliers, and go to hell, by the way of heaven, 
 if it s only to get a look at the country passing. Landgrave Mor 
 ton s a getting religious, and Landgrave Bill Owen, he s working 
 hard for it ; and Colonel Rafe Marshall, and a few more of our 
 big men in authority; but whether it s a working for hell or 
 heaven, there s no telling, in the short reckoning we re allowed 
 here. Your man here, Joe Sylvester, that s been such a fast trader, 
 nnd if you believes him, sich a friend of yourn, he s a sort of pil 
 lar of fire ; he calls himself so a pillar of fire by night, and ot 
 
BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGU Y QUARTER. 99 
 
 cloud by day ; and it s amazing to see how he fattens on his var- 
 tues and religion. He weighs, I m thinking, a full forty pounds 
 more than he did when you was here afore, and he s thriving 
 worse than ever in worldly goods." 
 
 ** Does he preach ?" This was spoken with a sort of holy 
 horror. 
 
 ** He hardly does nothing else. He s at the conventicles, who 
 but he, as proud as the proudest for humility. But the preaching 
 brings in the profit." 
 
 " Then I must beware of him." 
 
 " Better," said the other, dryly ; " for though he s willing, no 
 doubt, to carry on the bad business, jist as before, yet he 11 be 
 always asking himself what speculation he can make out of God, 
 jist by giving up all the secrets of the devil. You ll jist have to 
 calculate for him beforehand, as to the time when he can drive a 
 trade for your neck in the halter, with the saints and Pharisees." 
 
 " Why, Ben, you speak in such goodly phrase, that I am half 
 inclined to suspect you of a part in the service of the puritans." 
 
 "And you ve got reason, your honor. Soon as I found out 
 that Joe Sylvester had got religion and was turned preacher, I 
 regilarly attended sarvice, p rticlarly if I knowed he was gwine to 
 preach ; for when a man s a rogue, or I thinks him so, to find out 
 I jist wants to see the white of his eye, and to hear how he brings 
 out his sentiments. Ef he s slow, I knows he s calkilating and a 
 rogue ; for a new convart, in his old age, is bound to be fast, if 
 he s honest ; and he won t think of rolling up his eyes when, all 
 the time, he s thinking of s arching you to the very soul, through 
 your daylights." 
 
 " Why, Ben, you re a philosopher." 
 
 " No, your honor, only a sailor, and a great rogue of a sinner ; 
 but I can t h ist false colors, your honor except in the lawful 
 sarvice of religion and aginst the Spaniards; and that s a part of 
 good seamanship in privateer life. When I m gwine to turn 
 against your honor, I ll show you a flag, and give you fair warn 
 ing to stand off." 
 
 " What you tell me of Sylvester certainly needs some watch 
 fulness ; but you say nothing of the governor. Has he beec 
 imbibing religion also ? Is he really disposed to show himself 
 zealous under these new orders of council ?" 
 
100 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Not a bit of it, your honor, only as he s watched by them 
 that s got it in charge to see after him." 
 
 " Ah ! is he suspected ?" 
 
 "I m a thinking that s his difficulty, sir. There s a new coun 
 cil, there s new men, and you know what the song says 
 
 " Git a new master, be a new man. 
 
 There s new masters come out for the governor as well as smaller 
 prople. As I tell ye, there s Landgrave Morton, who s got ac 
 tive agin of late, and talks strong agin piracy, as he calls it ; 
 though, when you will make a British sailor, or British folk gen 
 erally, believe that there is any law agin licking the Spaniards 
 when you kin, and emptying their galleons, I shall think the day 
 of judgment is mighty close upon our quarters. It s all lee-shore 
 and no water. Then there s Mr. Arthur Middleton, he sings to 
 the same tune with Morton; and \vorse than all, there s a new 
 cassique one Major Edward Berkeley " 
 
 "Ah! Well?" 
 
 "He s got something of a special commission, they say, fol 
 overhauling all cargoes, whether silks or silver of the Spaniards; 
 or Injin slaves for the West Indies. He s to wind up both them 
 trades if he kin do it, and they say he carries a pretty high hand 
 with the governor. It s the watch they keeps on him, these 
 three, that s making him squeamish; otherwise, I reckon, he d 
 show jist as blind an eye, now, to the running of a cargo as we 
 knows he did last September, when you brought in that fine cargo 
 of the Santa Maria and a better chance of pretty things never 
 come to this market, and a pretty trade we drove of it." 
 
 " Well, I must see the governor and Sylvester both, Ben." 
 
 " Ef must is the word, captain, then you ll keep close hauled on 
 me wind, ready for any weather. Sylvester s a rogue about 
 : v ic worst, since he s h isted the flag of religion. He ll do the 
 lung secret, but you ll jist be sure never to let him guess when 
 all the cargo s out. Keep him to the guess that there s a good 
 deal more to come. In the matter of Governor Quany, you ll 
 have to see him to himself. You can t walk the town with him 
 ROM , arm-in-arm, as you did a year ago. But I kin git you into 
 his quarters, and nobody the wiser; and if we can blink the moon 
 we kin run the cargo, and nobody to take offence. As for th 
 
BEN BA( i>TAY -AT BO<JGY QUARTER. 101 
 
 officers, the; might as well be owls for what they see, and crows 
 for all the fighting they ll do. But you must fight shy of the 
 landgraves and cassiques Morton and Berkeley, and Middle- 
 ton ; they re a most too scrup lous for safety, less we manage 
 with blankets." 
 
 " That we can do. The ship s up the river." 
 
 " There s the danger, ef a kins s ship should be coming round. 
 Don t for the whole cargo let Joe Sylvester know where me 
 beauty lies." 
 
 No ! surely not ; or the governor either. 
 
 " Should they find out, they d have a king s cruiser upon you 
 before you could say Jack Robinson; and where would you be, 
 should she run up the river after you ?" 
 
 " They d find us prepared, Ben. They can hardly find a king s 
 phip strong enough, single-handed, to cripple the * Happy-go- 
 Lucky ; and I ihall take care they do not catch us nappiusr. 
 How many men can you get together at the signal ?" 
 
 " Enough for camels." (Burden-bearers.) 
 
 ** The boat will be at Shell bluff when they come. Ycu snail 
 Lave the signals beforehand. If we have reason to change iiie 
 ground, you shall know. I will see you again by daylight, when 
 we must get into the governor s quarters without stirring his sen 
 tries, I must go now and see Sylvester." 
 
 " Why should he have a hand in the job at all ?" 
 
 u Only to shut his mouth. He would be sure to get from soui* 1 
 of your people that you had camels at work " 
 
 " Maybe so, but " 
 
 " I shall assign him the Hobcaw landing, bringing the boat 
 round. He shall be taught to believe that the vessel lies below, 
 behind the island." 
 
 " He ll put a watch on you." 
 
 " First, you shall put a watch on him, and so muzzle his watcii 
 if you have to ship him. But we must venture something." 
 
 " Well, I reckon so." 
 
 " This Major Berkeley, Ben this new-comer, cassique or 
 what d ye call him have you seen him? What sort of person 
 is he?" 
 
 " Well, sir, yes ; and he s a much of a man, I tell you, judging 
 by his looks. He s about your height and heft; a leetle fuller 
 
102 THE CAiSlQUE UK KJAWAH. 
 
 round about the girdle ; a leetle fuller in the face, I think, and he 
 wears no sign of a brush. I should think him about thirty-five 
 or thereabouts. He s got grayish eyes, and a good roof to his 
 head, and he carries himself rather grand and stiff; and you kin 
 see he means something, and is somebody. I don t reckon him a 
 person to be free and familiar, but you see he J s quite a gentleman 
 born. And so they say he is ; some of the talk makes him out to 
 be a nevy or cousin to Sir John Barkeley, one of the lords propri 
 etors, you know." 
 
 Calvert heard this description in silence. When it was finished 
 he rose and walked the apartment for a few minutes without 
 speaking. Ben Backstay rose at the same time, drew forth a jug, 
 placed pitcher and tumbler upon the table, and got out a silver 
 bowl heaped with loaf sugar. 
 
 " Something after the talk, your honor?" 
 
 Without answering, Calvert drew nigh the table, poured out a 
 moderate stoup of the Jamaica, and, dashing it with water, drank 
 it off, resuming his silent progress around the apartment. Ben 
 Backstay just as silently followed his example in the matter of the 
 Jamaica. Then, after a brief pause, seemingly accorded to his 
 superior s humor, Ben Backstay ventured to intrude upon it : 
 
 " I ve been thinking, your honor, that, considering the squeam- 
 ishness of the governor, and the strict watch of the council, and 
 the vartnous inclinations of Sylvester, that twould be better if we 
 didn t use my camels or hisn at all in running the cargo." 
 
 " How can we do it otherwise ?" 
 
 " Let the crew shoulder the cargo, and nobody else, and thea 
 one man kin receive it. Governor and council, and camels, and 
 the vartuous Joe, needn t know nothing about it, or even guess 
 that sich a witch as the Happy-go-Lucky had ever been within 
 soundings for a month of Sundays. You ve got a full comple- 
 men of men for fighting, as well as working the vessel ; and when 
 they ve neither fighting nor working, why shouldn t they take a 
 take a hand at camelling ?" 
 
 i; I ve thought of it, Ben, but dare not trust em. We ve got 
 some doubtful fellows aboardship this cruise, and I ve reason to 
 suspect mischief a-brewing even now, on the part of those whom, 
 for the present, I am yet compelled to trust. If I bring the doubt 
 ful fellows down to this work, they would be surrounded here by 
 
BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER. 103 
 
 temptations to betray me. If I brought the trustworthy, I should 
 leave the ship to the mercy of the rest, who would be then en 
 couraged to attempts which they will hardly venture on as yet. 
 The case is one of embarrassments all round, and I see no process 
 but the one that we have agreed upon. Wind serving, I may 
 may make midnight runs, down and up, of the vessel herself, and 
 so empty cargo the sooner. But, if there should seem to be any 
 skylarking along our lines of watch, you have only to make the 
 old signal, and we can cache in the woods, find a storehouse in the 
 thickets of Accabee, as we did once before ; you remember ?" 
 
 " You know, captain, it s a most time for the Injins to be coming 
 down to the salts. Parties were in town yesterday, and there s a 
 report that they re gwine to be troublesome. Them Westos, and 
 Stonos, and Savannas, that gin us such trouble in Governor West s 
 time, they re a-waking up agin. You may look to find painted 
 iaces about Accabee pretty soon now, any how, as the fishing sea 
 son is begun." 
 
 " We must risk the redmen, keeping our watch as close as pos 
 sible. If we meet with any, we must only bribe and send em off." 
 
 " Jamaica 11 do it, sir. Ef you kin only show em a pipe of 
 that good stuff somewhere along the Santee, they ll be off at the 
 long trot before daylight. But, if you mean to see Joe Sylvester 
 and the governor both to-night, captain, it s time to be moving." 
 
 " No !" said the other, abruptly. " I have thought better of it. 
 I will see neither of them to-night. We will run a boat-load, at 
 least, before they shall know of my presence. And, whether I 
 suffer Sylvester to know at all, will depend upon the conclusion I 
 come to after I sleep on it. We have some very valuable articles 
 in the cargo, upon which there need be no black mail paid to any 
 body but yourself, Ben. These I will have at the long cypress at 
 midnight, to-morrow. For these I can bring a sufficient force of 
 my own sea-dogs the most trusty for camelling." 
 
 " Best way that, sir." 
 
 " We 11 see how it works. After that I can see the governor 
 or Sylvester one, both, or neither, as I please." 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
104 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 BIRD S-EYE VIEW OF THE PROSPECT. 
 
 " We must ravel up 
 
 These tangled threads, nor stop to sort them now; 
 But huddle them together in our wallets 
 For future uses." 
 
 LET us now, dear reader, suppose a few things rapidly, ,n order 
 that we may spare each other some unnecessary detail. You will 
 please believe that some three days and nights have elapsed since 
 our last chapter. You are not to suppose that these have been 
 left unemployed by the several parties to our narrative. You 
 will take for granted, for example, that the " Happy-go-Lucky" 
 still keeps close in her snug harbor, some ten miles up the Ash 
 ley. You will conceive, for yourselves, that Lieutenant Moly- 
 neaux has been vigilant in his watch, assisted by his junior officer ; 
 that he has his scouts busy about in the woods, keeping a sharp 
 look-out for intruders, red or white ; that there is no reproach of 
 lachesse at his doors. Whatever his demerits as a peacock, he 
 knows what are his duties, and performs them, perhaps quite as 
 much in compliance with habit as will. 
 
 And we must suppose this also of Eckles, and the rest. They 
 work, too, amazingly well, in the hours in which special tasks are 
 assigned them, whether in their scouting duties, or in those more 
 laborious of breaking bulk and transhipping cargo. Several 
 boats, well stuffed with contraband commodities, have dropped 
 down the river, and have been disposed of by Calvert, through 
 familiar channels. These things will seem to you matters of 
 course. 
 
 You are also to take for granted, that the life or the " Happy- 
 go-Luckies" up the river, in their then almost virgin solitude, has 
 not been one of unmitigated drudgery. Our captain of the cruiser 
 
BIRD S-EYE VIEW OF THE PROSPECT. 105 
 
 is an indulgent master. He knows the nature and the needs of 
 man, especially of sailors ; and his maxim, in regard to their man 
 agement, follows scrupulously the rule laid down in the ancient 
 doggrel : 
 
 " All work, and no joy, 
 Makes Jack a dull boy; 
 But all joy, and no toil, 
 Is sure the best of Jacks to spoil ;" 
 
 and so he pleasantly varies the exercise from work to play ; from 
 tasks, regularly exacted, to amusements in which every freedom, 
 even to a decree of license, is allowed, consistently with the prose 
 cution of duty, and the safety of the ship. 
 
 So you will please understand that our Jack Tars have had and 
 are having their fun ; frequent enough, in the shade of those great 
 old oaks up Ashley river. They have planted quite a gymnasium 
 in one of those mighty amphitheatres of forest, which no grandeur 
 of art could ever emulate. You see that swings of grapevine are 
 even now bearing the forms of the fair Zulieme and the brown 
 Sylvia ; that our lieutenants are doing the agreeable, alternately, 
 in setting the swing in motion which bears the fairy-like figure of 
 the former ; that the sailors amuse themselves in like fashion at 
 a moderate distance, or in other ways equally rustic. Some of 
 them play the tomahawk exercise at twenty feet against the trees, 
 others hurl the bar or pitch the quoit ; and you will see not a few 
 of them using Spanish pieces of eight, vulgarly called " milled dol 
 lars," in a like manner, the innocent coin being the forfeit to the 
 most skilful or most lucky of the players. And there are sturdy 
 fellows stripped to the buff and squaring off, after the excellent 
 fashion of John Bull, in quarter-staff or pugilism. Crowns are 
 cracked for a consideration, and " facers" are put in with such 
 emphasis as to spoil mazzards, purely for fun. Then there are 
 practical jokes incessantly plied, such as tickle the fancies of Jack 
 Tar, whether on sea or shore. Lubbers (and there are marines 
 on board the " Happy-go-Lucky") are tied in the rigging that 
 is, taken with a noose while the parties straddle upon great 
 branches, in search of birds -nests, for curious specimens of which 
 they have been persuaded to go aloft. 
 
 Our ambitious lieutenant reiines something upon these antics of 
 Jack Tar. He call* up the violin of Phipps: he excites the pas- 
 
 5* 
 
106 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 sion of the fair Zulieme for her national dances ; he shares with her 
 as before, in the fandango; and he makes her temporarily forget 
 ful that her levity has brought the cloud upon her husband s vis 
 age, and over her own fortunes. She can not free herself of lev 
 ity. With a nature so light as hers, a mind so utterly incapable 
 of care and thought, forgetfulness is as inevitable as the feel 
 ing of existence ; and the natural demands of her gay summer life 
 require that she should play, and sing, and flit about, and fly, just 
 so soon as the shower is over, and the sun comes out. It is the mis 
 take of our lieutenant to suppose that she can be serious enough, 
 a sufficiently long time, for the purposes of passion. With her, it 
 is quite enough that she feels lonesome, to begin play. Tell her 
 that the world is about to tumble to pieces, and she cries out wit 
 a start of terror ; but if the world lingers in the process of dissolu 
 tion, and she begins to feel dully from the "hope deferred," she 
 takes refuge in the free use of legs and arms, and, in the convul 
 sions of her own merriment, straightway forgets all those w 7 hich 
 are to make " chaos come again." 
 
 And while she sings and dances, ,and wanders off into the 
 woods, seeking new scenes for sport, gathering flowers as thought 
 lessly as Dis, ere she was herself gathered by the grim lord of 
 Erebus and Night with Molyneaux ever watchful of her w r ays, 
 and meditating, perhaps, as wickedly as Pluto we are to sup 
 pose that the eyes of Jack Belcher, solicitous for his master, main 
 tain as keen a watch over all the parties. 
 
 Nor these two merely. There are others on board the " Hap 
 py-go- Lucky" who do not wholly surrender themselves to sport and 
 play; who have mousing moods, and brood, like political spiders, 
 in dark corners to themselves, spreading their subtle webs on 
 every hand, the better to entrap the unwary. These, too, seek 
 close harbors in the thickets, " michin malico," even as Antonio 
 and Sebastian work together in conspiracy, w r hile their monarch 
 sleeps on the Enchanted island. And upon these, too, the faith 
 ful Jack Belcher has set the keen eyes of suspicion, at least, if no 
 discovery ; and he waits only to be sure, before he undertakes to 
 help their councils. How far these discontents are ^encouraged 
 by Molyneaux, is yet to be seen. But it is known that they are 
 his favorites, and not in much favor with their captain. For all 
 of which there are probably good reasons. Enough, in this place, 
 
BIRD S-EYE VIEW OF THE PROSPECT. 107 
 
 that Calvert is very far from blind, though it is a part of his pol 
 icy not to see a moment too soon. He is quite satisfied, for the 
 present, that he has a faithful hound upon their tracks, whom he 
 holds to be quite able to scent them out in all their sinuosities of 
 progress. 
 
 We have shown you that all our parties have been busied, each 
 n his department, during the three days which have elapsed since 
 our last chapter. You are to understand that, in this space of 
 time, no Jess than four boat-loads of very miscellaneous commodi 
 ties have been " run" into the virtuous bosom of the young city. 
 You will please believe that the commodities so run" are of very 
 precious texture and quality; that they comprise bales of silk, 
 and other stuffs precious to luxury, fashion, and the fair sex ; that 
 there are besides certain bales of cochineal, certain casks of indigo, 
 larger quantities of naval stores, clothing, provisions, goods and 
 wares, which we need not enumerate ; then, the more bulky arti 
 cles are yet to be landed those only " run" which are most por 
 table and most precious. Of some ten thousand pieces of eight 
 (dollars), the fruits of the same prosperous voyage, and the pro 
 ceeds of a gallant passage at arms, at close quarters, with a Span 
 ish galleon of very superior force, bound from Porto Bello to 
 Havana, we gather no official report as yet. We may hear some 
 thing of them hereafter ; but we doubt if captain or crew will feel it 
 necessary to report this particular item either to Governor Quarry, 
 or even the virtuous agent, Ben Backstay. It is very certain 
 that Joe Sylvester, the puritan, will never hear a syllable of it. 
 
 The arrangements made by our cruiser, and his factotum, Ben 
 Backstay, whose own claims to virtue have been so modest, have 
 all been successful. Our cruiser has done his own " camellino-," 
 
 O" 
 
 and the goods are stored in cell and chamber, in the immediate 
 keeping of Backstay. He will distribute them in due season, and 
 through proper agencies. And thus far, that doubtful puritan, 
 Joe Sylvester, has been kept in profound ignorance (at least, it ia 
 eupposed so) of all that has been done. The first intelligence he 
 will get of the " run" will be the gradual appearance of fine silks 
 and satins, and shawls and stuffs of rich, unwonted patterns, along 
 the fashionable purlieus, which range from north to south, along 
 the avenue, no longer fashionable, which we now call Church 
 street. The fair women of the infant city will do the first work 
 
108 THE CASSIQUE OF KUWAIT. 
 
 in publishing the transaction to the little world in which they wan 
 der. What to them the fact that the stuffs are contraband? nay, 
 that they are won by the strong hand, upon the high seas, in spite 
 of law and gospel ; and. while England and Spain professedly 
 keep the peace in European seas, they are here, in this wild hemi 
 sphere, as deadlily hostile as in the days of the Armada ; while the 
 sentiment, feeling, opinion, among their respective peoples, jus 
 tify the hostility which their respective governments ignore ? The 
 dear creatures see no treason, or piracy, or blood, or violation of 
 law, in the color, the quality, the texture, or the beauty, in the fine 
 manufactures in which they flaunt. Enough that they are fine 
 and fanciful, make them look fine, and come to them at prices 
 which would cause the eyes of British dames, could they hear, to 
 gleam with envy. The best of them see no harm in this mode 
 of acquisition. They all approve of smuggling in practice ; and 
 the contrabandist is only immoral in a very vague and remote 
 sort of abstraction, which disturbs no social piety or propriety. 
 
 And they are not to be counted any worse, you are to under 
 stand, than the admirable portions of their sex who remain in the 
 mother-country. You are to know that the Palmetto city, even 
 at this early day, has its fair proportion of fair women, represent 
 ing almost every class in the British empire. No small propor 
 tion of its population has recently come hither from Barbadoes 
 and other islands, from Virginia, and the Dutch colony of. Nova 
 Belgia (New York). They had lived in most of these places in 
 rather flourishing fashion ; had acquired means, and are emulous 
 of the state, dignity, and fashions of the old world. And there 
 are dashing cavaliers among them, with wives and daughters, who 
 can claim kindred with the old families of Europe with the 
 noblesse ; who could already boast of that genuine azul sanyre 
 which is almost as much the pride of the British as of the Cas- 
 tilian race. 
 
 And so, already, Charleston (then Charles town) had its castes 
 and classes, its cliques and aristocracies ; in which, people, insist 
 ing upon their rights of rank, grew rank in doing so, and were 
 guilty of offences against humanity and good sense, such as cried 
 to Heaven : at all events, made them cry ridiculously loud to 
 earth. There were people who were " in society" then as now ; 
 who turned up their noses so high, that their eyes failed to recog- 
 
BIRD S-EYE VIEW OF THE PROSPECT. 109 
 
 nise the existence of their nearest neighbors. And there were 
 very excellent people, who, in spite of virtues and talents, were 
 dismissed from all regard, even the human, for the simple hut 
 sufficient reason that they were not " in society." Those talis- 
 manic words, " in society/ signifying a sort of virtues which are 
 not contained in any catalogue of the virtues which entitle a poor 
 Christian to any place in the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 And so, Charleston had its Lady Loftyhead and Lady High- 
 heels, Lady Flirtahout and Lady Fluster, and no small number 
 of a class besides, whom these good ladies universally voted to be 
 no ladies at all. But not one of them, high or low, in or out of 
 society, ever found the moral gorge to rise at the idea of smug 
 gled silks, or even pirate traffic. Nay, the dashing rovers them 
 selves, men well known to sail under the "Jolly Roger" so the 
 flag of piracy was always called were made welcome, and migh 
 be seen at certain periods to walk the streets of the young city, 
 arm-in-arm with substantial citizens nay, to figure in court cos 
 tume at the balls of the Ladies Loftyhead, Highheels, Flirtabout, 
 and Fluster, all satisfied to enjoy the gallantries of the rover with 
 out asking to see too closely the color of his hands. And they 
 had their reward for this tolerance of the Jolly Rogers, who could 
 accord none to the classes not " in society." Many a smuggled 
 or stolen shawl, scarf, ay, jewel, decorated the person of a noble 
 dame, the gift of the dashing flibustier ; won by the strong hand, 
 at the price of blood, in the purple waters of the gulf. And soci 
 ety nowhere, at that period, attached much censure to this mode 
 of acquisition. Robbery on a large scale has been, among all 
 nations, considered only a legitimate mode for the acquisition of 
 wealth ; and the natural human sentiment, " in society" at least, 
 has usually been persuaded to find the justifying moral, in the 
 degree of peril in which the game of plunder is carried on. He 
 who risks his life in the spoliation, seems to lift his criminal occu 
 pation into a sort of dignity, which effectually strips it of tho igno 
 ble traits which belong to simple robbery. 
 
 But our purpose is not sarcasm. We doubt if the we rid im 
 proves one jot from all the truths which are told it, especially of 
 itself; and we doubt if it can improve under any existing condition ; 
 and we half doubt whether it was designed that it should improve, 
 beyond a certain point ; and so we do not so much believe in a 
 
110 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 millenium as in a regeneration. We are but the germs for a new 
 creation, under a new dispensation, and development goes just 
 so far and there an end for the present. 
 
 But, before \ve leave the subject of the ladies, especially those 
 of Charleston, let it be understood that our captain of the "Happy- 
 go-Lucky" is by no means unknown to fashionable society in that 
 quarter. He has been " in society" in more natural, that is, less 
 legal periods. He has figured in the ballrooms of Lady Lofty- 
 head, and Lady Golightly, and other great people. He has paid 
 for his privileges. Lady Lofty head wears his diamond ring on 
 her finger Lady Golightly as glorious a pearl necklace, which he 
 threw over her snowy neck, when she was quite willing that he 
 should see, to its utmost depths, how fair and white it was ; and 
 it was with Lady Anderson that he contemplated putting the fai 
 Zulieme in the event of his bringing her to Charleston. He has 
 yet to ascertain, in what degree of security he stands in the com 
 munity saying nothing of society before he can venture upon 
 the hospitality of so magnificent a dame. 
 
 And he is now in the process of investigation. 
 
 He has " run" his fourth boat-load in safety. This comprises 
 all the compact and choice articles in his cargo. This rest will 
 need more force; a greater number of " camels ;" a greater de 
 gree of peril. He may now allow himself to see Mr. Joe Sylves 
 ter, formerly one of his most able agents. He will now venture 
 upon an interview with Governor Robert Quarry, whose virtues 
 as a politician have saved him from the sin of pharisaism. The 
 governor does not eschew the society of publicans and sinners. 
 
 How Captain Calvert found his way into the private apart 
 ments of his excellency, through what agency of Ken Backstay 
 and others, we might make a long story. It will suffice that we 
 find him there, safely ensconced in the chair of Bermuda cane and 
 manufacture, in which his excellency himself ordinarily sits when 
 dealing with vulgar people. But Calvert is none of your vulgai 
 people ; and, seen with Quarry, you would say the cruiser is the 
 lord ; the governor, a clever adventurer to whom a roving com 
 mission has been confided by a master. 
 
 The two are together. We have seen something of Calvert 
 already. Of Quarry but, dealing with a politician now, we must 
 begin with a new chapter. 
 
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. 
 
 Burnet. Speak to the card, I say. 
 
 Say. And I say, rather, let the cards have speech, 
 
 While you say nothing. He is but a dolt, 
 
 That lets his game to lie on any card ! 
 Clare. Nay, brother Say, an it but lie on the card, 
 
 The speech is well enough for such a game ! 
 
 GOVERNOR ROBERT QUARRY, of whom our Carolina chronicles 
 speak in very meagre phraseology, was a courtier ; had a fine 
 person -one of the necessities of the courtier a good face, a 
 graceful, insinuating manner, and certain accomplishments of mind 
 and training, which had conducted him to a certain degree of 
 success in worldly acquisitions. It was through his merits, as a 
 courtier, that he had reached the governorship of the infant colony 
 of South Carolina, a remote and feeble settlement on the borders 
 of a heathen country, and in near proximity to the Spaniards of 
 Florida, always the relentless enemies of the English. Such a 
 position required other abilities than those of the simple cour 
 tier ; but competence to office was no more the requisite in those 
 days than in ours ; and the chief merit in office then, as the chief 
 object in its pursuit, was the capacity to fatten fast upon fortune, 
 and to make as rapid stretches as possible toward its attainment. 
 No long time was allowed to anybody; the tenure of office being 
 usually too short, in those periods, to suffer the politician to dilly 
 dally with opportunity. He had to feather his nest as rapidly as 
 any other bird of passage. Whether the courtier befoi ) us was 
 properly doing his duty to himself, we shall perhaps see as we 
 proceed. In what concerns his character, we prefer to let Gov 
 ernor Quarry speak for himself. 
 
112 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAI1. 
 
 His person, we have said, was good ; his manners those of a cour 
 tier ; easy, deliberate ; rather staid^ perhaps rather too courtly, 
 as was the etiquette in those days too nice and mincing, but 
 ever according to the rules. As you see him now, in a private 
 chamber of his own dwelling (low down in Church street), hab 
 ited " point device" with a pleasant half smile upon his lips, and 
 that partly stooping attitude which is so natural to a tall man, and 
 so proper in a courtier ; he shows well enough. "We see that he 
 would show well in the ballroom ; at a royal levee ; in any situa 
 tion which makes ease of deportment, and flexibility of movement, 
 and a gentle self-complaisance, essential elements of the morale in 
 society. 
 
 But, showing well as a courtier, he shows at disadvantage in 
 contrast with the Herculean proportions, and the lofty freedom 
 the manly, almost brusque carriage, the brave simplicity and dig 
 nity, of the rover, Calvert, captain of the " Happy-go-Lucky," 
 whom we find closeted with him at this moment. 
 
 The costume of our rover has undergone some changes since 
 we made his acquaintance. He, too, recognises the necessity of a 
 more courtier-like, a more pacific appearance. Accordingly, he 
 figures in a rich black suit, such as was worn by the gentlemen of 
 the day. He has great ruffles at his shirt bosom and wrists. He 
 wears knee-breeches and silk stockings. He carries a rapier at 
 his side. His hat is steeple-crowned, but of felt or beaver, no 
 longer of st r aw or Panama. And, though it may lessen his free 
 dom of carriage, we are constrained to admit that the costume of 
 " King Charles s cavaliers," sets off his fine figure to advantage. 
 He has, we may mention here, been accustomed to appear in it, 
 and in high places 
 
 How he has found his way into the private apartments of the 
 govern jr of Carolina, we may easily conjecture from previous 
 portions of this history. He has probably been conducted thither 
 by Backstay, and in secresy, under cover of the night. He is now, 
 at all events, an inmate of the governor s mansion ; and that gov 
 ernor holds in his escritoire an orcfcr from the English lords in 
 council for his arrest and execution " short shrift and sudden 
 cord" as a pirate of the high seas! 
 
 Calvert has reason to suspect the fact. The governor has not 
 yet permitted him to know it. But he knows the governor, and 
 
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. 118 
 
 finds his securities in the character of the man, rather than the 
 commission of the official. 
 
 That he suspects, has the effect of lifting his proportions. 
 There is a lofty superiority in his manner. His eye searches 
 keenly into that of the governor for the secret of his soul. You 
 are not to suppose our rover a pirate, in our ordinary sense of the 
 character, because the British government has declared him so. 
 The British government has been more of a pirate than its offi 
 cials. He has had a British commission for his authority, issued 
 at a time when such commissions were frequent enough ; when 
 the British people welcomed every injury done to Spain, or 
 France, as good service to the nation ; and the then monarch of 
 England, himself, has knighted the most brutal of all the pirati 
 cal captains who ever preyed upon Spanish property, life, and 
 commerce. 
 
 " You do not tell me all, Governor Quarry," said our captain, 
 quite abruptly ; " but I can conjecture what you conceal. You 
 hold a commission for arresting me. Speak out, sir, like a man, 
 and let us understand each other at the outset." 
 
 " The fact is, my dear captain, that affair of the * Donna Maria 
 del Occidente has caused a precious stir at court. It was a ter 
 rible affair, you will admit. A Spanish man-of-war sunk, her 
 captain slain, her crew cut to pieces !" 
 
 " It was a fair fight ; she was of superior size and mettle, and 
 fired the first gun, the flag of England all the while flying at our 
 masthead. There was no slaughter save what took place in 
 actual battle." 
 
 " Very true. I believe it all. But it happened, unfortunately, 
 that Don Jose de something " 
 
 " Salvador," interposed the captain. 
 
 " Yes, Salvador, her commander, who fell under your own cut 
 lass, proves to have been the nephew to the Spanish embassador 
 at our court, and he has been kicking up the very devil on the 
 subject ; and, just at this time, it is the policy of our sovereign to 
 maintain a good understanding with the court of Spain." 
 
 "Policy! Ay! policy! The rogue s argument always. But 
 no policy can be proper to the English nation, at the expense of 
 English honor." 
 
 " Ah ! my friend" with a shrug of the shoulder, which would 
 
114 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 have been recognised as quite courtly even at Versailles "this 
 national honor is very gjod capital in a speech at the opening of 
 parliament, but must not be allowed to interfere with those nice 
 little arrangements which are found to be essential to individual 
 interests. The king, like the lords, and even such poor common 
 ers and courtiers as ourselves, needs sometimes to make a waiver 
 of the national credit for the better keeping of his own." 
 
 " Ay, he would sell the nation, as he sold Dunkirk. Oh, for a 
 year of old Oliver once more !" 
 
 "Fie! fie! my dear fellow this is rank heresy and treason ! 
 This will never do. Remember, if only in regard to my honor, 
 that I am the king s official, though under the creation only of the 
 lords-proprietors. I do not object to your treasonable sentiments 
 at all. Indulge them if you please. But, spare my ears! 1 
 must not hear. We are good friends to-day, but what we shall be 
 to-morrow is another matter ; and I will not suffer my neck to be 
 perilled with a halter because you have a loose sort of eloquence 
 in respect to the rights of the crown." 
 
 The rover uttered an exclamation of impatience, and strode the 
 floor, as if to subdue a still further expression of offence. Then 
 turning quickly about, he said : 
 
 " But you do not answer my question, Governor Quarry." 
 
 "Which of them, captain? If I remember rightly, you have 
 done me the honor to propound several." 
 
 " Pshaw ! there was but one. Have you any authority for my 
 arrest ?" 
 
 The governor smiled pleasantly, went to his escritoir, opened it, 
 and handed our rover a heavy piece of parchment. He read the 
 title as he handed the instrument to the rover 
 
 " For the better putting down of piracy in the colonies, &c." 
 
 Seals and signatures attested the validity of the document. 
 Captain Calvert gave it but a glance, then threw it back to the 
 official. 
 
 " Well, you have your order, Governor Quarry ; and I am 
 here !" 
 
 And Calvert folded his arms upon his bosom, and planted him 
 self before the governor. 
 
 " May be so, captain. But, unless you proclaim it from the 
 housetops, I arn not to know that you are here. To me you do 
 
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. 115 
 
 not appear a pirate. I do not know you as the person mentioned 
 in this instrument." 
 
 " You know that I am no pirate ; that, for all that I have done, 
 I have a commission under the very sanction of those by whom 
 that paper has been signed. I am willing to be tried for tli" 
 offences alleged against me. I will confront kings, lords, and com 
 mons, equally, in the assertion of my honor." 
 
 " My dear captain, hear to reason. Such a proceeding would 
 involve a very great scandal. The treaty with Spain, which wo 
 are all bound to respect as the law of the land, is of date anterior 
 to your commission. That treaty declares all those to be pirates 
 who prey upon Spanish commerce or dominion in America." 
 
 " Of that treaty," replied our sturdy rover, " I knew not a syl 
 lable. I only knew that the people of England regarded the 
 power and the people of Spain as enemies of man and God 
 of all things and objects which are held sacred and becoming. 
 They were the enemies of nations. They were outlawed by our 
 nation. If that treaty was on record when my commission was 
 given to me, then kings, and lords-proprietors, and governors, 
 were the criminals. I am none. Shall I passively submit to be 
 the scapegoat for such rogues as these ?" 
 
 " Patiently, my dear captain, and hear me for a moment. Do 
 you not see that the same policy which conferred your commis 
 sion, while that treaty was in existence, is still present to main 
 tain you in your course, provided you do not force yourself upon 
 the notice of your judges. The governor, who is not made to 
 see you, while the world is looking on, has no motive for your 
 arrest. He need not suppose for a moment that you are within 
 his jurisdiction." 
 
 " But this will not suit me, Governor Quarry. I have no wish 
 to violate law or treaty ; have no desire to screen my deeds from 
 the world s examination. I have fought with Frenchman and 
 Spaniard would fight with them to the crack of doom even 
 as Drake and Cavendish did, and glory in the danger ; but only 
 while my country claps hands and looks on applaudingly. If we 
 are to be sold to Frenchman or Spaniard, I wash my hands of 
 the business. I have no wish to fight merely on sufferance, and 
 to be seized and hung at the caprice of a treacherous court." 
 
 " Do not be rash, my dear captain. The treacheries of court 
 
116 THF CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 are like those of love and lovers. They are supposed to plead 
 t.fcpir own excuse, by reason of their pleasantries. And yours is 
 a very pretty business, captain, that somewhat compensates for 
 all its risks. A very pretty business, I assure you." 
 
 " You have some reason to say so, Governor Quarry. By the 
 A ay, there are a thousand pieces of eight [dollars] in yonder can- 
 vass-sack, which I brought hither for you. 
 
 " Of course, my dear captain, I can not accept them ! That 
 would be bribery. You are entirely tcu direct in your approaches, 
 sapping human virtue : as direct as if assaulting the Spaniard. 
 You are no courtier, captain." 
 
 " Thank God for it !" 
 
 " That is as you please. It is, after all, a mere matter of taste. 
 Now, were I, by simple accident, unassisted, to happen upon that 
 sack, with a thousand pieces of eight nay, were it two thou 
 sand it would hardly occasion any difference ; were I to find it, 
 I say, in a corner of my chamber, I should possibly, at first, won 
 der whence it came ; but, having no information on the subject, I 
 should, after a while, come to the conclusion that it was some odd 
 sum that I had set aside for a special purpose, and forgotten in 
 the press of other affairs. The novelty of such a discovery would 
 not diminish the satisfaction that I should feel on the occasion. 
 It would only provoke certain reflections upon the singular indif 
 ference which courtiers, particularly when in official station, feel 
 in respect to money ! How little do we value, how we waste, 
 spend, consume it, utterly regardless of the source of supply ! 
 It is, certainly, a very profligate life, this of the courtier and 
 official." 
 
 " As you please. Find it when you please. Enough that the 
 sack lies in your chamber. You will be so good as to appropriate 
 it ; suppose that you are fortunate in unexpected supplies and 
 that I have not spoken !" 
 
 " Exactly. You are quick in idea. It is refreshing to think 
 that one is always in the way of discovery ; that there are guar 
 dian genii, ever watchful, with lamp and ring, so that we shall 
 happen, every now and then, upon unsunned treasures. And 
 now, let me tell you, my dear captain, that you will simply need 
 to pursue your walks, while in Carolina, with the same circum 
 spection which you have thus far practised. You need not show 
 
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. 117 
 
 yourself unnecessarily about town. You will not expect our rec 
 ognition, unless you specially force yourself upon our official mem 
 ories. Our people do not so far sympathize with French or 
 Spaniard as to approve of treaties which cut off a profitable trade ; 
 and Heaven forbid that I should quarrel with a fortune that lays 
 a sack of Spanish dollars occasionally in a corner of my chamber." 
 
 " We understand each other, governor. So for, so good ! But, 
 under existing conditions, it will be hardly wise or proper for me 
 to pursue a vocation which has been put under the ban of law. 
 It is quite enough of peril to face death at the mouth of Spanish 
 cannon. To confront him again at the hands of my own people, 
 and through the agency of a public executioner, is a prospect 
 which the bravest man may well refuse to contemplate. This is 
 probably the last of the cruises that the Happy-go-Lucky will 
 make at least under her present commander." 
 
 " What ! the gallant Captain Calvert, the terror of the Spanish 
 seas and dons, frightened by false fires? Why, my dear fellow, 
 do you not see that this treaty is all a sham a pretence dust 
 in the eyes of Europe? ffere, I tell you, that patriotism which 
 takes the Spaniard by the beard is the very first of virtues !" 
 
 " Yet, you caution me how I show myself in the streets." 
 
 " Oh ! we have to keep up appearances. But this means noth 
 ing ; all we insist upon is modesty. No one is required to publish 
 his virtues unnecessarily. With this forbearance on your part, 
 no one asks whence the broad gold pieces come which finally find 
 their way into the pockets of the citizen. We hate the Spaniards, 
 but take their onzas to our pockets, and him who brings them to 
 our hearts ; and neither see the red blood on their faces nor on 
 his hands ! All we ask of you is caution, my dear captain ; and 
 suffer your friends to see you only in private, as at present." 
 
 " But is it so sure that there is no prying curiosity, which will 
 be at some pains to pluck the mask from the face of secrecy ? 
 They tell me of fresh counsellors among you who have been seized 
 with a sudden fit of zeal, under an overwhelming flood of piety, 
 and who are for searching out all the sore places of society all 
 its tender places, at least." 
 
 u And you have been told the truth. The council is changed, 
 and such is the fervor of certain of its members. Middleton and 
 Morton have had a new impulse, in this direction, in consequence 
 
118 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 of the presence of Colonel Edward Berkeley, a nephew of one of 
 our lords-proprietors, who has lately moved out to Carolina. He 
 has bought his twenty-four thousand acres of land on the Kiawah, 
 and has been made a cassique of that precinct. As a nephew of 
 Sir William, he is understood to be more in the confidence of the 
 lords-proprietors than any of the rest; and the good lords, spe 
 cially enlivened, if not enlightened, on the subject themselves, 
 have been at pains to egg him on to a degree of activity whfch 
 keeps the whole council in a fidget. The king, it seems, has 
 sought to excuse the crown to the Spaniard, by insisting upon the 
 quasi independent character of the proprietary governments. He 
 flings from his own shoulders the imputation of sheltering the 
 cruisers against Spanish property, by fastening the offence upon 
 the colonies. And the proprietors have had to undergo the re 
 buke, in the very presence of the Spanish embassador and bear 
 it in silence though they knew, all the while, that nobody had 
 ever given so much sanction to the practice as the crown itself. 
 But that wouldn t do to say, you know; and so our good lords 
 had to curse in secret had to writhe in passion, with their dumb 
 mouths while our gracious master read them a very proper les 
 son touching the laws of nations, the singular love and sympathy 
 which England should entertain for Spain especially, the peculiar 
 vice of piracy, the peculiar beauty of holiness, and the great ne 
 cessity which existed for compelling the loose and licentious society 
 of the colonies to emulate, in all respects, the virtues of the court 
 and the piety of king and people. Nobody laughed but the Span 
 iard at this homily, and he only in his court-sleeves, which are 
 made capacious, for the due concealment of honest sentiments. 
 And thereafter his most sacred majesty was to be seen on all- 
 fours, with Louise de Querouaille and the other dames of the 
 seraglio in the same comely attitude, hunting a poor butterfly, who 
 might have been pirating on bosoms that were sufficiently open to 
 all sorts of invaders. But, ridiculous as was the sermon to all those 
 who knew the king, our worthy lords-proprietors were not permit 
 ted to defend themselves. It is not allowed at court that truth 
 shall save the subject, to the scandal of the crown or the cour 
 tiers ; and the rule is a good one. So you see what stimulates 
 the sudden zeal of our council, in this matter of piracy, just at this 
 moment. You also see, I doubt not, that no one need give it fur- 
 
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. 119 
 
 ther heed than simply to forbear all unnecessary publicity in what 
 is properly a very private practice." 
 
 The captain shook his head. 
 
 " This will hardly suit me, Governor Quarry." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! why not ? What need of further scruples ? See 
 this commission. It instructs me to seize, and try, and hang you 
 nay, to hang you without trial, as soon as I can catch you ; but 
 I fling it into my drawer, and there it lies harmless ! While no 
 one sees that 1 see you, and knows that / know you, and can as 
 sert that I have had you in my power, I feel no necessity for 
 looking up the commission, nor need you feel any apprehension 
 because you happen to know that there is any such document in 
 existence." 
 
 Calvert was about to answer, but arrested himself, and walked 
 slowly for awhile up and down the chamber. His meditations, 
 during this interval, we snail deliver hereafter. When he did 
 speak again, it was w.tn an abrupt change of subject. 
 
 " What sort of man is this Colonel Berkeley ? I fancy I have 
 seen him." 
 
 " Very likely. He was a man of fashion about London for a 
 few seasons. He is a man of wealth has bought, as I told you, 
 twenty-four thousand acres on the Kiawah, some fifteen miles up 
 on the western banks, and is preparing to put up a baronial estab 
 lishment. He is a handsome fellow, but cold and stern not 
 exactly repelling, but standing much upon his dignity ; affects 
 state and authority, but seems a discontent. Something has soured 
 him. He is, accordingly probably ambitious." 
 
 " Has he a family wife, and children?" 
 
 " Wife and one child, I think." 
 
 "Are they here? 
 
 u Not in town. He has built log-cabins, for temporary use; 
 and, except when business calls him here, or on council-meetings, 
 we seldom see him. He lives well, though in seclusion ; is perpet 
 ually doing something, will make his establishment a grand one, 
 and, if he carries out his plans, the barony of Kiawah will be a 
 model family-seat." 
 
 Calvert asked, seemingly without caring for the answer, in re 
 spect to the actual locality of the contemplated barony, and other 
 matters relating to the habits of the proprietor, and the* character 
 
120 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH 
 
 ar,d condition of the family ; to all of which the governor replied, 
 without supposing that the querist had any interest in the answer. 
 The questions of the rover were put with an abrupt carelessness, 
 as if for the satisfaction of a mere momentary curiosity. Had the 
 interest of Quarry been greater in the subject-matter, he would 
 have seen that this abrupt manner of the questioner covered 
 deeper emotions than belonged to simple curiosity. He would 
 have detected, in the slight tremor of his voice, in the utterances 
 of his last words, and in its deeper tones always deep and sono 
 rous, but more so now, as if with effort at suppression that the 
 subject stirred some of his sensibilities more thoroughly than any 
 other which had been discussed between them, not excepting that 
 which would seem to be the most important of all that which 
 threatened his safety. 
 
 They w r ere yet speaking, when a carriage was heard at the 
 entrance. Quarry peeped through the window, and said : 
 
 " It is Berkeley now ! We must put you out of sight for 
 awhile, my dear fellow. This way. You will be snug here, and 
 in safety." 
 
 And he led him to the adjoining chamber, and closed the door 
 upon him. 
 
 " I am in a trap now, should that man prove treacherous," was 
 the soliloquy of Calvert. " But he will hardly prove so, so long 
 as it is profitable to keep faith. No ! I must only not suffer him 
 to know that my occupation ends with the present cruise. He 
 must still be kept in expectation of other canvass-bags, to be found 
 unexpectedly in the corner of his chamber." 
 
 His soliloquy was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of 
 the governor, dragging after him the sack of dollars. With a 
 pleasant chuckle, he said : 
 
 " Suffer this to remain with you u space. It is a waif some 
 thing I have found ; I should not wonder if it turns out to be 
 Spanish pieces of eight possibly something still more precious! 
 It is right pleasant, certainly, to be in the way of fortune ! But 
 the world need not know that one is lucky ; nothing so much 
 offends it. The happy are those only who go lucky, my dear 
 fellow ; and the world envies the happy man, as if he were per 
 petually in the way of other people. But Berkeley enters. You 
 may listen, and hear all that is said. Pray, do so. It may some- 
 
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN. 121 
 
 what concern your own fortunes. Listen for another reason. He 
 is something of a curiosity ; is antiquated in his notions of virtue ; 
 believes in human perfectibility, and speaks of humanizing the 
 Indians, and putting them in the small-clothes of civilization, as 
 if it were any concern of his, yours, or mine, whether men go to 
 tire devil or not ! We are wiser, and know that the best way to 
 take care of a race is to see that one does not himself go bare ! 
 
 6 
 
THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIc 
 
 GLIMPSES OF THE CASSIQUE. 
 
 A man of earnest purposes, he bends 
 His head with speechless prayer; and in his t^ils, 
 Lives in becoming sense of what is self." 
 
 CALVERT answered the politician only with a look of indiffer 
 ence that might as well have been contempt. " Ay/ thought he, 
 as the other went, " such is, no doubt, the moral by which you 
 live. But, unless Edward Berkeley be wonderfully changed since 
 I last knew him, he is as much superior to you in wisdom as he 
 is in virtue. Alas ! how I loved him ! How great, I fancied, 
 was his love for me ! Yet has he stepped between me and hope 
 thrown his larger fortunes between me and happiness, and cut 
 me off from all that was precious in the heart s sunlight. Oh, 
 Edwara Berkeley ! there is bu*. one thing that shall move me 
 truly to forgiveness. 1 must know that you have sinned against 
 me in ignorance ; that you knew not, when you passed between 
 me and the object of my first fond affections, that she was so pre 
 cious in my sight. And I would fain believe it ; and it may be 
 so! Jack Belcher is shrewd and sagacious honest as well as 
 shrewd. He will have it that you were ignorant. You knew not 
 of the ties that bound her to me to me only that woman 
 whom you now proudly call your own ! Be it so ; and I can for 
 give you ! But for her? What plea, what excuse can she make 
 for her cruel abandonment of the younger for the elder son ! 
 
 " Yes, it is he !" he murmured, as the voice of the visiter reached 
 him from the adjoining chamber "the same clear, manly ton<3S. 
 Surely there can not be meanness, or falsehood, or fraud, under 
 such a tongue." 
 
 He stepped to the door which opened into the other chamber. 
 An irresistible curiosity to behold the visiter to employ sight as 
 
GLIMPSES OF THE CASSIQUE. 123 
 
 well as hearing moved him to explore the crannies of the door, 
 In the hope to gratify this feeling ; but the door had been made 
 fast by Quarry as he went out. Our captain could see nothing. 
 But every syllable spoken within came distinctly to his ears. 
 There was no reserve on the part of either speaker. 
 
 The governor was all civility. His role was evidently that of 
 conciliation. The cassique of Kiawah a rich landed proprietor, 
 cue of the newly-constituted Carolina nobility, under a system 
 which only made bald recognition of the crown rather as an ab 
 straction than an absolute power and the nephew of one of the 
 landed proprietors, supposed not only to represent his will but to 
 be his favorite such a person was to be conciliated. The gov 
 ernor was very courtly, accordingly quite solicitous; his smooth 
 accents, and poli*hed speech, and adroit compliment, all being 
 judiciously employed just saving sycophancy and servility to 
 persuade his visiter into a pleasant frame of self-complacency, 
 which is the process when dealing with all effeminate minds. 
 
 This was Quarry s mistake. The cassique was by no means a 
 man of effeminate mind. He was no courtier, and disdajned the 
 petty vanities of society; had no artifices himself; was a person 
 of direct, manly character, grasping at power and performance, 
 and nowise accessible to shams and shows, and the mere tricks 
 and trappings of convention. He endured the courtly prelimina 
 ries of Governor Quarry, though with some unexpressed impatience. 
 
 " Yes, I am settled, after a fashion hutting it, for the summer, 
 in log-cabins. These we have made tolerably comfortable. I 
 would have found them so, under the naked poles; but Lady 
 Berkeley and her mother have been used to a different life, and, 
 with all my pains-taking, the contrast must still be a prodigious 
 one, their present with their past. I had to combine the house 
 with the fortress, as you know, and the enclosures require to be a 
 sort of court of guard, rather than simple fences. They will give 
 us temporary refuge, and may be covered by musketry from the 
 block-houses which occupy the four corners of some fifteen acres. 
 The dwelling in the centre is itself a * block ; and, with the neigh 
 boring offices, all at hand, the fences, the palisades all complete, 
 and the gates up, twenty men may keep them against five hun 
 dred of the savages." 
 
 " That ^eminds me, my dear cassique, to ask if the redskins 
 
124 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 have been seen in your neighborhood lately. I have advices from 
 the frontier that they are moving down in our direction in rather 
 large divisions. The hunting-season is temporarily over, and the 
 fishing begun. This necessarily brings them to the watercourses 
 and the seaboard, out of the interior. And I know not that this 
 should occasion any anxiety. But they are reported to be more 
 numerous than usual. It is suspected that they bring with them 
 tribes which hitherto have lived wholly in the interior, and there 
 is also said to be some discontent among them some complaints 
 about lands and trespassers to say nothing of that common sub 
 ject of complaint, that the English do not make their presents 
 sufficiently frequent or sufficiently large for the wants of the chil 
 dren of the wilderness. They are, by-the-way, as greedy in their 
 desires as a " 
 
 " As a courtier," replied the other, completing the sentence just 
 as Quarry halted for a proper comparison. 
 
 "Thank you, yes exactly. A good hit, my dear colonel. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! But we, who have sunned ourselves in royal favor, 
 must not quarrel with the world s sneer. But to return to our 
 red men ? " 
 
 " Thus far," said the cassique, " I see nothing to apprehend. I 
 see very few of the tribes as yet. Some stragglers have shown 
 themselves at the barony, and been fed. They gave no trouble. 
 I am in treaty with one of the chiefs of the Stonos and Sewees 
 for his son, whom I propose to employ as a hunter to supply me 
 with venison. He is a mere boy of sixteen, upon whom I design 
 an experiment. I wish to see if I can not detach him gradually 
 from the life of the woods. My purpose is ultimately a more ex 
 tensive one the gradual diversion of the tribes from barbarism 
 to the civilizing tasks of culture." 
 
 " Ah, my dear cassique, you are nursing philanthropy in defi 
 ance of all experience. You might as well warm the frozen snake 
 at your fireside, and hope that its gratitude will take the venom 
 out of its fangs. There is but one safe course with these savages. 
 It is that which the New-Englanders employed. Buy up the 
 scalps of the warriors, and sell the women and children to the 
 West Indies. This is our proper policy." 
 
 " But this, you are aware, is positively forbidden by the lords- 
 proprietors." 
 
GLIMPSES OF THE CAS.SIQUE. 125 
 
 " The Lord send them a better wisdom ! Here are these tribes 
 about us, pretending peace, yet your laborers have to carry the 
 shovel or axe in one hand and the musket in the other." 
 
 " Ay, because they have been much more free with musket than 
 with axe or shovel. Had they been content to clear and culti 
 vate we should have had little trouble with the red man. I, at 
 least, shall try the pacific and humane policy, and see what will 
 come of it." 
 
 " May you live to see ! But take my counsel : in taking up the 
 spade, do not put down the musket." 
 
 " Oh, I shall adopt all proper precautions. My fortress shall 
 be well garrisoned. I am now looking out for laborers, who shall 
 be gunmen also. Should you hear of any, who will answer in 
 this twofold capacity, pray secure them for me. What advices 
 lately from England ?" 
 
 " None : we may look for the Swallow* packet daily." 
 
 " Is it not strange neglect of us, that there are no war-ships on 
 our station ? Here we have the most stringent orders for putting 
 down piracy, yet not a vessel-of-war sent us. They seem, all of 
 them, to crowd about New York and Boston, where they are 
 quite out of the track of the pirates of the gulf. This should be 
 the station of one or more, if w r e are to do anything efficiently. 
 We have no land-force here for resistance to a single cruiser, 
 which, if insolent, or defied, might boldly enter our harbor, and 
 batter the town about our ears, an:! we scarce able to bring a 
 gun to bear upon her, or to marshal the smallest battalion in our 
 defence." 
 
 " Ah ! luckily, most of these pirates are of good English breed. 
 They devour the dons only, and this is so much good service done 
 to the colony." 
 
 " We must not say that, Governor Quarry, regarding the ex 
 isting treaty with Spain, and our orders from the proprietors. 
 This last affair of the rover Caivjit the destruction of the 
 4 Maria del Occidente, a royal vessel has made the matter a 
 very serious one, and compels us to adopt a much more strict and 
 national policy. By-the-way, should you not make proclamation 
 of the tenor of your last instructions against piracy, and offer a 
 reward for the apprehension of this rover Calvert ?" 
 
 " There were no policy in that. With neither ships-of-war nor 
 
126 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 troops in hand, we ejuld only hope to effect his apprehension by 
 stratagem, in the event of his putting into our port again, as he 
 has boldly done before. To make public proclamation of what 
 he may expect, if he returns, will be most effectually to defeat 
 our own object, and keep him off. Our true policy is to lie low. 
 keep dark, and close upon him when he least expects it." 
 
 " You are right. That, in our present condition of weakness, 
 is the only course we can adopt. We must have one or more 
 men-of-war cruising on this station. And yet this rover will be 
 more than a match, I fear, for any of our ships single-handed. 
 He is a good seaman and a fearless scoundrel. The circumstances 
 of that savage fight, were it in a good cause, would suffice to make 
 him a hero. I confess that I share in all our British antipathy 
 to the Spaniard, and in all our admiration of the hardy valor of 
 our Norman breed ; and when I heard the particulars of that 
 affair, though out of the sanction of law, I rejoiced that the an- 
 jient spirit of the Drakes, the Raleighs, the Sandwiches, and Cav 
 endishes, was not extinct among our seamen. Had we in our 
 king s ships such brave fellows to command as this rover Calvert, 
 Britain would never be mjule ashamed before Spaniard, or French 
 man, or Hollander. But it is your courtiers, sir, who play the 
 devil with our marine. Here are they, men of the land alto 
 gether, too frequently taken from the command of cavalry, sent 
 on board to manage ships and fleets men of silk and filagree, 
 who do not know a ship s stern from her taffrail, and are just 
 as likely to go into action stern foremost as head. I scarce know 
 one of them now in command in America whom I should not 
 dread to see, yard-arm to yard-arm, in a sea-fight with this 
 Happy-go-Lucky. Our brave sea-dogs have given place to 
 court-monkeys and the powdend popinjays whose only merit 
 seems to be in their ready adoption of all the frills and furbelows 
 of France." 
 
 " My dear cassique, you are quite too severe upon our maca- 
 onies. These powdere-i monkeys will fight." 
 
 " So they will. But we need conduct as well as valor, and we 
 can have no conduct without the capacity, and this depends upon 
 the hard school, the apprenticeship of seven years, which trains 
 them to the use of every faculty and every art, so that they shall 
 in action work rather by will and intuition than by thought. It is 
 
GLIMPSES OF THE CASSIQUE. 127 
 
 the lack of these that has made us succumb to Dutch, French, 
 and Spaniard, in turn ; and but for these unlicensed rovers, who 
 as>ert the manhood of the nation in spite of its laws, the honor of 
 Britain would too frequently lie upon a puppy s sleeve, for every 
 daw to pluck at. I would it were that the British crown were 
 honestly at war with France and Spain, so that we could legiti 
 mate the valor of these cruisers, and appropriate their gallantry 
 to the country s honor. As it is, I should grieve to see this fellow 
 Calvert strung up to the gallows, when, as a mere deed of valor, 
 his crime would rather merit star and garter. But we must 
 beware how we mock at law. Law is the most sacred thing 
 known to society. The moment we hold it in irreverence, that 
 moment we open all the floodgates of license, and Anarchy pours 
 in her conflicting torrents to the breaking down of all the securi 
 ties that keep the race from ruin." 
 
 " Ah ! true, and very eloquently spoken, my dear cassique," 
 answered the governor languidly, with difficulty suppressing a 
 yawn. " Law is a very important matter in society. We, who 
 hold offices of such high function, ought never to forget the laws 
 no! Of course, we must bring these pirates to the gallows 
 this fellow Calvert especially ; though, I confess with you I should 
 much rather see him commissioned in a king s cruiser, and doing 
 a still larger business among the Spanish galleons." 
 
 Enough. There was more said ; there was some business done 
 between the parties. Papers were exchanged and signed. Money 
 was confided to his excellency by the cassique. There were notes 
 taken touching the Westo and other tribes of red men in the im 
 mediate precinct, who had already given the colony some trouble. 
 But we do not care to state more than absolutely concerns our 
 narrative. 
 
 The cassique of Kiawah took his departure, and the governor 
 suffered Calvert to emerge from his retreat. 
 
128 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SHOWING PROGRESS BUT NO ACTION. 
 
 " We must bait awhile, 
 
 For a new journey pause and look around, 
 Ere we depart anew through unknown paths." 
 
 "WELL, my dear fellow, you hear what the cassique of Kiawah 
 has to say in regard to your case. You see that, but for the Span 
 ish influence at court, we should have no trouble at the hands of 
 public opinion, either here or at home. You have the popular 
 sympathies. Here, were the citizens alone concerned, you might 
 walk the streets in broad daylight. As the matter stands, you 
 must needs be cautious. Our honor, my dear captain, requires 
 that we should hang you up, without benefit of the clergy, should 
 you force upon us the knowledge of your presence ! And there 
 is no need that you should do this. You are not one of those 
 macaronies who insist upon their proportions being seen who 
 are never satisfied unless they can spread broad tails, peacock- 
 fashion, and scream aloud, in advance of their approach, the claims 
 that they possess upon public admiration. In short, my dear cap 
 tain, the business is a good one to be continued with only that 
 degree of modesty which forbears to trumpet to the world the 
 extent of our profits." 
 
 " I see I see !" was all the answer Calvert made to this speech. 
 He proceeded abruptly : 
 
 " I should like to have seen this cassique of Kiawah. There 
 was something in his voice that persuades me that I have seen 
 him before. What s his age appearance seeming?" 
 
 " Some thirty-five a fine-looking fellow ; not unlike yourself 
 in build, though not quite so tall say five feet ten ; and, by-the- 
 way, it struck me, when we spoke of him before, that there was a 
 
SHOWING PROGRESS BUT NO ACTION. 129 
 
 something of likeness between you a something, I know not ex 
 actly what, in the cut of the jib pardon me the nautical compari 
 son a something in nose, and eyes, and mouth, very like between 
 you. No disparagement in the comparison, let me tell you, for 
 our cassique has quite a nobleman look and bearing." 
 
 " His voice is peculiar." 
 
 " Deep, sonorous, something sad. The fact is, his voice makes 
 me think that he has a thorn somewhere in his side that pricks 
 keenly. He s one of those restless men, for ever engaging in 
 something new, whom I always suspect of some secret grief. He 
 is feverishly active; works at all sorts of schemes never stops 
 work and is somewhat wild in his choice of labor. Why the 
 devil should he work, and so restlessly, if there be not some irking 
 barb in his vitals? He is rich, does not seem to value money 
 certainly does not work with regard to the money profits ; could 
 live at ease, enjoy himself, and let us enjoy ourselves, if he pleased. 
 Why should he bother himself with the reform of Indians, new 
 experiments in culture, introduction of large stocks into the coun 
 try, and fine varieties, which these very savages will be sure to 
 slaughter nightly in his ranges ?" 
 
 " Nay, I see not why he should not be moved by philanthropy." 
 
 The governor lifted his eyebrows with a ludicrous stare. 
 
 " Do you believe in that sort of stuff as a motive ?" 
 
 " Yes, with insane people." 
 
 " But he s none of your insane ones, I tell you. He s devilish 
 shrewd, methodical, calculating, in spite of all his nonsense of 
 philanthropy/ 
 
 " He has a wife, you say ?" 
 
 " Yes, and child." 
 
 " You have seen her ?" 
 
 " Yes but once, on her first arrival : a pale, sad, silent looking 
 woman." 
 
 " But that might have been the effects of the sea-voyage." 
 
 " Hardly. No ! her looks are habitually sad, they tell me, who 
 have seen more of her than I have. Middleton, who has lands 
 near them, and sees them often, made the same remark to me. 
 My own notion is, that our cassique is something of a domestic 
 tyrant. He is certainly the man to make himself the law to his 
 own household. There is a mother along with them mother of 
 
 6* 
 
130 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the lady who looks as if she had a tongue in her head ; carries 
 an eye as sharp as a fiery arrow ; and wears just the look of one 
 to whom rule comes naturally, and who would bear no tongue- 
 music not of her own making. Between the two, the wife seems 
 destined to the fate of the tender grain between the upper and 
 nether millstone." 
 
 " Does she ever come to the town ?" 
 
 " Rarely." 
 
 "Yet lives at so small a distance not twenty miles, I think 
 you said?" 
 
 " Not fifteen ! Oh, be sure, Major Berkeley is lord as well as 
 cassique. He keeps the rein tightly within his own hands, and, 
 so far as his wife is concerned, needs no effort to do so. It is 
 otherwise, I fancy, with the old lady, who, I suspect, frequently 
 catches up the ribands, and puts a barb into the leader. But we 
 need waste no more words upon our cassique. He s shrewd, and 
 sensible, and authoritative, but I can manage him. You heard 
 how cleverly I threw him off, when he would have had me make 
 proclamation of the reward for your capture ?" 
 
 "Yes! you were prompt, and the reason given was a good 
 one." 
 
 " Hushed him directly ! But I must leave you now. I have 
 to see some of our Indian traders, who are about setting out for 
 the Cherokees. You will lie perdu for awhile." 
 
 " Till night, when I must go forth to receive a cargo. You 
 shall have a supply of fruits to-night for the table of your lady." 
 
 "And she will have the honor of receiving you at supper. 
 Unfortunately, with this vigilant committee on the watch, she will 
 not be able to find you better company. You must be as little 
 seen as possible." 
 
 " There could be no company more grateful than herself." 
 
 " Ah ! you might have been a courtier, captain." 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 " Not a whit of it ! But I do not say you have mistaken you 
 vocation. I only wish we were able to put you in a position to 
 combine the two yours and mine! But we are in alliance, and 
 that is next to it. Now, take care of yourself. There s your 
 retreat, should any one call. And you will find good liquors in 
 yonder recess Jamaica for your fiery moments, Madeira for 
 
SHOWING PROGRESS BUT NO ACTION. 131 
 
 your courtly moods, and good sedative brown stout if you hap 
 to be contemplative. As our Saxons were wont to say, Drink 
 wael, drink hael, which I take to mean, * Drink well, and long 
 life to you, or something like it. Au revoir /" 
 
 It was a long morning to Calvert, unemployed and almost un- 
 companioned, in the solitude of the governor s private chamber. 
 But he had his excellency to himself over a bottle of Madeira 
 after dinner the latter being served to him secretly by miladi 
 herself, who, however, could give the rover but few moments of 
 her presence. We need not report the further dialogues that day 
 with his excellency. Soon as night set in fairly, our cruiser sal 
 lied forth, found his way to Franks quarters, had a long business 
 talk with that burly personage, and the two went forth together in 
 the direction of the well-shadowed lagune where the boat was 
 expected. But as our captain did not linger here very long, and 
 as he is expected elsewhere, let us turn our steps in a new quar 
 ter, where we shall see that due preparation has been made lor 
 his reception. 
 
132 THE CA8SIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MRS. PERKINS ANDERSON. 
 
 " There s still a place at the board for all of us : 
 Go forward ! all arc masked." 
 
 WE are wont to say, with no great sagacity, that the world is 
 made up of all sorts of people. We know that it takes a mon 
 strous variety of all sorts to make up the commonest sort of world. 
 Even our new communities, planted in the wilderness, on the edge 
 of heathen lands, must have their castes, their classes, their shades, 
 degrees, and inequalities. Blackguards, for example, are a neces 
 sary element, one of the most necessary. We could not well do 
 without them. There is a great deal - dirty work to be done in 
 new communities not so much, perhaps, as in old ones which 
 requires this very sort of agency. In the new communities, we need 
 even a greater degree of ruffianism than mere blackguardism, and 
 are always sure to have it. Your pioneer population are of this 
 latter order in large proportion ; and it does not work amiss, and is 
 very far from out of place, when you reflect upon the sort of work 
 which requires to be done. Your fine, nice, polished, smooth gentry, 
 never become pioneers, never explore, never have enterprise, never 
 found new empires, or exhibit those masculine traits which alone 
 grapple with lions and hydras, and cleanse Augean stables ! It 
 needs for this a rough, unlicked sort of manhood, the muscle of 
 which is never restrainable by morocco slippers and soft kid gloves 
 Your ancient Hellenes, Pelasgians, Etrurians, and what not, were 
 blackguards and ruffians at the beginning, just like ours though 
 they fined down so beautifully, at last, into model poets, philoso 
 phers, and statesmen. Your sturdy old Romans, who first drove 
 their stakes into the Seven hills, were admirable scamps, every 
 man of them, to whom robbery was a glorious sort of manly exer- 
 
MRS. PERKINS ANDERSON. 
 
 cise, and rape only a pleasant step upward the first great stride 
 made to a most wonderful civilization ! Smith s people, when 
 he founded Jamestown, were great rapscallions ; and the puritans, 
 shod with holiness, though covered with hypocrisy, were the most 
 atrocious barbarians that ever cut throats, bought scalps, burned 
 witches, pilloried quakers, and sold the women and children of the 
 red princes into slavery, after they had butchered their papas and 
 husbands ! And all these bold ruffians and blackguards, if you 
 believe them, do their dirty work for the glory of some God or 
 other Jupiter or Jehovah it matters not much which to 
 them ! This is a necessary fiction of all society at its first begin 
 nings. 
 
 And, even as you see, where the tiger rages, and the snake 
 crawls, and the frog hops, and the obscene birds prey on garbage, 
 the lacquered butterfly flickering in air, and hear the plaintive 
 cooing of innocent doves, and forget yourselves in the spontaneous 
 gushes of song from gay, glad birds of the sunshine so, in soci 
 ety, even where the ruffians and the blackguards most congre 
 gate, you happen upon choice and generous spirits, brave master 
 minds of men, gentle as well as brave ; and sweet ministers of 
 love in the guise of innocent women ; and gaudy butterflies of 
 fashion ; macaronies, dandies, flirts, and harlots ; all breathing one 
 physical atmosphere, though all at odds ; removed from commun 
 ion of moral by thousand leagues of gulf and desert in society ! 
 
 And as new society, when a mere offshoot from an old, seeks 
 always to emulate the mother-circle, so you may take for granted 
 that, however new, the infant community will show you the same 
 moral aspects precisely which are most apparent in the old. The 
 fashion of the garments may be more stale, but the soul of the 
 wearer will be of the same ancient type. There will be less pol 
 ish among the would-be fine ; less learning among the would-be 
 wise ; less grace among the fashionable ; and less scruple, exteri 
 orly, among the ruffianly and scampish. A course of training, in 
 a growing community, will, however, gradually bring up the stand 
 ards of the ambitious ; the fashionables will refine ; and the scamps 
 and outlaws will adopt garments of greater cleanliness and more 
 pacific appearance disguising with hypocrisy the vicious quali 
 ties which it is not yet their profit to abandon, or in their power 
 to overcome. This is the tribute which they will pay to the grow- 
 
134 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 ing virtues of the social sphere, which they still in some degree 
 pollute. 
 
 Now, we have already hinted to you that, in our Lumble little 
 colony on the banks of the Cooper and the Ashley, even at this 
 early period, in less than thirty years from its first foundation, we 
 have our castes and classes our orders of nobility our aristoc 
 racies our fashionables and what nots ! The patent nobility 
 palatines, landgraves, cassiques, barons are such, of course, 
 by law. They are the legitimates. Nobody questions their right 
 to place. The landgrave s or cassique s carriage stops the way, 
 but no plebeian tongue cries aloud ! The fashionables follow close 
 upon the heels of these wealthy parvenues who, if they can 
 keep and transmit their wealth to another generation, raise them 
 to a prescriptive class also ; and these are your noble commoners. 
 This is a history. It is the history in Carolina. 
 
 Now, dear friends, do not be surprised when we tell you that, 
 next to our patent nobility, the highest order was that of the In 
 dian traders. The Indian traders of 1684, and down thence to 
 1770, ranked second to the local noblesse. They did a. flourish 
 ing business ; they ushered in the first merchants. They were 
 bold adventurers, chiefly of the class called Scotch-Irish, who pos 
 sessed a hardy enterprise, great personal courage ; were shrewd, 
 intelligent, and cautious ; not learned, but possessed of mother- 
 wit ; were greedy of gain, and ready to risk life upon it ; but am 
 bitious of social position, and not unwilling to peril for it that 
 which was more precious than life, money ! They aimed af some 
 thing (and this is a right ambition) of social position for themselves 
 and their descendants. They preceded and paved the way for a 
 bold and liberal commercial enterprise, for which they made the 
 forests furnish the materiel. The Indian trade, which had already 
 begun to extend to the remote regions of the Choctaws and Chiek- 
 asaws, seven hundred miles from Charleston, as well as to the 
 nearer country of the Muscoghees, Cherokees, and Floridia/is 
 in other words, on every hand was a greatly profitable one. 
 The simple red man could be won by a knife, a hatchet, a bell, a 
 medal, a tin pan, or a copper kettle, to exchange the choicest furs 
 and skins with his white brother from the East. So profitable 
 was the business, that the governors of the colony, and the chief 
 people, were fain to participate in the trade ; and it was rather 
 
MRS. PERKINS ANDERSON. 135 
 
 with the view to this trade that treaties were made with the red 
 men, followed by nominal purchases of that territory, for which 
 the red men themselves could make no title, and which they dared 
 n ? . attempt to occupy. The whites bought immunity, rather than 
 land. 
 
 Now, while ( ir hands are in for it, let us tell you, though it be 
 episodical, that these Indian traders, from a very early period, 
 exercised a large influence, not only over the Indians, but in 
 bringing about those events which aifected the European strug 
 gles for ascendency in America. Could the court of England 
 have cast off, as so many worthless old slippers, their worthless 
 courtiers to whom they confided most of the colonial governments 
 in America, and given their trusts chiefly to these Scotch or 
 Scoto-Irish adventurers, thousands of lives would have been saved 
 from butchery, millions of dollars kept in the treasury, and the 
 miseries which belong to the caprices of an uncertain Indian war 
 upon a wild frontier would have been escaped. The French 
 would, moreover, have been beaten out of the country almost as 
 soon as they appeared in it. 
 
 It was in vain that these bold, red-headed adventurers wrote, 
 and memorialized, and undertook to teach, the silken courtiers to 
 whom the colonies were confided, the true state of the case the 
 true nature of the red men the processes by which to win their 
 hearts or to subdue their arms. It was in vain that these traders 
 showed them, by frequent examples, how peace was to be made, 
 and war carried on ; for they traversed the Indian country with 
 little danger to themselves avowed that they knew no danger, 
 and never suffered harm, till the blunders of the governors made 
 the white race absolutely contemptible in the eyes of the savage. 
 These white adventurers were found ready and capable to raise 
 an Indian force, in the heart of Choctaw and Chickasaw settle 
 ments to lead the red men successfully against the French on 
 the Alabama, the Tombeckbe, and the Meschacebe capable of a 
 patriotism which could prompt them to use their stock in trade as 
 presents to subsidize the savages and reconcile them, when their 
 blood was boiling for war, and when the young warriors had al 
 ready struck the tomahawk in the painted tree. Neither example 
 nor exhortation availed ; and most of the bloodshed along the fron 
 tiers was due to the gross incompetence of the white authorities to 
 
136 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 their vanity, love of show, insolence, and ignorance, which led them 
 to outrage the red men with scorn and insist, and then to recoil, 
 like tirnid children, at the warwhoop and the painted warrior whom 
 they had aroused, without preparing for the presence which they 
 conjured incapable of wisdom, strength, or courage, when they 
 had themselves provoked the strife ! This much for the Indian 
 traders, whom we must not suffer to be disparaged by a presenta 
 tion of the simple idea of trade in their connection. On this trade 
 they perilled life, and in its prosecution they exercised a firm will, 
 a noble courage, an energy, vigilance, caution, and shrewd inge 
 nuity, which endowed them finally with a capital of character 
 such as few educational institutions of the civilized world could 
 possibly impart ; and they thus raised trade to the dignity of wat 
 and statesmanship to a moral status which, per se, it never could 
 assert. 
 
 Such were these traders from the beginning. In 1684, their 
 number was comparatively small. It grew rapidly, however, far 
 in proportion beyond the growth of the colonies. Between 1700 
 and 1770, they constituted something like a small army. But 
 their profits were less than in the early period of which we 
 write. 
 
 Perkins Anderson was one of the most prosperous of these In 
 dian traders at this time (1684). The governors of Carolina had, 
 severally, a sort of secret partnership with Perkins Anderson for 
 the profits of this trade. They conciliated Perkins Anderson. 
 He, Perkins, was not unwilling to be conciliated. The governor 
 got his profits. The furs and skins came down from the interior, 
 consigned to him or to his agent ; and, in the benevolence of his 
 heart, thus softened by certain quarterly profits, the governor low 
 ered his social dignity, and Mrs. Perkins Anderson was graciously 
 welcomed in the parlor and at the parties of Lady Quarry, wife 
 of his excellency the governor. Of course, Perkins was not dis 
 pleased with this recognition of his wife ; but, if the truth were 
 known, he would not have cared a button though a lady of quality 
 never once looked on the lady of the Indian trader. He was too 
 sedulous in pursuit of the main chance, to give much heed to the 
 butterfly enjoyments of your tripping, gay citizens. 
 
 Far otherwise with Mrs. Perkins Anderson. She was just the 
 creature for it to whom such a life had become a sort of neces- 
 
MRS. PERKINS ANDERSON. 137 
 
 Bity. She had graduated for society as an Edinburgh mantua- 
 maker, or milliner, and in this capacity Perkins had picked her 
 up. She was the very person to know something about irsss, 
 and to love it. Her costume always came from London. She 
 &ad th.2 first advices of the last fashions. She set the mode on 
 Ashley river, just one hundred and seventy years age ! "We 
 should surely venerate her memory. 
 
 She had a laudable ambition to shine in society. She visited 
 the governor s lady ; and, though not exactly acknowledged by 
 the Mortons, the Middletons, the Berkeleys, and other folks who 
 claimed to have been burn in the shadow of the purple, if not 
 absolutely within its folds, they were yet compelled to hear of her 
 as a sort of rival for the social rule in Charleston. She was at 
 home everywhere in the immediate precincts of the town. It was 
 only at the baronial seats that she had no entree. Whether she 
 cared for it or not is hardly a matter of concern. She made the 
 most of her own province. She gave balls and parties, and had 
 her evenings, just as such people have them now. She knew, 
 too, the value of a supper in conciliating affections and melting 
 granitic pride and moral, and her suppers were a model and a 
 proverb all over town. Mrs. Perkins Anderson was herself a 
 model. 
 
 Poor thing ! we must not blame her. Perkins was absent some 
 ten months every year, and, when at home, was not exigent as a 
 husband. He had his consolations, and why should she not have 
 hers ? He had a wife in each of the tribes one at Euchee, an 
 other at Echotee, another at Tuckabatchie, another at Highwis- 
 see, and he acknowledged to half a dozen more lamenting, to 
 his Caucasian dame, the painful necessity which required that, 
 for his safety, he should take a wife in every tribe with which 
 he traded. And there may have been some truth in his story. 
 It is very certain that, among the red chiefs, sooner than a 
 white brother should go without a wife, each would give his 
 own ; and that, too, with a cheerful resignation which was almost 
 Christian ! 
 
 And it was beautiful to see the cheerful resignation with which 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson submitted to these dispensations of love, 
 made on behalf of her husband ; beautiful the meekness with 
 which she bore his annual ten months absence ; delightful to 
 
138 THE CASSETTE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 note how readily she received all his pleas, excuses, and pre 
 tences ; admirable to see how happily she contrived to console 
 herself under her privation, by cheerfully yielding herself to 
 the claims of society on every side. Verily, she was a model 
 woman. 
 
 And now let us show the uses we have for Mrs. Perkins An 
 derson. She has just returned from a drive that afternoon " up 
 the path" that being the fashionable route in those primitive 
 days, when we had no " Battery." But it was a glorious drive, 
 notwithstanding that it lay very much within the original grace 
 of Nature, The road had been simply cut through a forest of 
 live oaks and other noble trees, counting their lives by centuries. 
 Their branches met and interweaved across the road, festooned 
 with moss, and spanned the space between, making a grand Gothic 
 archway, shutting out the sun. As old Archdale (himself a land 
 grave) wrote, at a later period "No prince in Europe hath such 
 an avenue in all his dominions." 
 
 Well, Mrs. Perkins Anderson had just returned from her even 
 ing drive, in her stately, lumbering English carriage of that date, 
 drawn by two noble grays. Her carriage bore a lion for its crest, 
 though what Perkins or herself had ever to do with lions nobody 
 could say. Her livery was green and gold. Her style was ad 
 mitted to be exactly the thing. The whole establishment was 
 what the English fine-vulgar would call " a dem d elegant turn 
 out !" 
 
 Well, she had returned from her drive, had left the carriage 
 was entering her dwelling one of the best in town, somewhere 
 near the corner of Church and Tradd streets, as we have them 
 now when she found our "ancient mariner," Franks, awaiting 
 her at the door. At a signal, he followed her into the house, 
 and might have said a dozen words scarcely more when he 
 might have been seen backing out of the dwelling, making most 
 formal bows until he was fairly in the street, and the door shut 
 upon him. 
 
 These dozen words were of peculiar potency. Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson remained at home that night yet received no com 
 pany. Externally, the house was in utter darkness. The ser 
 vants were allowed to depart, having a holyday from the mistress 
 in her amiable mood ; and, at a certain hour, the door has 
 
MRS. PERKINS ANDERSON. 
 
 been opened by the fair lady herself, to admit two sturdy seamen, 
 bearing a basket of such dimensions, that we can recall no fellow 
 to it, save that which enabled Falstaff to escape the keen scrutiny 
 and cudgel of good Master Ford. This was filled with fruits of 
 Cuba, then rare in the market. It may have been an hour later, 
 when the door opened again, and this tirns to admit our rover, 
 the gallant Captain Calvert. 
 
1-iO THE CA3SIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 
 
 " To sigh, yet feel no pain ; 
 
 To weep, yet scarce know why; 
 To sport an hour with Beauty s chain, 
 
 Then fling it idly by" 
 This is love, according to Moore, 
 Over which nobody needs to cry ! 
 
 MRS. PERKINS ANDERSON herself, clad in her happiest style 
 bracelets on her arms, brilliants on bosom and finger received 
 our rover at the entrance, and hastily drew him into the dwelling. 
 They walked together through a dark passage, her hands grasping 
 his affectionately, and leading him on to an apartment in the rear 
 of the building, which, the shutters all being carefully closed, was 
 brilliantly lighted with wax-candles. The room was, for that day 
 and region, a handsomely-furnished one. London had supplied 
 some of its best styles of furniture in the Elizabethan fashion 
 great-backed mahogany chairs, massive, such as might befit a cor 
 onation ; and massive tables ; and a tall clock in the corner, large 
 enough for the halls of Gog and Magog ; and great oval mirrors 
 against the walls, environed with richly-gilded frames, beautifully 
 carved with leaves of oak, interspersed with golden acorns. From 
 these samples, suppose the rest of the catalogue. A luxurious 
 chair received the lady, and another of the same pattern, wheeled 
 in front of her, was occupied by our captain of the " Happy-go- 
 Lucky." 
 
 The lady was frank and joyous, and glowed apparently with 
 the happiness she felt at the presence of her visiter. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you again, my dear captain ! This is a 
 real pleasure. You have been so long absent ! But let me thank 
 you at once for that beautiful present of fruits. They are deli- 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 141 
 
 cuus. But, to see you again, and looking so well, makes me at 
 once forget the long time of expectation the weariness of wait 
 ing. You know I count you as among my dearest friends, and 
 will believe me when I assure you that I have looked and longed 
 often for the pleasure of this meeting." 
 
 And the lady again took the hands of our captain, and smiled 
 most sweetly in his very eyes. 
 
 " You are kind," he said, " kind as ever. And I am rejoiced 
 to find that a gay life, constant society, and increase of wealth, 
 have not made you forgetful of old friends." 
 
 " How should they ? It is they who make life precious ; show 
 the uses of wealth ; give the charm to society. Now that you are 
 come, we shall have a merry time of it. We have, indeed, a gay 
 circle here many very clever and interesting people ; we con 
 stantly meet, and there is quite a struggle already as to who shall 
 give the gayest parties." 
 
 " You are aware that I am forbidden to go into society par 
 ities especially ?" 
 
 " Forbidden ! how why ?" 
 
 " My health !" 
 
 "Pshaw! what nonsense ! You were never looking better 
 never more handsome !" 
 
 " Thank you. Perhaps I should say my life, rather than health, 
 depends upon my not being seen in public." 
 
 " Ah ! I understand you. Franks warned me to be cautious, 
 and to send the servants off. But, my dear captain, are not these 
 precautions very ridiculous ? What have you to fear ? what have 
 you been doing ?" 
 
 " Nothing worse than I have done before. But the court of 
 England has suddenly grown virtuous, and sensitive to the royal 
 pledges ; and the crown has taught the proprietary lords to trans 
 late privateer into pirate, and especially to consider one Cap 
 tain Calvert a particular offender of the latter class simply for 
 not pulling down the British jack in obedience to the shot of a 
 royal packet of Castile." 
 
 " And why should you ? What ! the British flag go down be 
 fore a Spaniard ? I hope you sunk her !" 
 
 " The very thing I did. But our royal sovereign does not share 
 the spirit of his people, and the Spanish embassador has had influ- 
 
142 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ence enougt to get me outlawed. So that, my dear Mrs. An 
 derson, I am in your power : you see how much I rely upon 
 your friendship ! You have only to report my presence here to 
 any of the council, and you win a purse of five hundred pounds, 
 and consign me to dungeon and scaffold." 
 
 " Ah ! with my help, you shall have no worse dungeon than 
 my dwelling its most sacred chamber. But what fools! Well, 
 one thing is certain : our people will never quarrel with you for 
 knocking the Spaniard on the head. You are quite safe with 
 us" 
 
 " Only so long as I keep unseen. I must make a cloak of the 
 night while in Charleston, and lie close by day. I might be safe 
 with your people ; but I am warned, by those who know, that it 
 will not do any longer to appear publicly among them. Youi 
 privy council are already on the watch to snare and take me ; 
 and, did they suspect my presence here now, you would soon hear 
 of the proclamation, and this would be followed by the search." 
 
 " I am so sorry ! I should so delight to have you at my party 
 on Thursday night ! What are we to do 1 I can hardly give 
 you up." 
 
 "I must forego the pleasure. But I ll tell you what I can do." 
 
 Well ?" 
 
 " I have my wife with me." 
 
 " What ! that little Mexican creature ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have but one." 
 
 This was said with the faintest effort at a smile. The speech 
 reminded Mrs. Perkins Anderson of the superior advantages pos 
 sessed by her own husband as an Indian trader. And she sighed, 
 as if in sympathy with the sad fortunes of the rover. But, in a 
 moment after, she said 
 
 " And she is here, with you ?" 
 
 " With your consent, she will be with you to-morrow night. 
 On the strength of your frequent invitations, I have brought her 
 with me this voyage. She begs your acceptance of these trifles." 
 
 He handed the lady a packet and a case. She opened both 
 with eagerness. The first contained a shawl one of those ex 
 quisite fabrics of the East which might be spread over a ch amber 
 as a carpet, yet could be crushed into the compass of a walnut- 
 shell ; the case, as it was opened, flashed out in a blaze from a 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 143 
 
 cluster of precious gems their spiritual brightness, so glowing 
 and ethereal, seeming to need, for confinement, that beautiful set 
 ting, in golden filagree, with which Mexican art, always wonder 
 ful in the execution of such works, had contrived to secure and 
 illustrate the gems ; the setting itself ingeniously devising that a 
 golden serpent, with mosaics on his back, should " wear a precious 
 jewel in its head" should gleam with two precious jewels for its 
 eyes and, twined about the fair neck of beauty, should rest its 
 gorgeous though monstrous head upon the heaving breast of whire 
 below. So were those jewelled birds, that were meant to sparkle 
 on her brow, to float above her hair, or to perch as a crest upon 
 the bracelets of her arm. 
 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson, though rich and accustomed to show, 
 was absolutely silenced by the astonishing beauty and evident 
 value of the gift. When she did speak her raptures, it was only 
 to find all superlatives wanting : 
 
 " Superb ! wonderful ! magnificent ! Oh, how beautiful ! I 
 never thought that there could be such exquisite fabrics. And 
 wought by these Mexicans and Spaniards ! It is wonderful." 
 
 Like a sagacious woman, she never once asked our rover how 
 he got them by what invasion of Spanish towns ; by what fierce 
 fight with galleons or frigates of Castile and Leon. But she made 
 some modest hesitation about accepting a gift so costly. 
 
 " Consider it only valuable as a gift of love, and then, the more 
 priceless, the more it becomes us to welcome and to wear it. It 
 is such, believe me. You have cheered many hours of my soli 
 tude, Charlotte, and you will no doubt contribute to make happy 
 the young creature, my wife, while she stays with you. Suffer 
 us to assure you in this manner for I deal, you are aware, but 
 little in professions that we have found your kindness much 
 more precious to us than these toys can ever be to any human 
 heart." 
 
 He pushed the jewels back to her as he spoke, and she silently 
 gathered them into the case and laid them with the shawl behind 
 her. Abruptly then, and with a greater degree of earnestness, 
 she said : 
 
 " Your tones are very sad, Harry. Is it ever to be thus ?" 
 
 " I suppose so !" 
 
 No content ?" 
 
144 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Save in the unrest which, so long as life lasts, must affcrd me 
 my only refuge from thought and disappointment." 
 
 " I would I could do something, Harry Calvert, to make you 
 more cheerful. Can I do nothing ? Is the heart utterly sealed ? 
 Is there to be no freedom for it ? And such a heart as yours ! 
 Oh, this life ! what a thing of contradictions ; of ill-assorted asso 
 ciations ; of ties that are bonds, not links ; and connections that 
 only chafe, and do not cheer ! Ah, Harry, what a life is mine ! 
 I am compelled to be frivolous, to escape the snares of feeling. 
 I could love ! I could surrender myself wholly to the one affec- 
 Jion, could I be sure of its faith ; but as I am " 
 
 " Charlotte, we have nothing to do with happiness. It comes, 
 or it does not come. It obeys no regulation. It is secured by no 
 plan, no wisdom, no fine scheme of thought, no human policy or 
 persuasion. The very caprices of life forbid the idea of happi 
 ness. We are to undergo an ordeal to work out a certain re 
 sult- -about which we ourselves have no certainty. We are in 
 the hands of a power in which our hands are powerless which 
 heeds little how we hope, or sigh, or dream, or suffer. We must 
 keep our hearts silent ; stifle what we can ; resign, as readily as 
 possible, what we can ; indulge in few expectations ; leave all that 
 we can to the Power whose will is absolute, and before which all 
 our purposes shrink into nothingness. I am not a fatalist, when 
 I believe in the Providence 
 
 * That shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will. 
 
 I have erred like the rest, but I am not getting obdurate. I have 
 simply survived hope at least in all things in this miserable 
 state of ordeal which we call life." 
 
 " Alas ! what a confession ! Survived hope ! Why, Harry, 
 even I, who claim to be disappointed also, have not survived 
 hope." 
 
 " Have you weighed it ?" 
 
 " No, Heaven forbid ! I simply let myself alone, and employ 
 the day as profitably for pleasure as I can." 
 
 " Why, so do I, and so does every man, woman, and child. 
 But who can see far enough ahead to resolve that the pleasure of 
 to-day will not be the pain of to-morrow ? Besides, we are be 
 ings of different grades. Some swim and sing through life, touch- 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 145 
 
 ing the sands lightly, as some little bird or insect ; others, with 
 sterner will, or heavier wing, dive deep, soar high, move rapidly, 
 and with too much earnestness, not to bruise themselves perpetu 
 ally in the superior violence of their effort. I am of this nature. 
 It is an enviable condition, that of a lightness which takes nothing 
 seriously which may be bird or butterfly, satisfied with a day s 
 exertion, and singing or soaring only for its little hour." 
 
 " And you hold me one of these creatures, Harry ?" 
 
 " No" 
 
 " You do, Harry Calvert you do ! But you know me not. 
 I live in the world I must live in it since I have hardly a 
 home. What is here? Beauty, you will say grandeur even, 
 for such a region and wealth. I have luxuries food trap 
 pings servants in abundance. But, Harry, need I say to you 
 that I am here in a solitude ? I am alone no home for I have 
 no companionship." 
 
 Our cruiser showed himself a little uneasy. He rose and paced 
 the room. The lady was growing sentimental. Tears were in 
 her eyes as she drew this melancholy picture of human desolation 
 in the case of one who flourished at all the balls of the season. 
 And there was that empressement in her manner which seemed 
 likely to compel his sympathies to a participation in her griefs. 
 He did not answer her, but silently strode the apartment to and 
 fro, never looking up. She rose and followed him, laid her hands 
 upon his shoulder, and continued, even more earnestly 
 
 " You do not believe me, Harry !" 
 
 " Why not ? Who can know where the serpent coils under 
 what flower ? who say how the heart writhes with secret tortures, 
 wearing yet a face wreathed in smiles ? I must not judge of your 
 case, having a sufficient knowledge of my own. But why speak 
 of either ? Can they be amended ?" 
 
 " Alas ! I know not. O Harry Calvert, I so long for sympa- 
 iny! This terrible isolation this waste of feeling this con 
 sciousness that our hearts give forth their waters, as fountains in 
 the desert, with none to see, or seek, or taste !" 
 
 " But the very fact that they flow proves life not unprofitable 
 life. In their own fullness they find content." 
 
 " Ah ! but they finally cease to flow, finding that they flow in 
 vain. The fountain chokes at last." 
 
 7 
 
146 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Unless an angel comes down at night to trouble it." 
 
 " Ah, would the angel come ! But why should this waste be ? 
 Why should the heart long in vain for the very nourishment 
 which is its only need and craving ? Why, of all these myriads 
 whom we could love, and whose love one might deserve and re 
 quite, should we still sigh in loneliness, thirsting for living waters 
 of love in vain ?" 
 
 It must not be denied that Mrs. Perkins Anderson was a very 
 interesting woman. Not exactly handsome scarcely pretty 
 she was yet interesting. She had a face which sparkled with ani 
 mation and intelligence ; she was short, but not bulky of figure, 
 and she dressed, as may be conjectured, to a marvel. And now, 
 as she indulges in the pathetic mood, she may reasonably imagine 
 that she must be irresistible. Certainly nothing can be more un 
 natural, in the case of a brave and gallant gentleman, than to 
 refuse his sympathies when Beauty weeps and when that Beauty 
 still keeps her youth, and when those tears are enforced by elo 
 quent pleadings of a warm fancy and a somewhat copious thought ! 
 For, though an ignorant woman, so far as early education is con 
 cerned ignorant of letters and science, and scarcely awakened 
 to the deep truths that lie in art Mrs. Perkins Anderson had so 
 lived, and was so susceptible of education, could so rapidly absorb 
 from life and society, and had such natural gifts, that, upon occa 
 sion, she could rise to eloquence. 
 
 She was destined to waste it on the present occasion. The 
 eyes of Harry Calvert settled upon her with a keen and searching 
 glance. He was no sentimentalist. His deep, earnest tones were 
 in unison with the stern, cold, troublesome query which he put. 
 
 " Of what, really, do you complain, Mrs. Anderson ?" 
 
 " Oh, do not, Harry, use an address so formal. We have known 
 each other too long have been tried friends too long for this \ 
 call me, I entreat you, as before call me Charlotte." 
 
 " Well, Charlotte, of what do you complain ?" 
 
 " Of bonds of fetters !" 
 
 He was dull of comprehension. 
 
 " Of what nature ?" 
 
 " I am the wife of one who loves me not." 
 
 The question that followed was a somewhat annoying one : 
 Do you love him ?" 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 147 
 
 " No !" cried the lady, grasping the arm of the inquirer, and 
 looking intently into his face " no, Harry, how should I ? In 
 what should he interest me? How should such as he control 
 affections such as mine? He, bent only on the acquisition of 
 money cold, selfish, indifferent leaving me lonely " 
 
 " Does he interest you when here ?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Then you are quits ; for it is clear, Charlotte, that you do 
 not interest him, or he would remain, in compliance with your 
 wishes." 
 
 The lady s cheeks flushed up to her eyes. 
 
 " But, Harry, do you hold me incapable of interest in the eyes 
 of a gentleman ?" 
 
 " Far from it ! At all events, you always interest me, and 
 never more than when I think you erring and unreasonable, as I 
 hold you now." 
 
 " Ah, Harry, that speech should only be made by a lover." 
 
 How very sweetly and tenderly the lady smiled as she uttered 
 this courteous reproach ! But there was no answering smile on 
 the face of our cruiser. He had long before sounded the lady s 
 shallows. She belongs to a well-known school, who use senti 
 ment, perhaps unconsciously to themselves, only as a cover for 
 passion. She probably deceived herself. We will suppose so, 
 through charity. Many do, no doubt, deceive themselves through 
 some such medium as sentiment. The class is somewhat increas 
 ing in modern times, since gradually society has begun to shake 
 off very generally the sense of duty. All idle women, having a 
 certain amount of smartness, and no children to attend to, and no 
 household duties to perform, or devolving all these upon servants, 
 are necessarily in this very danger. There is a gradual growth 
 of morbid sentimentality, which deals freely in this sort of sophis 
 tication, but which has its real root only in passion. Our rover 
 is himself a man of passion, but not a rover in this respect. His 
 passion is true, and therefore concentrative. All passions which 
 lack in concentrativeness are morbid, diseased, unresting, and ca 
 pricious, as those of a ground-sparrow. You may console the 
 broken heart in an hour, by giving exercise to the blood. Cap 
 tain Calvert was not pleased to echo the lady s sentimentalities 
 nay, he was rather lisposed to probe them. 
 
148 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Charlotte," he said coolly, but in the deepest tones of his sono 
 rous voice, "I repeat the question of what do you complain?" 
 
 " Have I not said of isolation, abandonment, indifference, neg 
 lect, on the part of him who ought to love me ?" 
 
 " But you have just as distinctly admitted that you do not love 
 him." 
 
 " Because he neglects me." 
 
 " But, Charlotte, did you ever love him ? Think, now, before 
 you speak. You knew him before you married. He was always 
 the same person a person nowise attractive, externally, to a 
 woman ; shrewd and persevering, but not intellectual ; nowise re 
 fined ; totally inelegant ; coarse of manner as of structure, and just 
 as cold, no doubt, and indifferent always. All this, Charlotte, I 
 have from your own report. Did you ever love this man ? What 
 was he, or had he, to win a woman s love your love ?" 
 
 " Alas ! I was a mere girl, Harry." 
 
 " A pretty old one," was Harry s secret suggestion, but he did 
 rot say it. 
 
 "You mean, by that, that you deceived yourself in the belief 
 that you did love him ?" 
 
 " Yes," very faintly. 
 
 " But, by the same process, you deceived him as well as your 
 self. May not the secret of his indifference be found in the fact 
 that he has discovered your secret? Now, Charlotte, he was 
 much more likely to have loved you than you him. You had at 
 tractions for the eyes of men. You had grace, vivacity, delicacy, 
 and intelligence. You had and have such charms as might 
 satisfy any man of proper taste and feelings. I think it probable 
 that Perkins Anderson had always a tenderer regard for you than 
 you for him. Nay, I think he still has. What does his life show 
 you ? He goes off into the wilderness, leaving you to loneliness 
 and isolation. Yet he leaves you in abundance ; he provides for 
 you sumptuously before he departs ; he raises you to a social state 
 which affords him individually no pleasure ; he is pleased to know 
 that you shine in society is pleased so to crown your home with 
 delights, and your person with ornaments, as that you shall neces 
 sarily shine in society. He, on the other hand, while he denies 
 himself your society, denies himself all these pleasures which he 
 leaves to you ; he penetrates the wilderness ; he perils his life 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS, 149 
 
 among the savages ; his life is one of daily toil and nightly anxie 
 ties : and these toils are taken, and these anxieties borne, you say, 
 in the pursuit of gain but the gain enures to you! He sends 
 his treasures home to you ; and, should he perish to-morrow, he 
 has already put you in possession of independence. Do you doubt 
 that this has been an object of his care knowing that his life is 
 at perpetual hazard that he yet finds his consolation in the fact 
 that he has made ample provision for you ? " 
 
 " As if money constituted the ample provisions of life !" the lady 
 said, somewhat scornfully and impatiently " as if life had noth 
 ing else for which to live ! as if mere bread, and meat, and fine 
 linen, could console a starving heart, nourish a withering affection, 
 requite and refresh the thirsting soul that seeks for love or noth 
 ing ! O Harry Calvert, is it from your lips that I hear such 
 approval of the most mercenary aims of life ?" 
 
 " Charlotte," said our rover, " I like you too well, am too much 
 your friend, to suffer you to fall into any delusions, either as re 
 gards yourself or me. In respect to myself, it will be safe to sup 
 pose that I have no sane purpose in life. I peril it, for gain, you 
 suppose ; but I fling away all the winnings of the game. My life 
 is profligate ; yet there is no passion which I pursue with hope or 
 expectation. If you will know it, the only passion which I ever 
 entertained, with all my heart, all my soul, all my strength, has 
 foiled and mocked me ; its arrow has shot into my soul, and left 
 nothing but a harrowing venom, that keeps me from sleep as it 
 keeps me from enjoyment. My energies are watchful and restless 
 ever, simply because my hurts allow me no repose. I toil and 
 adventure, not for gain for nothing, briefly but because I dare 
 not hope for rest !" 
 
 " And is it so, Harry Calvert ?" 
 
 " It is so ! And you ?" 
 
 " Ay, what of me ?" 
 
 " Your unhappiness is more the result of the absence of a true 
 care, than the presence of any earnest anxieties." 
 
 Oh, Harry !" 
 
 " It is so with thousands. You must not talk of disappointed 
 passions, unless you can assure me that you have had an object, 
 precious to all your affections ; the first and only always in your 
 thoughts ; a being for whom you could die ; for whom only you 
 
150 THE CARSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 would care to live before I can suppose you to be the sufferer 
 which you persuade yourself you are. There are very few per 
 sons who ever meet with such an object. A blind passion, eager 
 for satisfaction, will make does make this object for itself; 
 and hence the disappointments of life which is never to be satis 
 fied with lit 3, simply as it is ! Men and women marry, half the 
 time, through restlessness impatience of their actual condition ; 
 not through a desire for happiness for this is an object which 
 few persons seek. They seek rather the gratification of a desire 
 seek gold seek one another and, would seek more wisely, 
 were they governed in their search always by some honest passion, 
 having an object in its aim which had been already commended 
 to their sympathies and confidence. They too frequently seek in 
 marriage for the object, not for the object in marriage. Some 
 marry for bread and meat, which, having them, and not doubting 
 that they will continue to have them, they persuade themselves 
 that they despise ; others seek show, wealth, an establishment ; oth 
 ers the gratification of a wanton vanity, or a still more wanton lust !" 
 
 " Hush, Captain Calvert hush ! You are quite too free." 
 
 " You must not quarrel with truth. It is so seldom you can 
 get it. Well ! disappointment waits on most, and all that remains 
 to us is to economize the wreck of our affections ; to make the 
 most of our mistakes ; to resign ourselves, as patiently as possible, 
 to the fates which we have made. Believe me, you have as yet 
 suffered no disappointment of the heart, having not yet fastened 
 all its hopes upon some ideal creature, who has first warmed your 
 imagination and controlled your sympathies through your own 
 conception of a model husband." 
 
 " Ah, but I have, Harry !" with a deep sigh, and a look of the 
 tenderest interest "ah, but I have !" 
 
 " It is too late, now, Charlotte, either for that being or yourself, 
 supposing him to be still in existence." 
 
 " He is ! he is !" 
 
 " Better, then, for your sake, that he were dead !" 
 
 "Oh! why why? Dead!" 
 
 " You can never be the same to him as at the time when you 
 were unmarried to another." 
 
 " Ah, but I did not know him then. It was only when I came 
 to know him, that I found my present bonds were fetters." 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 151 
 
 " Still too late for both, since you can no longer bring him the 
 tribute of a virgin heart. How should he believe you ? how per 
 suade himself that the same fancies which deluded you to wed 
 another, will not, in their caprice, beguile you from him ?" 
 " Never, never, Harry Calvert ! I could die for him !" 
 11 Better live for yourself" he answered, gloomily. " Charlotte 
 Anderson, let us not be children. Let us be friends. Suffer me 
 to be yours. As a friend, I should be faithful to you to the last. 
 As a lover nay, were I even that particular person whom you 
 had made your ideal which is, of course, impossible I should 
 fly your presence as I would the pestilence !" 
 
 A deep sigh from the lady, who sank back in her chair at the 
 same moment, responded to his speech. Her eyes were gushing 
 with tears. He took her hand, and in softer accents said, touching 
 his own breast : 
 
 "Judge of the wreck here, Charlotte, when I tell you that this 
 young wife, whom I propose to bring to you, is one of the love 
 liest creatures whom your eyes erer beheld. She brought me 
 wealth, and such devotion as it was possible for such a child-soul 
 as hers to bring : yet would I now, a thousand times, cheerfully 
 give up life itself, to restore her to the condition the child- 
 place, and peace of mind, in which I found her, and whence, in 
 one of the phases of my insanity, I woo her to my arms. But I 
 can neither stab her with this truth, nor do the cowardice of sui 
 cide. It is no reproach to her charms when I say that I have no 
 joy in them as, at the same time, I tell you there are no charms 
 for me in life." 
 
 " Yet she is a beauty ?" 
 
 " Yes ! You will say so when you see her." 
 
 " A Mexican beauty ?" 
 
 " A Spanish beauty, of the purest blood." 
 
 " And loves you ?" 
 
 "I think so as far as so infantile a nature is capable of love 
 But to our conception of that master-passion it is scarcely in hear 
 power to rise. She is a creature all levity. Give her crowds: 
 she will live in a ballroom ; will dance without resting, nightly 
 all the night ; lov^s glitter, music, show ; loves admiration, gal 
 lantry" 
 
 " And you fear not to trust her with me ?" 
 
152 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 "Why should I fear?" 
 
 " Here, such a being as you describe her will have admiration 
 enough, and be liable to a thousand temptations. There are 
 younger sons of courtiers about town gallants who have taken 
 their lessons at the court of Charles, and boast of the patronage 
 of the duchess of Portsmouth. They are handsome fellows 
 macaronies dandies; as unscrupulous as handsome; bold and 
 audacious as gallant ; and possessed of all the arts which are so 
 apt to ensnare the unsophisticated female heart. Do you not fear 
 them ?" 
 
 " No ! In the very unsophistication of Zulieme, I am secure : 
 she is secure. Her faith in me assures my faith in her. The 
 very sports of her people, in which she has been trained, are an 
 additional security. She will not comprehend the language of 
 gallantry, except in the ear of her vanity. It will go no deeper. 
 Her heart can not be touched." 
 
 " She speaks our language ?" 
 
 "After a fashion brokenly, but prettily." 
 
 "Well, Harry, I will do for her all I can though I am not 
 suffered to do anything for her husband !" 
 
 " You will do for me, Charlotte, when you do for her. Franks 
 will bring her to you to-morrow night. And now, Charlotte, God 
 bless you, and send you relief from this unrest ! It is the unrest 
 that properly haunts all that lack an object that lack cares and 
 necessities. If you had children, now " 
 
 " Children ! Heaven forbid and by him ! Go, Harry Cal- 
 vert go ! You are a man without a heart." 
 
 " Would it were so, Charlotte ! But God bless you, and 
 make you wise enough to lose all memories which are trouble 
 some !" 
 
 The cavalier was gone. The lady sank back with a sigh, cov 
 ering her face with her hands. We must not ask what are the 
 thoughts and sorrows of one who has no cares. But, lest the 
 reader should suffer too much anxiety, from what he has seen 
 of her present state of feeling, we beg to mention that, in ten 
 minutes after, she was busily engaged locking the gorgeous neck 
 lace which Calvert had brought her, about her fair, white neck ; 
 trying the bracelets upon her arms ; weaving the diamonded bird- 
 
TENDER SYMPATHIES AND SITUATIONS. 158 
 
 crests in her hair; and, finally, folding the delicate shawl tastefully 
 about her shoulders, while she walked before the great oval mir 
 rors, watching with delight the beautiful effects produced by these 
 fine gifts. 
 
 " It is the loveliest shawl !" she exclaimed, as she reluctantly 
 folded it away in its original case. 
 
 7* 
 
154 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE CUP THE KISS ! 
 
 " It is the heart that consecrates ! No rite 
 Is sacred, or makes sacred, save in that 
 Where the affections minister, and Love 
 With whole heart hallows as the rite enjoins/ 
 
 WHEN Calvert left Mrs. Perkins Anderson, he proceeded *o a 
 meeting with Franks ; and the two together took their way to the 
 lagune in which the boats of the " Happy-go-Lucky" were wont 
 to seek safe harborage. Two of them had arrived, with full car 
 goes, which were transferred, in little time, on the shoulders of 
 the seamen, to the secret warehouse of Master Franks. Among 
 those w r ho came this time with the boats was Jack Belcher, with 
 whom, while the boats were unlading, our rover had a long pri 
 vate conference. That faithful retainer had a minute and inter 
 esting report to make. There were circumstances that made him 
 uneasy. He reported Lieutenant Molyneaux as still desperately 
 attentive to the fair Zulieme ; but this was not so much the cause 
 of his uneasiness. They had their dances, as usual, and the rough 
 Anglo-Saxon was not by any means reconciled, by the frequency 
 of the fandango, to the familiarities which it allowed. But, as his 
 superior saw nothing in this to cause apprehension or displeasure, 
 Belcher forebore reporting fully the measure of his indignation. 
 
 But there were more serious matters of suspicion, if not of mis 
 conduct, which had rendered him uneasy. He discovered, or 
 fancied that he discovered, that the said lieutenant discriminated, 
 with singular partiality, in the treatment of the crew. Some of 
 the sailors had no favor shown them. To others he was specially 
 indulgent ; and, with certain of these others, Jack Belcher discov 
 ered that the lieutenant was in frequent conference, privately, in 
 the woods. Some of these men were occasionally missing, and 
 
THE CUP THE KISS ! 155 
 
 on one of these occasions, one of the boats of the ship was missing 
 also. 
 
 Belcher reported the lieutenant as arbitrary in a degree amount 
 ing to tyranny, giving great offence to the sailors whom he did 
 not favor. He himself (Belcher), though not" strictly under the 
 authority of the lieutenant, as the private attendant and body- 
 servant of the captain, had been made to understand that he was 
 no favorite, and would be subjected to his regimen as soon as ever 
 he dared indulge in authority as fully as he evidently desired. ,It 
 was time, according to Belcher s opinion, that Captain Calvert 
 should resume the command of the ship. 
 
 This tallied well with the captain s purpose. 
 
 "I shall go up to-night, Jack. You will remain here with 
 Franks, lying close, and submitting to all his precautions." 
 
 To what Belcher said of Molyneaux, Calvert only responded 
 with contemptuous indignation in regard to the course of that 
 individual. 
 
 " The vain blockhead ! Now will he not be content till he gets 
 knocked upon the head. It is a pity, too, for the fellow is as 
 brave as he is impudent, and as good a seaman as he is a puppy 
 in his uniform. But, I have sounded him, and know just where 
 his oars catch crabs. Never you trouble yourself about him, 
 Jack ; but give me the names of the fellows with whom he con 
 sorts. Some of them I suspect already. Where do you suppose 
 the missing boat went, when she was taken off?" 
 
 "To town, sir where else?" 
 
 " Ah ! was she so long gone ?" 
 
 " Eighteen hours at the least." 
 
 " Indeed ! We must fathom that. Such visits might seriously 
 endanger us. But enough now. Let us rejoin Franks." 
 
 When they had returned to the lagune, they ound that the 
 landing of the goods had all been effected. 
 
 " Franks," said Calvert, drawing him aside, " have you that 
 stout hackney that I used to ride when I was here last ?" 
 
 4 Yes, sir, and as stout a beast as ever." 
 
 1 You must get him across the Ashley for me by to-morrow, 
 sometime. Who have you now at Oldtown ?" 
 
 " Gowdey. You remember him a queer fellow,. He lives 
 on the creek, above the town." 
 
156 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Is he trusty ?" 
 
 " True as steel." 
 
 " Anybody else at Oldtown now ?" 
 
 " Not a soul besides, that I know of. The Indians have burnt 
 down most of the houses, and the few left are in ruins. Gowdey 
 has a log-cabin : it was one of the old blocks just on the outskirts. 
 Fort Sayle, they, called it." 
 
 " I remember. Have the horse in Gowdey s hands to-morrow. 
 Do not spare any money. Be sure of it ! I must not be disap 
 pointed." 
 
 " It shall be done, sir. " 
 
 " Jack Belcher will remain with you, and help to sort and dis 
 tribute the goods. He knows all about it, better than either of 
 us. I leave you, for the present. To-morrow night, you will 
 receive my wife, and convey her carefully to Mrs. Perkins Ander 
 son. She is prepared to welcome her. It is barely possible that 
 I shall come myself. But let it matter nothing if I do not. You 
 and Jack can manage everything now." 
 
 And the captain of the cruiser stepped into one of the boats, 
 and gave the word for both to move. They rowed out of the 
 creek, but hoisted sail when they reached the river the wind 
 being favorable for its ascent going half the way " wing-and- 
 wing." It was about two in the morning when the cry was heard 
 from the watchman of the ship, " Boat, ahoy !" And the answer 
 was made in the deep voice of the captain, who soon scrambled 
 up on deck, and was welcomed by the officer of the watch. 
 
 This happened to be Lieutenant Eckles, whose welcome, by- 
 the-way, appeared to be a somewhat confused one, arising from a 
 certain fact which he chanced to know, and from which he appre 
 hended evil to his colleague, the first lieutenant. But, as Calvert 
 did not seem to notice the confusion of Eckles, we must not antici 
 pate. The latter, however, showed some eagerness to hurry be 
 low, when he had spoken with the captain ; but our rover arrested 
 him promptly. 
 
 * Keep your post, sir : you do not propose that I shall take the 
 watch off your hands !" 
 
 Thus speaking, he passed below himself, and, entering his cabin 
 suddenly, was confounded, not only to find the lights burning, but 
 to discover the fair Zulieme sitting up, and engaged, with Lieu- 
 
THE CUP THE KISS ! 157 
 
 tenant Molyneaux, at a Spanish game of cards, which the beaute 
 ous lady was teaching the ambitious Briton. They had heard 
 nothing of his arrival rtoo much absorbed, we may suppose, and 
 the vessel being head out from the creek where she ^y, and the 
 captain entering from forward. A decanter of Spanish wine stood 
 upon the table, and it was evident that Molyneaux had been im 
 bibing pleasure, if not instruction, in more ways than one. It was 
 a natural impulse of guilt that made him si art to his feet, in some 
 confusion, at the sight of his superior. He was otherwise bold 
 enough to face the devil. 
 
 " What do you here, sir," demanded the captain, " in my private 
 cabin?" 
 
 Zulieme answered, with equal coolness and simplicity 
 
 " I asked him in, Harry, to play with me." 
 
 " He should have known better than to have accepted your in 
 vitation. This is no place for him, and he knows it. But that I 
 know you so well, Zulieme, I had cut his throat and yours too. 
 Away, sir, to your own quarters, and see that you do not repeat 
 this offence at any invitation !" 
 
 The lieutenant glared savagely upon the speaker as he passed 
 out, but prudence prevailed with him for once, and he was silent. 
 Calvert saw the expression of his face, and simply muttered to 
 himself 
 
 " The time is not yet come !" 
 
 Meanwhile, Zulieme had sprung up also, her black eyes flash 
 ing with indignation, and her little figure trembling with the same 
 feeliir g. 
 
 " And you come, Harry, only to be a brute ! Pray, what s the 
 harm of Molyneaux coming to play with me and when I askeJ 
 him, too?" 
 
 ** Harm ! But what s the use ? She can never understand ! * 
 
 "What s that I can t understand, Harry?" 
 
 " That among our brute English, my lieutenant has no business, 
 at midnight, in the chamber of my wife. And I repeat to you 
 that, were you any but the woman that you are, I should have 
 not only cut Mr. Molyneaux throat, but probably yours also." 
 
 " You horrid wretch ! And why do n t you do it ? And why 
 am I different from other women, I want to know ?" 
 
 " I am afraid that I can t teach you, Zulieme. But, you are. 
 
158 THE CASSTQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 This person, Molyneaux, knew that he was doing wrong, though 
 you did not. Does it not strike you as possible, Zulieme, that 
 there are men who would like to persuade you to do wrong ?" 
 
 "And for what? But that s always the way ! Everything s 
 wrong with you savage English. But what made you stay away 
 so long ? You ve been gone more than five days." 
 
 " It might as well have been five months. You have spent the 
 time happily enough." 
 
 " No ! I ve only danced and sung, and run in the woods till I 
 was tired, and scared too, for Mr. Molyneaux said that the red 
 Indians were all about." 
 
 " You were more safe in their hands than in his, silly one ! 
 But I am about to remove you from the danger of the red Indians, 
 and possibly from other dangers. Do you still wish to go to 
 Charleston ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear Harry, is it true ? Will you carry me ?" 
 
 " Or send you ! You shall go to-morrow night, if you please." 
 
 " Oh, why not to-night ?" And she leaped up and threw her 
 arms round the neck of the sombre man, and kissed him ; then 
 whirled about, and pirouetted, and threw herself into the intoxica 
 ting raptures of her most voluptuous Mexican dances, vainly en 
 treating him, in dumb show, to take the floor. 
 
 He looked at her with a countenance that saddened as he gazed. 
 The savage severity of face had passed off, and his look was now 
 of a subdued melancholy. It finally melted into a faint smile, 
 which her quick eyes eagerly detected. 
 
 " Ah, Harry, now you look good-natured again. You will re 
 ally take me with you to Charleston ?" 
 
 " Either take you or send you. I have made arrangements for 
 your reception there. Mrs. Perkins Anderson, an old acquaint 
 ance of mine, has invited you. She is quite a fine, fashionable 
 lady, who sees a great deal of company, and lives in the best style. 
 Under her chaperonage, you will enjoy the best opportunity of 
 seeing life in Charleston." 
 
 "And is she young, and gay, and pretty, and rich, Harry? 
 Does she give balls and dancing-parties ?" 
 
 "Ay, she does little else, and you will be in your element 
 But I must warn you that, in Charleston, you are not to be 
 known as Zulieme Calvert not to be known as my wife better 
 
THE CUP THE KISS ! 159 
 
 no* be known as a wife at all. My name is under ban in Charles 
 ton, A price is set upon my head." 
 
 " I won t go, Harry I won t ! Those brute English ! Oh, 
 no! Let s go anywhere else. Let s go from em go to Ha 
 vana, Harry that s a good Harry !" 
 
 " Alas ! Zulieme, a still greater price is set upon my head in 
 Havana. Here, they will pay for it but in pounds and dollars ; 
 there, in doubloons and joes." 
 
 " Why, Harry, what s to be done ? Better go back to Darien," 
 she answered, in temporary consternation. 
 
 " Nay, Zulieme, you will do as I counsel. I told you repeat 
 edly, before, what were the dangers of my life, everywhere ; but 
 you are a bad listener. You were angry with me because I did 
 not give you an opportunity at the festas of Havana, though you 
 saw how our vessel had to skulk along the coast, and only peep 
 into some of the Cuban harbors. And, though I showed you the 
 garote at Havana, and told you that five hundred ounces would 
 be paid by the governor to any one who would help him to adjust 
 its collar to my neck, you heard of nothing but the bull-fights of 
 * holy week the processions and the fandangos which were to 
 follow. As we entered the harbor of Charleston, I showed you 
 ihe gallows, and you were then told that here the governor was 
 prepared to give five hundred pounds to him who should help him 
 to rope me by the throat to its accursed beams ; yet you had pre 
 viously heard of the gay people of Charleston, and you gave no 
 heed to the hanging of your husband. Well, I have arranged for 
 your enjoying yourself in Charleston without respect to me." 
 
 " But we will not go there, Harry, or to Havana either, or any 
 where, if they hate you, Harry. We ll go back to the isthmus, 
 Harry, where we can dance as we please, and no garote and no 
 gallows for either you or me. O Harry, you talk as if I wished 
 you were dead ! You brute, Harry !" 
 
 " Nay, Zulieme, let it relieve you when I tell you that, in going 
 to Charleston, you do not increase my embarrassments in any 
 way. We shall not be seen together, or known in connection. 
 You shall be introduced, not as my wife, nor as any wife, but as a 
 young lady of Mexican family, friends to Mr. Perkins Anderson, 
 the famous Indian trader ; and you are to become the protege of 
 his wife. Now, Mrs. Perkins Anderson is a very fine woman* 
 
160 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 gay as a lark and frisky as a kitten, who has only one weakness 
 against which I would warn you. She fancies, all the while, that 
 she is wretched as a ground-mole, and gloomy as an wl that 
 knows not where to find a supper. If she tells you that she is 
 ready to die to commit suicide you have only to execute 
 some of your most dashing dances in her sight, or to admire her 
 new dresses, and she will forget all her sorrows. Bating this 
 weakness, she is a fine woman enough. Some think her very 
 pretty. She is very showy, very smart as well as showy, and 
 sometimes converses very brilliantly." 
 
 " Ah, Harry ! have you long known her ?" 
 
 tl Yes, several years." 
 
 " Ah ! she is your < Olive, then !" 
 
 He started up, gazed at the infantile speaker very sternly for a 
 moment, and then said : 
 
 " Zulieme, I have begged you never more to name to me that 
 name. Do not, if you would not vex as well as pain me." 
 
 " But, Harry " 
 
 " Not a word more !" 
 
 " Oh, you savage, Harry ! " 
 
 " Enough, Zulieme, that I try to content you with those things 
 which satisfy your heart. In Charleston you will enjoy yourself, 
 especially under the patronage of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. For 
 her sake, as well as mine, my name must be suppressed. She 
 will find you another. I shall see you occasionally. Now, get 
 you to bed, and beware how you again invite other men into the 
 privacies of my chamber. Remember that there are things, purely 
 domestic, which the Englishman, differing from almost all other 
 people, holds to be sacred. You, of all your race, will be the 
 last to understand this ; but let it suffice you that / tell you it is 
 so ! An Englishman s chamber is sacred, Zulieme ; his weapons 
 are sacred ; the cup from which he drinks is sacred ! See this 
 was to me an especially consecrated cup !" taking up one which 
 stood upon the table, half-filled with wine a silver cup, richly 
 chased just such a cup as loving godmothers give to children. 
 ..." It was the gift of a grandmother to a mother, of a mother to 
 me. Yet has it been polluted this night by the lips of one who, 
 even while he drank, meditated ill to you and me. It shall never 
 pollute my lips again !" 
 
THE CUP THE KISS ! 161 
 
 And he crushed the delicate vessel, with all its grouped vines 
 and fanciful figures, out of all shape, into a mass, by a single 
 nervous grasp of his powerful hand ! 
 
 " Why, Harry, are you mad 1 What harm has the cup done, 
 and it was so pretty ?" 
 
 " It is pretty in iny eyes no more it is no more sweet ! Now 
 understand. Zulieme, that we English hold domestic things to be 
 sacred ; we hold our chambers sacred our wives ; but if they 
 become polluted by other hands or lips, we crush them, however 
 beautiful or sweet once we crush them into nothingness, even 
 as I crush this cup! Go now! Sleep, dream, and wake, if 
 you please, to song and dance ; but, remember, that the most sa 
 cred thing, once polluted, becomes hateful to the sight and feelings 
 of the Englishman." 
 
 " You spiteful, awful Harry !" she cried, half-laughing, half- 
 sobbing, as she threw her arms about his neck. She would have 
 kissed him, but he put her away, and hurriedly left the cabin 
 murmuring, sotto voce, as he did so : 
 
 " I know not I have half a doubt no matter how innocent 
 she is that this impudent fellow has polluted her lips, even as 
 he has polluted my cup. I could suffer her kiss as a thoughtless 
 and innocent child ; but no not after his !" 
 
 Zulieme called after him, but he did not heed, perhaps did not 
 hear her. For a moment she appeared disposed to follow him ; 
 but " No, no !" she said, half-aloud ; " he is in his cross fit now. * 
 And, undressing herself, she went to bed, and in a little while had 
 sobbed herself to sleep. 
 
162 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAU. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SETTLING ACCOUNTS. 
 
 " Cassius. Must I endure all this ? 
 Brutus. Ay ! more ! Fret till your proud heart break 1" 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 " But there shall come an hour, 
 
 When Vengeance shall repay the wrongs of Power !" 
 
 "AND now," muttered Calvert, "for Lieutenant Molyneaux !" 
 
 That officer was on deck. He had relieved Eckles, and the 
 latter had just turned in ; but not before he had expressed his 
 misgivings to his colleague touching the discovery that the captain 
 had so recently made, and the consequences that would probably 
 follow. 
 
 " I warned you, my dear fellow," said the good-natured Eckles, 
 " but you are such a d d conceited blockhead, and so impu 
 dent, that you will listen to nothing till your head s off." 
 
 " Pooh !" answered the other, " who cares ? I am as good as 
 any man that ever stood on quarter-deck." 
 
 " Say, as great a monkey ! But you haven t heard the whole 
 of it. There 11 be more words to that tune." 
 
 "I m not afraid to trust my ears. Get to your hammock, 
 Eckles, and shut your own ears." 
 
 And Molyneaux lighted a cigar, and began his ordinary paces- 
 Eckles, yawning, disappeared below. 
 
 Spite of his expressed confidence, spite of his effrontery, Moly 
 neaux was not without his own misgivings. His conscience did 
 not sustain him. But the same conceit and impudence which 
 moved him so frequently to offend, sufficed to strengthen him usu 
 ally in the encounter with the consequences of his effrontery ; and 
 he nerved himself, with all his resources of blood and vanity, when 
 he beheld the tall person of his superior emerge from the cabin. 
 
 Thus armed and strengthened, he could not help the fancy that 
 
SETTLING ACCOUNTS. 163 
 
 Culvert had grown a foot since he had last seen Mm. His person 
 now seemed absolutely gigantic. He himself (Molyneaux) was a 
 trim, neatly-built, compact young fellow, active in great degree, 
 and vigorous for his gristle ; but, with all his vanity, he did not 
 deceive himself with the notion that he could, for a single instant, 
 maintain his ground in a grapple with our rover. He felt that 
 he was good at his weapon ; but he knew that so was Calvert 
 good at any weapon and so powerful, that, whether armed with 
 rapier or quarter-staff, he was likely to prove a dangerous enemy, 
 no matter with whom he fought. 
 
 These things were all thought over, in a moment, by our lieu 
 tenant. In truth, he had an awkward consciousness of guilt and 
 offence, irrespective of his presumption in regard to his superior s 
 wife, which compelled a continually-recurring reference to his re 
 sources, in the event of collision with that superior. His vanity, 
 his desire of power, his greed of gain, had all combined to involve 
 him in practices which, he well knew, if discovered, would justify 
 his principal in resorting to the most summary punishment. But, 
 as yet, these are secrets. He believes them to be so, at all events, 
 and in great degree they are. 
 
 Calvert, however, was growing suspicious ; but, with sufficient 
 grounds for suspicion, he had yet no proper clues for inquiry, and 
 no such evidence as would enable him to form a judgment. It 
 was his present policy to look for these clues. And Calvert, 
 proud, passionate, resolute, was yet cool enough, and a sufficiently- 
 trained man, to pursue the search with equal acuteness and dis 
 cretion. As yet, his purpose was by no means to push the young 
 offender to extremity. He was first to ascertain to what extent 
 the treachery of Molyneaux had been carried, and how many of 
 the crew had been corrupted. He did not doubt that there wa3 
 treachery, but whether it contemplated mere peculation, or an in 
 sane passion after the supreme power, was a question. The for 
 mer offence might be winked at in a service so indulgent the 
 latter never ! For the former, there were inild rebukes, and res 
 titution would suffice. The penalty of the superior offence lay at 
 the end of a rope, the swing of a yard-arm, or, in the event of 
 resistance, a sudden shot from a pistol, or the heavy stroke of a 
 cutlass. But just now, Calvert contemplated no such necessities. 
 He had first to make discoveries. 
 
164 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 He joined the young man where he stood, on ore side of the 
 quarter-deck looking out upon the shore. Molyneaux flung away 
 his cigar at his superior s approach, and braced himself for the 
 encounter, not exactly conceiving in what way it would come. He 
 was not left in doubt long. The voice of Calvert was mild in tone, 
 though firm and serious : 
 
 " Lieutenant Molyneaux, I had occasion to use some sharp lan 
 guage to you in my cabin. You will oblige me by giving me no 
 occasion in future to repeat the language. My cabin is sacred ; 
 but you are sufficiently well informed, as one of British blood, to 
 know what Englishmen hold sacred. Your offence consists, here, 
 in the knowledge that you do and must offend. I should pay but 
 a sorry compliment to your intelligence to suppose you ignorant 
 of this." 
 
 " I was invited, sir, by your lady, into the cabin. She " 
 
 " My wife, Mr. Molyneaux, is one of another nation than ours, 
 and ignorant of our customs. To respond, as you did, to her invi 
 tation, when you knew better, was as great an outrage as if, ask 
 ing you for education in the English language, you had taught her 
 only words of English obscenity. You owed it to her as a lady, 
 and to me as your superior officer, as well as gentleman, not to 
 second her in any mistake which she might make, as a foreigner, 
 by a studious observance yourself of the nicest proprieties upon 
 which our people so tenaciously insist." 
 
 " But, sir, as a lady, she had a right, sir " 
 
 " Stop, Mr. Molyneaux : it is one of your mistakes that you are 
 too eager to urge the argument of vanity, rather than to justify 
 your conscientious convictions of the right. Let me state clearly 
 my cause of complaint. You knew my wife s ignorance of those 
 English customs which we hold to be requisite for propriety, and 
 you encouraged her in her violation of them, in order to take ad 
 vantage of her ignorance." 
 
 " What advantage, sir ?" 
 
 " It is for you to answer. Suppose you do answer me ? Why 
 did you err, sir, violating the rules of the service, as well as our 
 English proprieties why do ix wrong, which you knew to be 
 such then meanly plead the invitation of a woman ignorant of 
 our laws, ignorant of English customs, to excuse you in your know 
 ing violation of both, unless that you proposed some selfish object 
 to yourself? 
 
SETTLING ACCOUNTS. 
 
 " I had no object, Captain Calvert." 
 
 " Mr. Molyneaux, I give you credit for vices, but would not 
 willingly have to reproach you for meannesses also. Suffer your 
 self to be silent rather than resort to evasion. But I intend to 
 deal with you more frankly. Now, sir, had my wife been an 
 Englishwoman, do you doubt that I had slain both of you, finding 
 you in my chamber with her as I did to-night ? I had as surely 
 pistolled you both as I now speak to you ! I should have listened 
 to nothing said nothing knowing that both of you must have 
 been aware of the natural impropriety of your being found to* 
 gether in such a situation, at such an hour, in such circumstances, 
 during my absence. She erred through ignorance : you can make 
 no such plea. But that I know her, sir, and know that your arts 
 can no more affect her natural purity and simplicity than they 
 can deceive me, I should count you equally guilty. I know that 
 you employ these arts in vain " 
 
 " I employ no arts, Captain Calvert ! I deny, sir " 
 
 " Then you are playing a fool s game, indeed ! But, Mr. Moly 
 neaux, though I feel sure of the purity of my wife know that 
 she is superior to any arts such as yours yet, sir, it is not the 
 less displeasing to me that any man should so presume as to ap 
 proach her with licentious purpose. That she is ignorant of 
 offence, does not lessen your offence ; and I now caution you 
 against any repetition of it. I have hitherto been a little too 
 heedless of this thing, rather through a feeling of scorn than indif 
 ference. Now. however, that it has come to be matter of talk in 
 the ship, among the common crew, I feel it due to my wife s honor, 
 if not my own, to arrest your further practice of this sort. You 
 will observe a different course from this moment. Do not, I beg 
 you, fall into an error, natural enough to young men of large self- 
 esteem, of supposing that I fear what you might do. There are 
 many occasions of offence which are not necessarily causes of fear. 
 With my wife, I could afford you any opportunities, and still laugh 
 to scorn all your idle efforts, as she would do were she once made 
 to comprehend them. It will surprise you to know, after all your 
 labors, that she has no sort of notion of what you mean, and holds 
 you simply as a playmate, who amuses her. But my own proper 
 pride, and natural sense of dignity and honor, forbid that /should 
 tolerate approaches which contemplate an insulting purpose, how- 
 
166 THE CASslQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ever little likely to succeed ; ard, once for all, I repeat the warn 
 ing, that, another such offence, and I shall as certainly put you to 
 death as that I now speak to you !" 
 
 " You have entirely mistaken me, Captain Calvert. I have 
 had no such purposes as you suppose. I " 
 
 " Not another word, Mr. Molyneaux ! you do not help the 
 matter. I know young men I know man I know you ! Our 
 business connection is such as to render me quite satisfied with 
 you as a good seaman, as a clever officer, as a brave young man, 
 who knows his duty and has the courage to perform it. For these 
 qualities I need you and respect you. That I have done you full 
 justice for these qualities, your employment from the beginning 
 your elevation, as second officer of this ship will sufficiently 
 prove. You owe this promotion wholly to me. I have advanced 
 you, not waiting entreaty, seeing your abilities with my own eyes. 
 I have still other services for you, and there is still further pro 
 motion if you continue faithful. My purpose, in rebuking, is not 
 to pain or to degrade, but to save you. I understand, of course, 
 that, in what I have said to you this night, I have somewhat mor 
 tified your vanity ; and this was also a part of my purpose. It is 
 upon this rock, Mr. Molyneaux this rock of vanity that your 
 ship is destined to founder. It is this rock upon which most 
 young men sink their fortunes. I have noted this your chief weak 
 ness, and lamented it for a long time. I have seen through all the 
 little arts by which you have fed your own weakness, and it is 
 time to open your eyes to your self-delusion. If you are warned 
 in season, you may cure yourself of this infirmity. If, on the con 
 trary, you feel counsel only as offence ; if your vanity still pre 
 vails over wisdom ; if you too impatiently seek your ends ; if these 
 ends really contemplate only the temporary enjoyment and the 
 gratification of self-esteem your career will be short, and the 
 end shameful ! I have now sufficiently warned you. It is for 
 me an effort to do so, and should argue to you a degree of interest 
 in your behalf which should rather awaken pride than offend van 
 ity. It would be easier for me, I assure you, to brush off an 
 offender than seek to cure him. And now, sir, to the business of 
 the ship." 
 
 We have forborne the various interpositions made by Lieuten 
 ant Molyneaux, in which he sought to excuse his offences, or to 
 
SETTLING ACCOUNTS. 167 
 
 evade the conclusions of his superior, or to assert his self-esteem. 
 We pass them by, very much as Calvert himself did, and for the 
 same reason, as discreditable pleas and evasions, put in at the ex 
 pense of his manhood. He was not prepared to join final issue 
 with his superior ; and a sense of guilt is, in a young mind, a 
 necessary source of weakness. But his vanity stimulated him to 
 replies which were only to be urged at the cost of character and 
 pride ; and to all these Calvert refused to listen, and so may we. 
 We need not report them, at all events. 
 
 Nor did Calvert wholly mistake the nature of his lieutenant, so 
 far as to suppose that the same vanity would suffer him to grow 
 wiser after the rebuke. He knew the man too well to believe 
 that anything short of severe penalties, actually enforced, could do 
 any effectual service in bringing him back to a right consciousness 
 of his true relations with the world about him. He rightly con 
 ceived that all which he said would be wasted upon blind ears ; 
 but he had his own policy in his exhortations, and their very 
 severity on one subject was calculated to render the young man 
 obtuse to those more searching inquiries which his superior had 
 to make in other directions. Had Calvert said nothing to him 
 touching his presence in the cabin, Molyneaux must either have 
 supposed him grossly insensible to his honor which he could 
 hardly be or too deeply interested in other matters, in which 
 the guilty man was a participator, to suffer him to attach a proper 
 weight to this. Briefly, to forbear in the present instance, might 
 have led Molyneaux to suppose that his forbearance was a blind, 
 concealing his scrutiny into other offences, quite as flagrant, and 
 much more dangerous in their consequences. To dwell on this, 
 as the captain had done, and with so much severity, was, in short, 
 equivalent to saying to him, " This is my only cause of quarrel or 
 complaint." 
 
 So Molyneaux construed it ; and, conscious of so much more 
 offence, yet undeveloped and apparently unconjectured, he was 
 quite willing for the present to escape so easily. But the language, 
 tone,. and manner, of his superior, stung him to the quick; and, 
 though he endeavored so to compose his muscles, and regulate his 
 tones and words, and subdue his passion, as to answer with mod 
 eration and almost with humility, the hate all the while was growing 
 in his heart, in due degree with his efforts to suppress its exhibition. 
 
168 THE CASSIQUE OP SIAWAH. 
 
 CaVvert read him through ; understood all the workings of his 
 mind ; smiled a bitter scorn as he listened to his replies ; and said 
 to himself, at the close : 
 
 " He will not be saved ! But my time is not yet come nor 
 his. We can both wait !" 
 
 And so he proceeded to talk, as it were indifferently, of the 
 affairs of the ship ; taking a minute report of everything that had 
 been done in his absence, even to a list of the names of parties 
 engaged in the several tasks of scouting the woods, fishing, load 
 ing and unloading, and of the crews employed in conveying the 
 boats to town. 
 
 u Any signs of Indians ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but not within five miles. They do not seem to have 
 found us out yet. There is a new plantation settling, about five 
 miles below where they have been in considerable numbers." 
 
 " Keep your scouts busy still your best men and have a 
 squad of three or four of them on the other side of the river, with 
 a boat in cover, directly opposite, night and day. Let them report 
 to you nightly. Have you had any men missing any off with 
 out leave ?" 
 
 " No, sir. 
 
 This was said boldly. 
 
 " Keep your eye upon the boats, so that none shall be missing 
 without your knowing it. The danger is, that some of these block 
 heads will be running down to Charleston, where a reward is 
 offered for every mother s son of them ! We may, in fact, very 
 soon have to change our quarters. You have an inventory of all 
 the goods sent down, the number of loads, and a receipt from 
 Franks for all delivered?" 
 
 " Here it is, sir." 
 
 " Very well. I will examine it by daylight. The light arti 
 cles are nearly all gone, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Two more boats will carry them, sir." 
 
 " We shall then have to devise a plan for discharging the heavy, 
 so as to avoid this tedious process, which would consume weeks 
 for us. In fact, the boats can hardly be used for the purpose. 
 But of this to-morrow. Good-night, Mr. Molyneaux." 
 
 " Good-night, sir." 
 
 And the captain went below without lingering. 
 
SETTLING ACCOUNTS. 109 
 
 " Now, d n his blood !" broke from the lieutenant, as he shook 
 his clenched fist toward the cabin when the rover had disappeared. 
 " But I will have it out of his heart yet ! Oh ! she is too pure, 
 is she ? too virtuous, eh ? Of course, I can not succeed ! He 
 feels quite safe, does he, on that score ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! This is 
 
 the way in which these d d silly husbands deceive themselves. 
 
 Well, we shall see! It is a defiance a challenge! We shall 
 
 see ! If I am to be taunted on that score, by I will see if I 
 
 can not revenge the taunt ! Too pure too immaculate ! Ha ! 
 ha ! As if there was ever yet painted daughter of Eve who could 
 resist the right persuader ! We shall see ! She shall make me 
 sweet atonement for all this ; and he ! ay, if I do not have it out 
 of his heart s blood, then curse me for a coward who has no red 
 blood in his own !" 
 
 8 
 
170 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LOVE-POWDER. 
 
 Make me a potent filter that shall work 
 Upon his passionate senses, till I grow 
 His moon of fancy, and with queenly power, 
 Such as pale Hecate holds upon the sea, 
 Rouse all the fervid billows of his heart, 
 Till they flow up to mine." 
 
 SCARCELY had Calvert shut himself within his cabin, when 
 Sylvia, the mulattress, crawled out from a cupboard which had 
 concealed her under the stairs of the companion-way, and stole 
 up to the deck, where she joined Molyneaux. 
 
 He had corrupted her. This was one of the discoveries which 
 Belcher had made, leading him to suspect Molyneaux of other 
 treacheries ; but he had failed to communicate the fact to his supe 
 rior, for the reason, probably, that Calvert had given rather indif 
 ferent attention to all the reports which had been made him in 
 respect to his lieutenant s intimacy with Zulieme. But unques 
 tionably, now, the mulattress was in the pay of the lieutenant. 
 
 She approached him without preliminaries, he being ready to 
 welcome her communications ; showing that the understanding be 
 tween them had been sufficiently well matured. In her negro 
 patois, which we do not care to adopt, she began thus : 
 
 " We are to go to Charleston. He told her so to-night. They 
 had a long talk ; and she s to change her name, and live with a 
 Mrs. Anderson ; and she s to go to balls and parties every night; 
 and there s to be fine times ; and who but she?" 
 
 And so the Abigail rambled on, in a loose manner; contriving, 
 however, to report very fully all that Calvert had said to his wife 
 in respect to her abode in town. 
 
 u But had they no quarrel ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! but he smoothed it all over, easy enough, as soon as 
 
LOVE-POWDER. 171 
 
 he let her know that she was to go to Charleston. That s what 
 she s been dying for. She so loves to be dancing in a crowd of 
 people !" 
 
 " But what said he about my being in the cabin ?" 
 
 " Oh, he told her he d kill her if she was another woman. But 
 I don t see the sense of that. And she was spunky, and told him 
 to kill her, and she did n t care how soon; and she called him a 
 brute-beast of an Englishman; she did! She didn t pick the 
 words, but said em just as they come up. She ain t afear d of 
 him, to be sure. When he says dog, she says cat ; and if he 
 shows his teeth, she s ready for a scratch, any day. Lord, how 
 she does give it to him sometimes !" 
 
 " It was a pretty bit of a quarrel, then ?" 
 
 " It did me good to hear it, for he s such a dog-in-the-manger, 
 and he d put his foot on her if she had n t the spunk. And I 
 do n t see why she should n t say what she pleases, when she 
 brought him all the fortune." 
 
 " To be sure why not ? That s right ! So you think there s 
 no love lost between them ?" 
 
 " As for the love, there s no saying. If there s any between 
 em, she s got it. He do n t love nothing ! But, somehow, she 
 has a sort of liking for him, though she does scratch-/ 
 
 " But liking can t last long, if it s ( cat and dog between them." 
 
 " No, indeed ; and she d rather be dancing with you, a thou 
 sand times, than sitting down at dumby and doggy with him." 
 
 " But what was the upshot of it all ? How did it end ?" 
 
 " Oh, she hugged him and kissed him after he told her she was 
 to go to town ; but there was a good deal of sobbing and crying, 
 and cross words, first." 
 
 " Did she weep ?" 
 
 " Yes, a little. It was a sort of scream and sob. Then she 
 hushed up, and laughed out ; and he told her she was a baby, and 
 maybe kissed her; and so he told her to go to bed, and then ho 
 came up to you." 
 
 " Did he say anything of me?" 
 
 " Not much ; only that he would kill you and kill her, if he 
 ever caught you in his cabin again. T was then she caiaed nnii 
 & brute-beast of an Englishman." * 
 
 " Rough words, Sylvia." 
 
172 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 "Wasn t they? But he made all smooth when he told her 
 that she was to go to town." 
 
 " But if she likes me, Sylvia, what makes her so eagfer x> get 
 away with him?" 
 
 " It s the balls and dances, I tell you. It s not to go with him. 
 He s not to go with us. He s to send us to Mrs. Anderson, in 
 the boat." 
 
 " Ah ! he s not to go with her ? What s he to do with him 
 self?" 
 
 " Stay here, I reckon." 
 
 "I don t like that! What would he stay for? He s not 
 wanted here. I can see to the ship." 
 
 " I do n t know. That s what he told her." 
 
 " What more ? Did you pick up any more ?" 
 
 The mulattress simply repeated what had been said already. 
 
 " Well," said Molyneaux, " when you get to town, I shall proba 
 bly send some one to you : if I can, will come myself. You must 
 find out all you can ; keep an eye on both of them ; let me know 
 all you hear ; and keep talking to her about me. You know how 
 to do it," 
 
 " Do n t I ! Oh, she thinks you a mighty fine man a hand 
 some man " 
 
 "Ah! she does? Well?" 
 
 " She says you have a most beautiful figure." 
 
 " Ah ! she sees that she says that ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; th bugh she says t ain t so mighty as the cap 
 tain s." 
 
 " No thank God, I m not an elephant !" 
 
 " No, indeed, you re not so big. Now, she says, if you only 
 knew how to dance " 
 
 " What ! I do n t know how to dance ?" 
 
 " That s what she says of all you English, except ihe captain. 
 Now, he can dance Spanish, and so lightly, though he s so large 
 and heavy. But he learned among our people and he s so 
 active !" 
 
 " Not more so than I am." 
 
 "You think not?" 
 
 " Certainly not ! I m as light and active as any man in tha 
 British islands." 
 
LOVE-POWDER. 173 
 
 " Ah ! is it possible ?" 
 
 ** I can run as fast, bound as high, jump as far, hop as long, as 
 any man of my size in Britain." 
 
 "I m so glad to hear it! She likes to see men doing these 
 things. But you don t dance so well as the captain. She says 
 so." 
 
 " I don t know how that can be. I ve never seen him dance." 
 
 " Oh, he never will dance now. That s one thing she quarrels 
 about. He won t play with her now as he used to. If he would, 
 I m sure you d stand no chance. But, because you play with 
 her, she likes you." 
 
 " Well, if she likes me, I don t care much whether it s because 
 of my heels or my head. Liking can grow to loving." 
 
 That it can !" 
 
 " And I m sworn to have her." 
 
 " And so you can !" 
 
 "You must do your best, Sylvia. There s a dollar for you. 
 Tell me everything, and you shall have more. Do all that you 
 can to make her love me, and I 11 pay you well. And if I get 
 her, my girl, I 11 make you rich." 
 
 " If we could only give her a powder, now " 
 
 " A powder ! what s that ? what for ?" 
 
 " A powder to make her love you." 
 
 " I ve heard of such ; but that s all nonsense." 
 
 "Nonsense! I tell you it s true. We ve got powders at Da- 
 rien that 11 make the eyes of a man or woman fasten upon a per 
 son as if they could see nothing else ; make em dream of em 
 every night, and always such sweet dreams ; make em hunt after 
 em, as a dog hunts after the deer ; oh, make their hearts feel for 
 nothing else but them !" 
 
 "Why don t you give her one of these powders, then, on my 
 account? I don t much believe in what you tell me, but you 
 aust try everything." 
 
 " So I would if I had the powders. If I was at Darien, now, 
 I could soon get em. But they re made out of roots that grow 
 only in our mountains. And you have to look for em at night, 
 and when there s no moon, and that s dangerous. But when you 
 have only the roots about you, in your pocket, and walk side-by- 
 side with the person you want to love you, they 11 almost grow to 
 
174 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 you. They can t leave you for a moment, without pain ; and 
 they re happy as soon as they can get to you again. I do think 
 that the captain had some of those roots in his pocket, when they 
 first brought him to our hacienda ; and that s. the reason that my 
 young mistress took to him so mad as she did." 
 
 " There s reason in that. I wonder if he has any of them about 
 him still! But it s all nonsense. No use to talk about it. You 
 must do what you can, Sylvia, without the love-powder. Now, 
 I m a good-looking fellow a handsome fellow: you can say 
 that, surely; and don t let her forget it. Look at that leg." 
 
 And he stuck his foot upon the gunwale, and stroked his calf 
 complacently. 
 
 " There s a leg for you, Sylvia !" 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; if you could only shake it Spanish fashion." 
 
 " Oh, d n the Spanish fashion ! I can shake it Irish fashion^ 
 you fool, and that never failed to please a woman yet. Don t 
 forget that. Do you hear?" 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " Well, what can you say against my face my figure ?" 
 
 " Say against em, sir ? Oh, bless your eyes, who can say any 
 thing against em ?" 
 
 " Well, but what can you say for them, Sylvia ? That s the 
 true question." 
 
 " Well, sir, every woman sees a man with just her own pair of 
 eyes. Now, if twas for myself, I like your face and figure so 
 well, that, if you was to ask me, I d have you to-morrow, and 
 jump at you too. And so, I reckon, would my mistress, if she 
 was only a free woman ; for she says you re a handsome fellow, 
 only you can t dance Spanish." 
 
 " I 11 make her a free woman, by all the holies ! Remember 
 that! Tell her that! Let her but say that she loves me, and 
 I 11 go through blazes to set her free from this infernal bondage ! 
 As for the dancing Spanish, let her know that my legs and you 
 see them were made for dancing Irish. Let her find a pair of 
 Spanish calves to match with these, and I 11 admit that there s 
 
 some virtue in these d d Spanish dances ; but, till then, an Irish 
 
 jig for me, whenever good legs are to be shaken. Go, now, Syl 
 via. There s another dollar for you, my girl. Keep it up do 
 you hear? The drop of water will wear away the stone; and 
 
LOVE-POWDER. 175 
 
 the right word, said at the right time, and at all times whvm you 
 get a chance, will wear down a flinty heart. Keep your ears 
 open, and your tongue only for me." 
 
 While this scene was in progress, ignorant if not indifferent, 
 Harry Calvert was keeping painful vigil below. He did not 
 sleep did not seek for sleep was busy with books and papers. 
 He read and wrote alternately for two hours- Then rising, put 
 ting away books and papers, he approached the berth where Zu- 
 lieme slept slept like a child just as heedless of the morning 
 as if it were never to dawn again. The strong man gazed on her 
 sleeping features, in a stern and meditative silence. What was 
 she to him ? Were she lying there in the absolute embrace of 
 Death as she was in that of its twin-sister, Sleep he would 
 probably have been as sadly calm a spectator. What was she to 
 him ? We have heard already. But, though indifferent, he would 
 not have had one breath of heaven too roughly to beteem her 
 cheeks. Not a harsh thought, not an ungenerous feeling, not a 
 hostile fancy, filled his heart or mind toward her. True, she was 
 but a child in his sight erring, weak, silly a creature quite 
 unsuited to his needs as to his nature ; but whose was the fault 
 that she was here ? 
 
 " That is the grief," he murmured, as he gazed. " Did I not, 
 from the first, know that she was only the feeble, thoughtless crea 
 ture that I have found her ? Knowing this, what had I to do 
 with her ? Why did I pluck her from her proper home from 
 the simple bed of security in which she had grown beloved, 
 watched, nurtured tenderly, and honored - when I could not love 
 or honor, could hardly watch, And certainly not tenderly nurture? 
 I must not cast her off, nor scorn her, nor rate heavily her offences, 
 nor treat her with indifference ! She must not feel, at my hands, 
 meaner measure of care and kindness than I have had at hers 
 than she herself has always got from those of fond, foolish mother, 
 and idolizing, doting father. Love is impossible. That I feel ! 
 But, for the rest the care, the kindness, the protection, the in 
 dulgence these she must never lack ! Were she guilty, now ! 
 But, no ! Who that looks upon that sleep so placid, childlike, 
 satisfied the lips slightly parted, the brow unruffled, the breath 
 ing regular and soft like that of an infant, and the bosom so sweetly 
 
176 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 heaving shall doubt that he looks upon the sleep of innocence? 
 Ah ! she is sobbing in her sleep a half-stifled sob a slight 
 convulsion of feeling, spite of sleep, as if the memory were busy 
 recalling those sharp words of mine to-night. Sleep on, poor girl, 
 sleep on ! I will not question your purity, though I may your 
 prudence. Shall I chafe because you are ignorant of vice of 
 those passions that make vice a necessity that make jealousy 
 and suspicion the necessary guardians in a world consciously cor 
 rupt ? No, no ! Sleep on : I will endure it as I may !" 
 
 he woke, and threw out her arms. 
 
 " Harry is it you, Harry ? Ah ! you dear brute Englishman, 
 why do n t you come to bed ? You know we are to go to Charles 
 ton in the morning. Ha ! ha ! Harry." 
 
 And she sighed, and lapsed away again in sleep. 
 
ZULIEME IN CHARLESTON. 177 
 
 CHAPTER xix. 
 
 ZULIEME IN CHARLESTON. 
 
 " Put on our state, 
 
 Our bravest ; we are here among the best, 
 And we must bear us as becomes the beauty 
 That ignorant wonder still has made us known : 
 We re here but to be worshipped." 
 
 ZULIEME was awake by daylight, but only to be disappointed. 
 She did not start for the city quite so soon as she experted. 
 Morning came, and no departure. And Calvert was absent, no 
 one knew in what quarter ; in the woods somewhere ; but whether 
 with or without an object, who could say ? 
 
 Zulieme was in despair! But by noon he came unexpect 
 edly as he went ; and it was then understood that it was only after 
 night, availing himself of the tide, that he meant that the boats 
 should drop down the river. 
 
 To wait for hours ! Oh, what a trial to the eager heart of 
 youth ! But the night, with grateful cover, came at last. The 
 boats were manned, and Zulieme summoned. Her trunks were 
 already on board ; and she herself had been ready, as we have 
 seen, some twelve hours before. She, too, passed on board. She 
 gave her hand cordially to Molyneaux, and Eckles too, as she left 
 the vessel though the don, her husband, was at hand and 
 spoke her farewell with all the freedom of a child. 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Molyneaux good-by, Mr. Eckles," she cried 
 to them, with naive accents " good-by ! Do n t you forget me ! 
 I m going to town, you know, where we shall have dances a 
 plenty, but I sha n t soon forget those funny ones we have had in 
 the woods." 
 
 " That s not very sentimental, Molyneaux," muttered Eckles in 
 
178 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 the ears of his brother-lieutenant, " She do n t break her heart at 
 parting with us, my boy !" 
 
 And Moiyneaux seemed to be of the same opinion, for he an 
 swered very churlishly to his brother-officer, and in rather saddish 
 accents to the senora. But there was still a scene in reserve, not 
 in the programme. Sylvia was about to step on board after her 
 mistress, when Calvert arrested her. 
 
 " Back, girl ! we want none of you. You will remain here." 
 
 " Oh, missis, they won t let me come !" 
 
 " Harry," cried Zulieme, hearing the anguished cry of the Abi 
 gail, " I must have Sylvia." 
 
 " Impossible, Zulieme." 
 
 " But I can t do without her, Harry. Do n t tell me impos 
 sible !" 
 
 " You must try, Zulieme. I would n t have her long tongue 
 among the townspeople for half our cargo. Do you forget that 
 we have secrets there, Zulieme ?" 
 
 " I can t help it : Sylvia must go. Who is to dress me and 
 tend me ?" 
 
 " She can not go, Zulieme." 
 
 "Then I won t go ! for I can t do without her, Harry." 
 
 " I m sorry for it ; for you must stay, then ! Back the boats, 
 fellows." 
 
 " But, Harry, why can t Sylvia go ? You are so cross always !" 
 
 " I have given you the reason already, Zulieme. The secrets 
 of the ship must not be blabbed about the town." 
 
 " But she won t blab, Harry. I promise you !" 
 
 " You promise ! Answer for yourself, Zulieme. You will have 
 enough to do ! As for trusting anything to such a parrot, I can t 
 think of it. Come, Zulieme, decide ! Will you go, or stay ?" 
 
 " And Sylvia is not to go ?" 
 
 " No, as I m a living man !" 
 
 " You re a monster ! Never mind, Sylvia : I 11 bring you fine 
 things." 
 
 " You are content to go without her ?" 
 
 " I suppose I must be. You try all you can to make me mis 
 erable. You re such a brute Englishman, I wonder why I ever 
 married you !" 
 
 " So do I, Zulieme very much, and very often. But, speak 
 
ZULIEME IN CHARLESTON. 179 
 
 quickly. The tide is running down fast. I do not compel you to 
 go, Zulieme. If you can t do without Sylvia, don t go don t 
 leave her." 
 
 In a subdued, sobbing voice, Zulieme cried out : 
 
 " Good-by, Sylvia ! You see how it is ! He won t let you 
 come." 
 
 " my missis ! what I going to do without you ?" 
 
 " Take your amusements, Sylvia. Dance all you can." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh !" sobbed the disconsolate Abigail, as the boats 
 swept away down-stream ; while Zulieme repeated for the twen 
 tieth time : 
 
 " You try all you can to cross me, Harry Calvert, and make 
 me miserable. I m sure I wish I had never seen you !" 
 
 " It was, indeed, a great misfortune," he responded, in very so 
 ber, serious tones, and not reproachfully, only painfully. 
 
 " To me it was, Harry Calvert to me, to me only !" 
 
 " Surely : who else ? It was to you, Zulieme, I repeat, a very 
 great misfortune." 
 
 " But it need not be, if you were not the great bear of an Eng 
 lishman that you are ! If you d try, I m sure you could make 
 me happy." 
 
 " I m afraid not, Zulieme. But, indeed, I do try as well as I 
 can, and as far as I think it proper. But how could you suppose 
 that I would suffer that wench to go with you to the city, where 
 you are to bear another name than mine, when you know that she 
 has the tongue of a jay. and the wriggling propensities of an eel ? 
 She would never rest till she had blabbed everything. Be con 
 tent ! You will have better tendance with Mrs. Anderson than 
 Sylvia could ever give you. She will find you half a dozen bet 
 ter maid-servants, each worth a dozen of Sylvia." 
 
 But we need not hearken further to this (however interesting) 
 domestic difficulty. Enough, that the decision of Calvert deranged 
 some of the plans of Molyneaux for the moment. Of these, 
 hereafter. 
 
 The boats swept quietly down the pladd, poetical river, now 
 veering to one and now to the other bank each side presenting, 
 with pleasing alternations, some fairy-like glimpses of the shore, 
 crowned everywhere with green umbrage, and the headlands 
 overshadowing half the stream with the great branches 
 
180 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 of their ancient oaks. At length, a blazing pile of pine-fagots, 
 raised upon a knoll of earth, drew the eyes of the party to the 
 western banks. In the rear of this pyre stood a dark, square 
 mass, which Calvert instantly recognised as the ancient " Block 
 house" commanding the creek at " Oldtown." This pyre was his 
 signal. He knew that Gowdey was on the watch, and that his 
 horse was in readiness. Franks had punctually fulfilled his orders. 
 
 Without a word, having the tiller in his grasp, our rover turned 
 the head of the boat directly for the ancient landing, with which 
 he was quite familiar. As the boat darted into the little creek, 
 Zulieme cried out : 
 
 " Why, Harry, what s this ? Why do you come here ?" 
 
 " Here I leave the boat, Zulieme." 
 
 " But you mustn t leave me. You must carry me yourself to 
 Mrs. Anderson, Harry." 
 
 " Impossible ! But I have arranged everything. Have no fear." 
 
 " Oh ! don t you tell me to have no fear. I will have fear; I 
 will be afraid. You send me among strange people, Harry Cal 
 vert, and who ought to introduce me but you ?" 
 
 " My dear Zulieme, you are already introduced, and Mrs. Per 
 kins Anderson awaits you. She knows you, and I have tried my 
 best to make you know her. I have told you that she s a fine, 
 fashionable woman, and gives balls and parties, the very finest in 
 Charleston ; that she s sentimental, and flirts with perfect grace ; 
 that she s very sweet-tempered, being young, rich, and surrounded 
 by admirers. So much for her. You will find that all I ve told 
 you is true, and that she eagerly e.xpects you, and will know you 
 at a glance. I ve told her that you dance to perfection ; that you 
 like nothing so well in the world as dancing ; that you will dance 
 all night ; dream all day of dancing all night ; awaken only to 
 work out your dreams ; and that you would not give a fig for life 
 tself, unless with the privilege of using your legs to the sound of 
 the tambourine ; that you are disappointed in your husband only 
 as he is not content to be a dancing-machine for your exercise." 
 
 "That s as much as to say you ve told her I m a fool, you 
 great English cayman! But I ll not go to her house I won t 
 go a step unless you go along with me*; that s flat!" 
 
 " As you please, Zulieme. It is impossible that I should go 
 with you to-night. That, too, is flat I You will at least accora- 
 
ZULIEME IN CHARLESTON. 181 
 
 pany the boat, and either land in Charleston, and go to Mrs. An 
 derson, or keep quiet in the boat till its return, when you can go 
 back to the ship." 
 
 " No ! I 11 do neither, since you won t go with me. I 11 go 
 with you. I ll see where you go to-night. I m too great a fool 
 to go to Mrs. Anderson s! I ll show you that I can do without 
 dancing. / love dancing ! when I care nothing about it in the 
 world, except when I ve got nothing else to amuse me." 
 
 To this determined speech Calvert gave no attention. It prob 
 ably entered his ears and passed through them. With the tiller 
 in his grasp, he kept the boat in the narrow passage up the creek, 
 through green tracts of marsh on either hand ; and, as she reached 
 the landing, he adroitly brought her round, so that he leaped with 
 an easy spring upon the shore, sending the vessel off fully ten feet 
 with the effort. 
 
 "Why, Harry Harry, I say! do you really mean to leave 
 me, you brute monster ? Oh, I wish I had never, never, never 
 seen you !" 
 
 " Good-night, Zulieme," he cried, as he disappeared in the thick 
 ets ; " go to Mrs. Anderson s, and fey r nothing. Do n t be foolish. 
 Good-night !" 
 
 She screamed after him, but he made no answer. He was 
 gone. She fairly sobbed out her aiHictions. But the case was 
 past remedy, and she was soon reconciled. Before the boat had 
 quite emerged from the creek into the river, she had got up her 
 guitar, and, what with tuning and tinkling, for the benefit of the 
 oarsmen one of whom had taken the tiller on the captain s de 
 parture she contrived to forget her trials long before the little 
 vessel reached her destination. Calvert knew her resources. 
 
 In little more than an hour after he had left the boat, she had 
 entered the lagune, and passed on to the obscure landing-place, in 
 the rear of the courthouse of the present city. Here Franks and 
 Jack Belcher were both in waiting. They both received the fair 
 Zulbme with the deference becoming the wife of their superior. 
 Franks she had never seen before. They escorted her promptly 
 to the dwelling of the fashionable lady, who was in waiting to wel 
 come her. This she did with the ease, grace, and gayety, of a 
 woman of fashion. 
 
 "I m so happy to see you !" and she embraced and kissed her, 
 
182 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and drew her into the brilliantly-lighted parlor, and hurriedly 
 devoured her with all her eyes. 
 
 " Bless me, Zulieme," she cried, in a sort of rapture, " you are 
 the prettiest little creature quite a fairy ! Why, you look like 
 a mere girl a child : nobody would ever take you to be a wife." 
 
 " Oh, do n t call me a child !" said Zulieme impatiently. " Harry 
 calls me a child and a baby, and treats me just as if I was a doll. 
 Do n t you do so. I do n t like it." 
 
 "Oh, I speak only of your size and looks, my dear. It s no 
 discredit to be thought young, my dear. Everybody knows that 
 we grow older as we grow, fast enough ; and, for a woman, it s a 
 great thing to keep young as long as possible. For my part, you 
 could not please me better than by fancying and calling me a 
 girl." 
 
 Zulieme s eyes opened wide. 
 
 " The great, fat chunk of a creature i" was her unuttered medi 
 tation. But Mrs. Perkins Anderson, with the natural facility of 
 a fashionable woman, allowed her companion no chance to speak. 
 
 " What a sweet face is this of yours, Zulieme so very delicate 
 and feminine ! And those eyes how black, and how they dilate ! 
 And your hands how small, and your feet ! You are, I insist, a 
 little fairy, and look nothing like a wife. And, by-the-way, you 
 are not a wife here. Remember that ! Of course, Calvert has 
 told you ? You are to be the Senorita Zulieme de Montano. of 
 Florida. You will make a great sensation. Our young dandies 
 and macaronies are very fond of Spanish beauties ; and you will 
 be a belle, and they will suppose you a fortune ! Nobody can 
 think you a married woman. How long have you been married, 
 my dear ?" 
 
 " Oh, a long time more than a year !" 
 
 " That is a very long time. Alas ! Zulieme, I have been mar 
 ried ten ; and ten years of married life is an eternity. But, come ; 
 we must have supper, and then to sleep. You must be tired." 
 
 And she wrapped her arms around the unresisting stranger, and 
 drew her into the supper-room, exclaiming as she went : 
 
 " What a fairy ! what a creature for the dance ! Oh, what 
 dances we shall have !" 
 
 " And I so love dancing !" murmured Zulieme. 
 
OLD GOWDEY. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 OLD GOWDEY. 
 
 " IIow much of wisdom lies in a good heart 1 
 And so we work by nature up to thought, 
 If we are honest, truthful, to ourselves 
 Steadfast in virtuous action, to tho laws 
 Obedient, and to God resigned in all!" 
 
 OP "Oldtown" "old Charlestown," the nest-egg of the pres 
 ent opulent state of South Carolina, there is now scarcely a single 
 vestige. All is level Even when visited by our rover Calvert, 
 it was a place of ruins. The old block-house excepted, hardly a 
 house remained. What time and neglect had spared, the red men 
 destroyed. They had applied the torch to all that the white set 
 tlers had abandoned not much, it is true and our rover tro$! 
 among beds of cinders overgrown with weeds. At the present 
 day, we have hardly a trace of the locality. The whole space is 
 occupied by fertile plantations, in which cotton is eloquent in* be 
 half of civilization ; even if civilization, forgetting its wisdom in 
 its philanthropy, forbears all argument in behalf of cotton. The 
 future compensates, though it does not restore ; and we have no 
 reason, surveying the present fertility, to deplore the overthrow 
 of the old experiment. Calvert is not philosopher enough to an 
 ticipate the wondrous future ; and may be allowed to feel some 
 saddening sensations as he passes over the ruined site of the infant 
 colony. We, too, even at this day, with the virgin blooms of the 
 cotton in our eyes even as we write, are not wholly superior to 
 that sentiment which deplores that the nest of the eagle should be 
 abandoned without some memorial to declare whence she took her 
 flight ! We recall with interest the feeble colony of Sayle, seek 
 ing safer harborage in this seclusion from provoking foes than 
 Port Royal, where he first sought to plant, could possibly afford. 
 
184 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 And here, for several years, the little settlement grew ; having 
 charge of that small nest-egg of a future civilization, which was 
 finally to develop into a proud and potent state ! Here, from this 
 frail hamlet, we have seen great patriots, and sagacious statesmen, 
 and mighty warriors emerge, doing great things in various sea 
 sons, and rising into noblest heroism in the hour of storm and 
 danger. And we can not forget, and should not, how this infant 
 heart beat, in this lone region, with all those pulses of courage, 
 and self-denial, and faith, and virtue, which men were decreed to 
 honor in coming times to love and honor, without once asking 
 where these beautiful virtues were first cradled for renown ! 
 
 But the hour passes. Calvert has little time for reflection upon 
 the vicissitudes of place ; and we, who are his biographers, must 
 not suffer him to go from sight. 
 
 He glides through the thicket, he winds about the creek, he 
 reaches the knoll where the pyre still blazes to guide his course, 
 behind which looms up the block-house, no longer surrounded by 
 its guardian pickets. These are all gone. The square fabric, of 
 hewn and mortised logs, well put together, and crenelled for mus 
 ketry, stands alone upon the knoll. Time has begun to work 
 upon it also, though the hand of man has striven to neutralize the 
 rapid progress of decay. Were it daylight, you could see where 
 new timbers have been let in, replacing the rotten ; where certain 
 rents have been patched up with plank ; showing human caution 
 to be still at work. 
 
 There still peeps out, as you see, the muzzle of an iron cannon, 
 which covers the whole range between the fortress and the creek. 
 Governor Quarry has deemed it politic to set this outpost in some 
 little order. It serves to admonish the red men in the neighbor 
 hood, and, in the event of their proving troublesome, it will give 
 due notice to the townspeople of their hostilities. One bellow of 
 that old six-pounder will rouse the citizens, and make them buckle 
 on their armor ; and though the post be occupied, at present, only 
 by a single man, he will suffice for the purpose of alarm. 
 
 He is an old soldier in Indian warfare a picked frontier-man, 
 with a passion for solitude which makes him prefer the encounter, 
 single-handed, with the savage, rather than lack in the proper 
 elbow-room which he loves. B at he shall tell us all about him 
 self. 
 
OLD GOWDEY. 185 
 
 There were no signs of life within the log-house as Calvert ap 
 proached it. It was, as we have said, a square tower of logs, 
 some forty feet on every hand. On the side facing the river, at 
 an elevation of ten feet, the gun, raised upon a platform within, 
 thrust out its muzzle through a porthole, which looked down upon 
 the creek. Holes were pierced, on a line parallel with this embra 
 sure, for the use of musketry. The entrance was upon the south, 
 overshadowed by a sort of barbacan, from which the garrison 
 might shoot down upon assailants at the gate below. This gate 
 was of heavy slabs of oak, plated crosswise with other slabs, and 
 almost covered with the spikes which were used to bind the two 
 faces of the door together. The tower, for such we may call it, 
 was some twenty-four feet high ; it was roofed and terraced, a 
 cement of tar and sand having been employed as a coating. 
 Within, the building consisted of two stories. In the lower, occu 
 pied by the six-pounder, Gowdey did his cooking on the ground ; 
 never troubling himself as to the escape of the smoke, which found 
 its way through the porthole, or the crenelling, or slowly floated 
 into the upper story, which was his sleeping-place. There was 
 no chimney. 
 
 But Calvert had not yet found his way in. All was still a8 
 death as he approached the entrance. Here he drew a silver 
 whistle from his pocket, and sounded. A voice from the barba 
 can called out, immediately after, the single word " Happy !" to 
 which our rover answered, " Go Lucky !" Then, assured, Gow 
 dey descended, and the heavy gate of the fortress swung wide to 
 admit its visiter. It was carefully closed behind him. Uncover 
 ing a dark-lantern, which served only to make the darkness visibL, 
 Gowdey seized with one hand the wrist of Calvert, and conducted 
 him to the foot of the ladder by which they were to mount to the 
 upper story. This, when they attained, they found more fully 
 lighted by another lantern, the rays of which were wholly unseen 
 from without. A scuttle in the roof, open always in clear weather, 
 afforded the inmate light and air ; for, though apertures had been 
 pierced around the room for the use of firearms, these had all 
 been covered for what reason we know not with a strip of 
 planking. This could be easily torn off, and the place restored 
 wholly to its original purposes. 
 
 Our solitary had seemingly few comforts. His bed was spread 
 
186 THE CASSIQUB OF KIAWAH. 
 
 upon the floor, a simple mattress. There were boxes about the 
 room, and kegs, and odds and ends of simple furniture, stools and 
 benches. A rifle and long ducking-gun, pistols, and a couple of 
 grains for fishing, with rods, arid nets, and lines, and tackle, were 
 to be seen standing in the corners or suspended from the walls. 
 There was one great oaken table, upon which stood pewter plates, 
 knives, forks, and coffee-pot. But we have no need for further 
 catalogue. Enough that the chamber of Gowdey was not ill fur 
 nished in the eyes of one who had been hunter, fisherman, trapper, 
 and Indian trader by turns, and who still continued the two former 
 employments with all the zest of his early manhood. 
 
 " You have forgotten me, Gowdey, I suppose," said Calvert, as 
 he shook the hand of the garrison. 
 
 " Forgit your honor? That s impossible ! Certainly not, when 
 Franks sends me a jug of Jamaica every now and then, and a trit 
 of tobacco, and tells me that they come faom you." 
 
 " I told him to supply you." 
 
 "And many thanks, your honor. The Jamaica s a great help 
 to a vartuous memory ; and, with my pipe a-going, it s won erful 
 how much a man s shet eyes kin see, deep down in long-gone sea 
 sons. Lord love you, sir, I don t think I kin forgit anything, so 
 long as there s any Jamaica in my jug and tobacco in my pipe ! 
 Tobacco s a most blessed, heavenly invintion, your honor, for re 
 freshing a bad memory. It s so quieting to the heart, and brings 
 such sweet, orderly thinking to the head! It s the next thing, 
 sir, to a famous sleep, with a dream all the time of being jist where 
 you wants to be." 
 
 " Well, Gowdey, so long as I can provide it, you shall have 
 your tobacco and Jamaica. But it s so long since we had met " 
 
 " Going on three years only," interposed the other. 
 
 " And three years are an eternity in this world of strife and 
 change." 
 
 "It s nothing to an old man of seventy." 
 
 " Are you seventy, Gowdey ?" 
 
 " And one over, your honor." 
 
 " You hardly look more than fifty." 
 
 "No perhaps ! And I haven t the feel of more ; and I kin 
 follow a buck all day, and be spry for a turkey by dawn, jest as 
 well now as if I wasn t quite fifty. And ef twant for this stiff- 
 
OLD GOWDEY. 187 
 
 ness of the arm" lifting his left "and that s another sign to 
 make me remember you " 
 
 " What about your arm, and what had I to do with it, Gow- 
 dey ?" 
 
 u Why, Lord, sir, thas never been the same arm to me sence 
 that famous shirk-fight don t you remember, sir, in Port-Royal 
 harbor ? Why, sir, your honor, ef I never supped your Jamaica, 
 and never snuffed your tobacco, that arm is always ready to mind 
 me of that fight, and how you saved me from the jaws of that de 
 vouring sea-divil. I would have been but a mouthful in his jaws, 
 ef it hadn t been for you! And it s not every man no, sir, 
 your honor ! not more than one man in a thousand that would 
 jump overboard into the deep sea, to help a poor fellow out of 
 sich a jaw W 7 hen I thinks over that time, and how you dived 
 under the oeast, and cut into his lights and liver with your knife, 
 jist when I was a-gasping and looking for my death every minute, 
 on my back, and onder his double row of saws, I forgits tobacco 
 and Jamaica, and thinks of you ! I ve got his skin presarved, 
 there in the corner, as a bit of good luck to fishermen." 
 
 " I remember, now I remember." 9 
 
 " I reckon you do ! How kin you forgit ? That, I say, your 
 honor, is about the most valiantest thing that ever you did, though 
 they do cry up your fights with the Spaniards. I hear you licked 
 a great don out of his breeches, and sunk his ship ; but that fight 
 with the shirk was, to my thinking, the most desperatest thing 
 that a human mortal ever did do in his sober senses. And you 
 jumped overboard to do it when not a man stirred a peg ; and, 
 but for you, I was clean gene, for I could do nothing my one self, 
 and the one gripe of the shoulder that the brute beast give me 
 was a taste of the etarnity of swallow that he had in that maw of 
 his n ! I wouldn t have been more than a morsel in his jaws 
 after that, ef twant for you. Oh, I sha n t forgit it, captain, so 
 long as I have a feeling of crawling flesh about me !" 
 
 " Well, Gowdey, we ll say no more of that escape, which was 
 certainly a lucky as it was a narrow one ; and I rejoice at my 
 agency in the matter, as at one of the few good actions of my life. 
 I prefer, now, that we should talk of other matters, more agreea 
 ble to yourself." 
 
 " Lord love your honor ! as ef anything could be more grateful 
 
188 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 than getting out of the shirk s mouth, though by the skin of the 
 teeth." 
 
 " Yes, in one sense, it was certainly most grateful to you, as in 
 another sense it was to me." 
 
 " In all senses, your honor." 
 
 " But you are on dry land now ; and, though I do not see many 
 signs of prosperity about you, yet I prefer to think of you, and 
 should like to hear that you are as prosperous on dry land as you 
 are safe." 
 
 "Well, your honor, that s soon said. I m as prosperous as I 
 cares to be, and perhaps more so than I desarve. I have enough 
 and to spare ; and that reminds me, your honor, that I ve got a 
 little cold supper here for you some pretty fine fish and a can 
 of Jamaica " 
 
 " Not just yet, Gowdey. Go on with what you were saying. 
 You have enough " 
 
 " And to spare ! And that, I may say, is pretty much all that 
 a man needs in this world, and perhaps in any other. I get a 
 trifle of five pounds a year, which keeps me in powder and shot, for 
 keeping up this old block ; and I airn a trifle more by fishing for 
 the townspeople ; and sometimes I pick up a buck or a turkey in 
 the swamp, or a brace of ducks in the ponds, and that s all grist 
 to my mill ; and then I do a little job, at times, for Franks and 
 other people, and they pays me well : and altogether, sir, I m as 
 well fed, and clothed, and liquored, as a single man wants to be 
 in this country, where the cold don t bite too keenly, and where 
 the warm comes to me natural, like the sun to the corn." 
 
 " But you have to work for all this, Gowdey, and pretty hard work 
 too ; and, at your age, my good fellow, the heart, head, and body, 
 all equally ask for rest and ease." 
 
 " Lord, your honor forgits I passes for only fifty. But work, 
 sir, is a great sweetener of bread and meat ; and to airn one s 
 money, makes money a more decent and respectable thing than 
 ef I got it and gave no sweat for it! And so, you see, I don t 
 feel the age, and I don t fear the work ; and I find myself so well 
 as I am, that ef I was to be better off, I m afeard I d be worse ! 
 I d be gitting sick; and, ef anything could scare a poor sinner 
 like myself, it s the idee of being sick to lie on one s back and 
 to want water, when every j int in my body would prefer Jamaica ; 
 
OLD GOWDEI. 189 
 
 to swallow doctors stuff, when the venison-ham, hanging from the 
 wall, seems to cry, Come make a steak of me, and be young 
 agin ! And to think that, maybe, I should git sick with nobody 
 to give me water, or physic either, and then, Lord knows what ! 
 That s the consideration, your honor, that sometimes pops into 
 my head, and sets it all over aching with the thinking of what s 
 to happen." 
 
 " Ay, and sickness will come, Gowdey." 
 
 "When sickness comes to me, your honor, I ll make up my 
 bed, and wrap up, and lie down for the last sleep ! I sha n t take 
 physic, and I kin do without the water for awhile, and no venison- 
 steak will do me good." 
 
 * Nay, my good fellow, that will be next door to suicide." 
 
 " I do n t think so, your honor. For you see, living the sort of 
 life I live, there s nothing but old age to make me sick, and, for 
 that disease, Death is the only doctor. 1 m an active man, and 
 does well in the open air ; work strengthens me after a good sweat, 
 and my food is always sweet, and I never over-eat and never over 
 drink myself; and what s to make me sick but old age? I never 
 was sick an hour in my life, and I ve kept moving always. It s 
 this moving always and moving fast, your honor, that keeps a man 
 hearty. Sickness kaint catch him. It s your slow people that 
 the fever catches and the agy shakes ; and it only shakes em to 
 show how they ought to shake themselves! That s my doctrine, 
 your honor, and, ef it s true, you see that, when I takes to my 
 bed, 1 11 need no doctoring. Pay-day s come, and Lord send me 
 the feeling to believe that I kin square accounts with my eternal 
 Creditor, and git an honorable discharge from all my debts !" 
 
 " Yet, Gowdey, there must be something melancholy in this 
 solitary way of life. Have you no people no kindred?" 
 
 " Not a living human as I knows on ; not a chick nor a child. 
 Ef I had, your honor, they should be here, and I d work the mus 
 cles harder, but they should lie on a softer bed than mine. But 
 I haint got em, and I don t miss em. When I was a younger 
 man, I did ; and then I felt how hard it was to be alone. But 
 I m usen to it now. Men who live, like me, all their lives in the 
 woods, gits out of liking for what you call society. They Tarn to 
 love woods, and thicks, and trees, and rivers, and lakes ; and they 
 gits a quick ear for the cries of birds and beasts ; and they some- 
 
190 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 how finds company in very small and sometimes strange matters. 
 The woods and trees, and even the waters, git to be friends after 
 awhile ; and you talks to them, and you think and believe that 
 they talks back to you. A cast-away sailor on a desarted island 
 will git to an acquaintance with every rock and tree that he sees 
 daily, and Tarn to love em, and want no better company. And 
 so, an old woodman like myself why, sir, here in this old log- 
 castle, I m a-convarsing all day, at the lookout, with something or 
 other, and studying the set of a tree, and the shape of a cloud, and 
 the shades of green in the woods as the sun and winds pass over 
 Vm, so that I make out a sort of argyment for them, and myself 
 too. But there s more than that, your honor. There s the com 
 pany of blessed spirits, that are always about UP. night and day, 
 doing something we do n t know what or how to help us on, 
 arid keep our hearts up, and make our road easy." 
 
 " Spirits? Did you ever see a spirit?" 
 
 " Yes, your honor ; I m sure of it, though I do n t know for 
 sartain that one ever did cross my sight. But I ve felt it. I 
 feels very sure that they keep my company. There s something 
 tells me so. It s in my heart or head; it s in all my veins; it s 
 my holy belief. And sometimes I think I hear voices ; and there 
 are sounds that stir me up tiJl my heart beats like a strong watch ; 
 and my hair rises naturally, without any thinking of mine with 
 out any warning : so that I know that they are about me." 
 
 " But you have seen nothing ?" 
 
 " Well, I kaint say yes, your honor, but I kaint say no. I ve 
 never had a spirit to stand before me, and face me outright ; but 
 I ve felt em flash beside me, when I ve been in the deep thick, 
 jest like a flash of a wing jest like a bird passing." 
 
 " T was a bird, no doubt." 
 
 " No, your honor ! My gun p ints naturally at the flash of a 
 bird s wing, right or left ; and you know 1 in an old hunter, and 
 ought to know what s a bird and what s not. There s not a red 
 skin in the woods but will tell you Ben Gowdey knows every bird 
 that flies. But I hear sounds and I see shapes, when it s grow 
 ing dusk ; and at night, in this old log-castle, I kin hear whispers 
 in the very room, when its deep midnight ; and but, Lord love 
 your honor, it s easier to believe than to prove ; and ef you were 
 to ask me all day, I could only tell you that I believe for myself, 
 
OLD GOWDEY. 191 
 
 but kaint make the thing clear to you. But it stands to reason. 
 I had a father and a mother, like every other man ; and I had 
 brothers and sisters, but it so happened that I hardly ever know d 
 one of em ; they all died off when I was not knee-high. And I 
 have reason to believe that they were goodish people enough 
 poor, and sinning now and then, as is the natural case with poor 
 folks, put to it pretty hard by a hard world ; but, as the world 
 goes, I reckon they were goodish people. And the little brothers 
 and sisters, not six years old, what was to make them bad ? Well, 
 they all naturally feels a feeling to help me on smoothly, and to 
 make me journey safely ; and so, 1 reckon, they are about me. 
 And I m glad to think so, for it does me good, and keeps me as 
 good as human flesh will let me be ! And I m sure it s they that 
 flash across my sight ; , and they whisper in my room ; and, I tell 
 you, I ve had, more than a hundred times, a something whisper 
 ing in my ear, Don t! and sometimes, jest as often, another 
 whispering that said, Do ! and I know it that, jest as I listened 
 to them voices, I got on smooth and safe, and felt the better for it." 
 
 " I can t quarrel with your faith, Gow T dey, and still less am I 
 disposed to find fault with your philosophy." 
 
 " Oh ! t aint philosophy, your honor. I m not conceited enough 
 for that. It s only the reason, and the common sense, and the 
 natural truth." 
 
 " Perhaps so. Certainly, if such are the fruits of their interfe 
 rence with you, the spirits deserve this privilege of visit. But, 
 are you not disturbed by other sounds? Do not the Indians 
 sometimes rouse you up at midnight ?" 
 
 " Not they ! They d feel it in all their bones, and they know 
 it. They re mortally afear d of the six-pounder; and they all 
 know what a nice rifle-bead I kin draw upon red skin or white, 
 ef they come too close to the garrison. But they d like to do it, 
 ef they could, and so I m good at watch, and knows my time ; 
 and am jest as good a scout in the woods as the best of them." 
 
 " Are any of them in the neighborhood ?" 
 
 " They re beginning to come, and some are never gone. Some 
 of them, the Stonos and the Sewees, live almost altogether on the 
 salts. The Yamasees keeps a-moving up and down in the winter, 
 but gits back to the Ashepoo and Pocotaligo, and all along the 
 salts, in fish-time. All these people a most belongs to the great 
 
102 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 Katahbah nation, and the tribes come and go, according to the 
 ieason, from the seacoast to the mountain-country and back agin. 
 There s a sort of trade between them. The seashore Injuns carry- 
 up shells, and clay pots and pans, and cane-reeds for arrows, and 
 gits flintstones for hatchets aud arrow-heads, and war-clubs, rom 
 the up-country people, in the way of barter." 
 
 " Have you seen many this season ?" 
 
 " Not many. But they re about, I hear, and coming along 
 daily. In a month s time or so, the woods will be thick with em, 
 all along the rivers. And I m sorry to see it." 
 
 " What ! they lessen your chances at the game thin the 
 game " 
 
 " It s not that, your honor ; there s a plenty for all of us. But 
 I m afear d the Injuns are guine to be troublesome agin. They 
 have not been whipped bad enough yet, and never was there any 
 people so apt to forget a whipping soon. They were pretty sassy 
 before they went off last autumn, and, from what I then seed, I 
 was dubous of what was to come. From what I hear, I reckon 
 there 11 be some of the mountain-tribes coming down along with 
 em this season ; and ef they do, we may calculate to hear the 
 warwhoop somewhere about the settlements this summer. Well, 
 now you see, jest at this time, when they re most sassy, comes a 
 new council, and they ve got the notion in their heads that all these 
 redskins are a sort of natural Christians that only wants a leetle 
 sprinkling to become convarts to our religion, and grow into hon 
 est, sober, home-keeping Christians. But water aint going to do 
 it, your honor no, nor soap and water, nor all the preaching 
 from London down to Vera Cruz. It s whipping, and hard work, 
 and Taming how to eat good bread and meat well cooked, and git- 
 ting a taste for vegetables as well as venison : this is the way to 
 teach a savage how to git religion. The cook-pot is a great con- 
 \arter of the heathen that and the whipping-post." 
 
 " Rather novel doctrines, Gowdey. 
 
 " Oh ! I knows the beast, your honor, and kin count every spot 
 on his hide. These council-men, they knows nothing. Here s a 
 new man, a Colonel Berkeley, a nevey of the Lord Berkeley, 
 they say, and he s bought ever so much land, jest above us, some 
 seven or eight miles up; and they ve made him a lord, too a 
 cassique, they call it, which is Injun for a lord; and he s one 
 
OLD GOWDEY. 193 
 
 of the council-men; and he says they ve been too hard upon the 
 Injuns; and he s brought out orders that we re to captivate and 
 sell no more of them, but to have treaties with em, and trade with 
 em, and treat em like brothers. And pretty brothers he ll find 
 them! He s having them at his plantation that he s a-settling, 
 and he s feeding them ; and he ll have enough of em before he s 
 done with em. They ll feed on him all they can, and he ll never 
 content em so long as he s got anything left ; and when he won t 
 give any more, they 11 take ; and the first fine chance, when they 
 sees that his barony s full of good things, they 11 make a midnight 
 dash at em, and he ll never know his danger till he feels their 
 fingers in his hair. They ll raise his scalp for him before they re 
 done with him. But you know the varments as well as I do." 
 
 " And has he no notion of all this ?" 
 
 "No more than a child ! I ve talked over the whole thing to 
 him, and told him what he may expect. But he says it s all our 
 fault ; that we treated the Injuns badly, and made em what they 
 are; that they re Nature s noblemen, and only need good treat 
 ment to be good fellows and good Christians. He s sat here with 
 me by the hour, talking over the matter and jest, as I may say, 
 talking like a man in a dream. His head is full of projects. 
 He s always at something new. Now he s for draining all these 
 swamps he says they 11 make the best meadows in the world ; 
 then he s for great cattle-ranges and sheepwalks ; and for making 
 wine out of the grapes, and says he kin supply all England with 
 wine better than they git from France. Well, the upshot of all 
 will be, that he ll break, and go to smash, and the Injuns will take 
 his scalp and burn his barony. They ll first begin upon his sheep 
 and cattle, and he s got a smart chance of both already from Eng 
 land ; and then they ll finish with his family. They ll eat and 
 burn him up." 
 
 " But does he maintain no watch no garrison ? 
 
 "Yes: he s got some raw English laborers with him; and the 
 carpenters are at work, and he s got his block-houses and we pons- 
 of-war ; but he don t know the savages how they work a traverse, 
 and they ll all be surprised and cut off. And it s a mighty sad 
 thing to think upon, your honor; for this Colonel Berkeley seems 
 a mighty fine sort of person honorable, and smart enough, and 
 full of work ; he s got a hand for a-most anything, and is jest 
 
 9 
 
194 1HE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 about as eager at a new beginning as any boy tliat ever broke 
 loose out of school. I m to git him an Injun lad for a hunter; 
 and I ve agreed for one, the son of an old chief of the Sewees 
 old Mingo, as we call him, but the Injuns call him Cussoboe. 
 He s the chief of that tribe. I expect him every day. The colo 
 nel wanted to hire me to do his hunting ; but, at my time, your 
 honor, I won t go into any new contracts. I m for paddling my 
 own canoe." 
 
 " It is to this barony of Colonel Berkeley that I m to go to 
 night, Gowdey, and you must direct me how to find it." 
 
 " I 11 guide your honor, if you please. It ? s easier to do that 
 than to direct you." 
 
 " Have you a horse ?" 
 
 " As sleek a marsh tacky as you ever crossed." 
 
 " Franks sent you a horse for me ?" 
 
 " He s here and safe hid and hoppled in the thick, alongside 
 of my own." 
 
 " Well, Gowdey, I shall be glad to have your guidance. How 
 Jong will it take us to get there ?" 
 
 " A short two hours." 
 
 " Then, if we start three hours before day, it will answer. Now,, 
 understand me. This is a secret expedition. I am not going to 
 see Colonel Berkeley, and do not wish to be seen by him or any 
 of his people. I wish to hover about for awhile, concealed closely, 
 seeing everything if possible, myself unseen. He is, you are 
 aware, a member of the privy council, and exercises a large influ 
 ence upon the deliberations of that body. I need not tell you 
 that I am compelled to keep dark." 
 
 " Yes, I Ve heard ! that bloody fight with the Spanish don ! 
 Well, for my part, I only wish you had sunk a hundred of em. 
 Those bloody Spaniards are the natural enemies of all true Eng 
 lishmen ; and the king and lords-proprietors don t know what 
 mischief they re a-doing, when they tie up the hands of our val 
 iant cruisers. But they hain t ruled you out of law altogether, 
 captain." 
 
 " You may earn five hundred pounds, Gowdey, by showing tc 
 the governor, or this Colonel Berkeley, where to lay hands upon 
 me!" 
 
 " And I d airn hell and damnation along with the money, your 
 
OLD GOWDEY. 
 
 honor! Surely, sir, your honor believes m the honor of Ben 
 Gowdey ?" 
 
 "As in my own and thus it is that you see me here to 
 night." 
 
 " God bless you, sir," grasping and squeezing his guest s hand, 
 " and your visits and honor to this poor old hunter ! We must 
 drink together on that, your honor; and now for that bite of 
 supper 1" 
 
1!K> THE CASSIOUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 NIGHT-RIDE TO KIAWAH. 
 
 " Thou dark grove, 
 
 That has been called the scat of melanchrvy, 
 And shelter for the discontented spirit 
 Sure thou art wronged ; thou seem st to me a place 
 Of solace and content." THOMA.S MAY The Heir. 
 
 WE shall say nothing of the supper. It was clean, of coursej. 
 ind simple ; the Jamaica was employed, and its virtues acknowl 
 edged though neither Calvert nor the hunter professed to be 
 bottle-holders. While they ate, they talked ; that is to say, Gow- 
 dey talked : and when did you ever meet old hunter yet, or old 
 fisherman, that was not fond of his own music, except when on 
 duty ? At such a time, the hunter and fisherman are as sacredly 
 silent as if in waiting for the delivery of an oracle. They re 
 venge themselves, subsequently, for this reverential abstinence, 
 when, having no game, they only seek a victim ! 
 
 But, now, Calvert encourages Gowdey to speak. He wiles 
 him, gently and gradually, to the subject of Colonel Berkeley, 
 the cassique, who, by-the-way, is something of a curiosity to our 
 hunter. He admires his energy, his courage, the boldness of his 
 projects, the dignity of his bearing, and, so far as he knows it, the 
 worth of his character. His manliness and unaffected simplicity 
 are especially themes for his admiration. He has no vulgar 
 pride. 
 
 " He will sit, jest as you do, captain, for hours, with an old 
 hunter like myself, and ask questions, and listen quietly, and 
 never take pains, every now and then, to let you see that he 
 thinks himself the better man! And, though I think he s quite 
 wild in some of his calculations, and rather more likely to do 
 
NIGHT-RIDE TO KIAWAH. 197 
 
 harm than good as when he thinks to tame these red savages, 
 and convart these marshes into grand pasturages, and make wine 
 out of these grapes to beat all France yet he s so manful and 
 courageous in it all, that I can t help liking him. And, another 
 reason, he s all the time trying to do! It is n t to make money. 
 Ef you believe me, your honor, I do n t think this cassique, as 
 they call him, cares a copper whether he gits anything out of all 
 his workings for himself. But he looks out upon the marsh, and 
 says, If I could conquer it from the sea, and make it green with 
 grass ! And he says, Think of all these forests, Gowdey, sup 
 porting their thousands of sheep ! And then he looks at the 
 grapevines everywhere, and cries out, All Europe shall drink of 
 the wine of Carolina ! Them s grand idees, your honor, and 
 them s the idees of Colonel Berkeley. He s got no sort of little 
 meanness in all his nature. He s for taking the rough world, 
 jest as you see it, and making it smooth for man ! He s a-blun- 
 dering, it s true ; for you see he comes to Carolina, not knowing 
 much about it, with all his grand English idees ; and he kain t git 
 quite right till he 1 arns all about the actual sarcumstances of the 
 country. But give him time, and he 11 do. Now, what do you 
 think ? Here he s imported thousands of English brick, to build 
 his houses and chimneys, and his tiles of clay, into a clay-country, 
 where there s the best clay in the world, and more firewood, so 
 I ve hearn himself say, in this single county, than in all Great 
 Britain! When he d seen the Injun clay pans and pots, he 
 kicked the piles of brick at the landing with his feet, and said, 
 4 What a fool I was to bring these things here ! He 11 1 arn, but 
 what s the expense? I m afraid it ll be no less than his scalp." 
 
 " But have you not warned him of the treachery of the In 
 dians?" 
 
 "Till I m tired ; but he ll have to Tarn them, jest as he 1 arned 
 the clay and bricks. And they II soon teach him. Nothing but 
 downright war with the redskins will save him. And who knows 
 but they may begin on him? They re jest as apt to begin with 
 the man they feed on, as on any other person." 
 
 " He is making a great place of his barony, then ?" 
 
 " Give him five years, and it 11 be famous." 
 
 " Have you seen his family ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir his wife, and one child. They ve had but one. 
 
198 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 But her mother s a-living with him, and there s a girl about 
 thirteen " 
 
 " Her sister I suppose. 
 
 " I reckon ; but I do n t know. They call her Grace. * 
 
 Calvert involuntarily nodded his head in the affirmative. And 
 here, for awhile, the conversation flagged. It was resumed, some 
 what abruptly, by the hunter : 
 
 "You re asking me, your honor, bout the cassique. Now, 
 there s one thing that s struck me ever sence I first sot eyes on 
 him ; and that is, that he looks mighty much like you. I thought 
 of you the moment I seed him. He s not so tall as you, and I 
 reckon he s five years older ; but you ve got the same complex 
 ion, the same sort of eyes and face generally ; and you re both 
 quick as a breeze, and always a-doing! And when you walk, 
 there s the same sort of lift in the shoulders ; but it s mostly when 
 you re a-setting that I sees the likeness. You sort o square off 
 broadly when you set ; and your hands rest on your thighs ; and 
 you set your head pra d ; and your eyes look through the man 
 you re a-talking to; and your mouth is shut close pressed tight, 
 I may say, as if you was a-thinking, I may have to fight this 
 man yet ; and you are apt to speak sudden, quick, onexpectedly ; 
 and then the speech comes short, and the voice is deep, as if it 
 come from the chest, deep down, and it sounds like a bell ! 
 There s a great deal, mighty like, that you ve got at ween you; 
 and ef he s got the heart that you ve got, then, ef ever you git 
 into a quarrel, I wouldn t want to be the looker-on, for I loves 
 you and I likes him : for, as sure as a gun, there d be one death, 
 and prehaps two, from the fight. He ll fight like blazes, I reckon, 
 for he gathers himself up all the time, as ef he was going into 
 battle. Everything s in airnest that he does. I reckon ef he 
 was to go into push-pin, he d made a real life-sort of business out 
 of it." 
 
 "I shall be curious to see and know him, Gowdey ; but that s 
 impossible, just now, when he s of the council, and I am under 
 ban of law as a pirate." 
 
 " Does they give you that name, captain ? And only for licking 
 the Spaniards ! Blast em, for the bloodiest fools ! as ef every 
 Spanish ship that we blowed out of water was n t a help to us in 
 these poor colonies. 
 
NIGHT-RIDE TO KIAWAH. 199 
 
 ** A nation only goes to ruin, Gowdey, under the management 
 of cowardice, ignorance, and treachery ; and when a king himself 
 betrays his own people, Gowdey, to say nothing of his own dig- 
 nity r then the disaster enures to the whole race, and to the most 
 distant times." 
 
 " And is it the king, your honor?" 
 
 "Ay, the king! who, corrupt himself, corrupts justice, corrupts 
 his chief men, corrupts the people ; makes office a fraud ; makes 
 nobility a shame ; makes a people bankrupt of honor as of fortune. 
 But England is too much the care of Heaven to suffer this rule 
 of imbecility very long ; and, I tell you, this king will be removed 
 will die by the hands of God or the hands of man, or there will 
 be another bloody revolution, such as brought his father to the 
 block, to relieve his people from the dangers of his misrule. God 
 will interpose before it be too late ! I am sure of this as if I had 
 seen it ; for England is too important to the world s safety and 
 progress, not to find a special Providence interposing for her be 
 half, in a condition of so much doubt and danger. I could feel 
 tempted to prophesy that the hand of Fate is upon him even 
 now !" 
 
 "And I m sure I sha n t care how soon ! The fact is, captain, 
 when a man gits to rambling over a great forest-country like this, 
 he begins to think, How s it that we re to have a furrin sover 
 eign ? and then he gits a step further, and axes, What s the use 
 of having a king at all ? It s mighty sartain that a king of Eng 
 land, living cl ar away over that great breadth of ocean, ain t of 
 no sort of use to us here ; and the use of a king, I reckon, or of 
 any sort of officer, is jest about the first question that a reasonable 
 white man ought to ax anywhere. It s the question that we puts, 
 you know, when we ax after the man: What s he good for 
 what kin he do ? Kin he fight, or counsel, or plan, or build, or 
 work, or trap, hunt, fish work in some way doing for himself 
 and other people ? Oh, a new country, like ours, is jest the sort 
 of school where we gits rid of ridiculous notions about governors 
 and men. It s not what the man wears, but what he does. And 
 no crown upon his head, arid no gold stick in his hand, no epau 
 lette on his shoulder or star upon his breast, or beautiful ribands 
 and buttons, can save a poor skunk of a fellow from disgrace, that 
 ain t got the right sort of stuff of manhood in him. But I m a 
 
200 THE CASSIQUB OP KIAWAH. 
 
 poor old fellow, that ain t nobody but a hunter and fisherman 
 that prehaps ought not to talk about such mighty idees" 
 
 " Mighty ideas you may well call them, Gowdey, and such a3 
 are destined to shake the world some day. But the time is not 
 yet. They are ideas which will grow here, in this wild country ; 
 are the natural ideas of such a country, and can hardly take root 
 anywhere else. But, is it not almost time for a start ? I would 
 have you conduct me within sight of this cassique s barony, arid 
 then leave me. I shall find the way back to-morrow night, and 
 shall expect you to carry me over to the town in your boat. Of 
 course, everything must be secret to ourselves." 
 
 "I know, sir all right! Say the word, and I will git the 
 horses. But ef you are to be out there all day, lying close, and 
 seeing nobody, how will you git provision ?" 
 
 The cruiser showed a snug wallet which he carried under his 
 hunting-shirt. His costume, by-the-way, had been changed to that 
 of the American woodsman. 
 
 "All right, your honor ! I see you don t forgit the commissa 
 riat." 
 
 Gowdey went out, and, soon returning, reported the horses to 
 be in readiness. A stoup of Jamaica concluded the session, after 
 the usage of the country ; and some three hours before the dawn, 
 the two were upon the road. You are to understand, however, 
 that, letting out Calvert first, then bolting securely the massive 
 oaken door upon him, Gowdey, with rope and tackle, let himself 
 down from the upper story. By a mysterious process, the secret 
 of which he never suffered out of his own keeping, the rope was 
 concealed from sight immediately after, and not available to any 
 one who might wish for it in his absence. Gowdey prided him 
 self very much upon his machinery. 
 
 And thus making his house secure, he mounted his marsh 
 tackey, and led the way through the forests. The trail was a 
 blind one, affording " a short cut" to a point which might have 
 been reached by a more open but more circuitous route. The 
 one chosen was at once shorter and more secret. They rode in 
 silence ; policy dictating forbearance to the inveterate tongue of 
 the old hunter, while our cruiser preferred to indulge in medita 
 tions of a nature too delicate to share even wit) the most trust 
 worthy comrade. 
 
NIGHT-RIDE TO KIAWAH. 201 
 
 And while Govvdey rode on before, as guide, Calvert discussed 
 in his own mind the subjects of their recent conversation. His 
 thought naturally reverted to the account given of his brother. 
 
 " This was not the wont," he mused, " of Edward Berkeley ! 
 His habit was wont to be calm, quiet, subdued ; grave rather than 
 earnest ; thoughtful rather than intense ; fond of revery rather than 
 action. Plow could this change be wrought in him so suddenly, 
 in the short space of three years ? Can he be the same person ? 
 Can it be my brother whom all these men describe to me? so 
 like, yet so unlike ? I can not doubt that it is he ! But how 
 unlike the man he was, ere this dark cloud passed between us ; 
 ere we were separated by this terrible chasm which we may not 
 leap, even in eternity ! Just so long are we separated. For, if 
 the affections are to survive the grave ; if the precious sentiments 
 
 those which bring life and verdure to the soul pass with it 
 into the spheres of the future ; if, there, the beloved ones remain 
 to us, still loving and beloved what must be the future to us 
 to him, to me but separation for ever ? And she ! shall I 
 behold her in other worlds, nor claim her as my own, even as in 
 this ? Shall the wrongs done us here, not be righted there ? Shall 
 he there find a law, and exercise a power, which shall still work 
 for us denial and bitterness, as here? the forfeiture of all that 
 precious hope on which both of us fed so fondly? that hope 
 which was never to bear its fruit ! Shall there be no atonement, 
 no redress, for this wrong, this robbery, this wo ?" 
 
 And the strong man groaned aloud unconsciously, as the bitter 
 flood of memory and thought rolled its deep waters over his soul. 
 
 " Anything the matter, captain ?" 
 
 Calvert roused himself at the question, and shook himself free 
 of his revery. 
 
 " No, Gowdey only such matter as makes a sad thought too 
 strong for a sad heart !" 
 
 " Ah ! well, your honor, there s no medicine in one s pocket for 
 the heart of another. It s only to be a man, and that means one 
 who knows how to carry a camel s load on a poor pair of human 
 shoulders. A great secret, I reckon, ef one could 1 arn it ! But 
 
 psho! p^ho!" lowering his voice "I see a light yonder 
 in the woods. It looks like a camp-fire. Ef you ll let me, cap 
 tain, I ll jest git down, hitch Hop-o -my-Thumb to this sapling, 
 
202 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and take a peep at that fire. You know I m a sort of s^out of the 
 garrison when I m on this kind of night-riding." 
 
 He had alighted and hitched his nag ere he had done speaking. 
 
 " Ef you 11 jest wait a bit here, captain, I won t keep you long ; 
 but it s needful to you as well as me that we should see about 
 this campment here. We may have to lead our horses for a bit, 
 or turn out of the track into the bushes t other side, so as not to 
 mak ; the ears of bad-tempered outliers open too big as we go." 
 
 The consent of the rover was anticipated by his guide, who 
 soon disappeared in the bushes ; and, while he " scouted," gradu 
 ally nearing the fire which had excited his curiosity, if not alarm, 
 the thoughts of Calvert carried him back to the subject upon 
 which he had been musing a few minutes before. 
 
 " What has caused this change in Edward Berkeley ? What 
 but guilt ! It is the demon that has fastened upon his soul. It 
 is conscience which is busy. He knows that he has done me 
 wrong. He has basely taken advantage of my absence, to usurp 
 my rights. His passions have got the better of his truth, of broth 
 erly love, of justice and honor ; and, these gratified, he begins to 
 feel the stings and arrows which are to avenge my wrongs ! Hence 
 these labors, these wild speculations, this incessant, restless excite 
 ment, which make the wonder of all who see ! He shall feel 
 more, ere his experience ends. He shall feel life pall upon him, 
 and excitement wear away, and hope lost, and love a fiend, and 
 passion finally a hell !" 
 
 Something correct, but not all correct, Calvert. It may be that 
 Edward Berkeley shall thus suffer, but not so much from the goad 
 of conscience. At present, his true tormentor is the demon of 
 unrest born, certainly, of hopes unsatisfied ; of torments felt ; 
 of doubts and anxieties ; of a dream unrealized ; but not of the 
 sense of a wrong done to a brother ! No ! no ! he knows not 
 that yet. Let us acquit him of that ! He is not so much sinning 
 as sinned against ; he has been deceived ; is not willingly a de 
 ceiver. But let us not anticipate. 
 
 Harry Calvert sat moodily upon his horse, waiting the return 
 of Gowdey, but hardly conscious that he waited. His chin rested 
 upon his breast ; his eyes were closed ; his thoughts striving in 
 chaotic provinces in which he could as yet find no light. He was 
 roused by the voice of Gowdey : 
 
NIGHT-RIDE TO KIAWAH. 03 
 
 " As I thought, captain ! Injuns a few Sewees, or Cusso- 
 boes a small party. I made em all out, and they never guessed 
 it. Ha ! ha ! Give me a white man, after all, for good scouting. 
 It s curious, captain, one of this party is the chief of the Kiawahs 
 old Cussoboe; and ef anybody had a raal, natural right to be 
 called Cassique of Kiawah, it s him ; for he s been, to my knowl 
 edge, high chief of all the river, and this part of the country, which 
 is the Kiawah country, for a matter of ten years, and it may be 
 twenty. Well, here s Colonel Berkeley, that comes here under 
 English authority, and buys the land from under the red king s 
 foot, and takes away his very title ! The two chiefs will meet to 
 morrow, I reckon, on a sort of treaty, and I know something about 
 it. Old Micco Cussoboe that is, King Cussoboe is on his 
 way to the barony now, I reckon. He s jest stopped, like a cun 
 ning savage as he is, to eat and drink up all he s got, and get a 
 new supply out of the white men. They re all sound asleep now, 
 but you ll find em all wide awake by daylight, painting them 
 selves up, and putting on their bravest coats, and hats, and feath 
 ers, to make a show when they come before the white chief. 
 T would be a fine thing ef you could see it all; and maybe you 
 will, for it s jest as like as not that the white cassique will receive 
 his red brother in the open air ; though that s not the court way 
 among the Injuns, as long as they ve got a house to hold council 
 in. And now, your honor, if you say so, we 11 make another start 
 to be jogging." 
 
 " Go on, Gowdey." 
 
 And they rode as before, Gowdey now silent, and Calvert medi 
 tative, and still on the same subject : 
 
 "Yes, we are alike and Heaven spare us the meeting as 
 enemies ! It is as this keen-sighted hunter says : such a meeting 
 will be the death of one or both ! Let us not think of it. JNo, 
 Edward Berkeley, though you have done me this wrong though 
 you have made me, as yourself, the victim of a never-ceasing ago 
 ny of unrest let there be no strife between us ! I, at least, 
 must grow madder than I feel now, before I lift fratricidal hand 
 at your bosom !" 
 
 We sum up thus a long, wandering train of thought and feeling, 
 in which our rover s fancy conjured up nothing but spectres of 
 wo and evil. 
 
204 THE CASSIQUF OP KIAWAH. 
 
 The precincts of the barony of Kiawah were at length reached. 
 There were the openings of the forest ; there the settlements 
 there the forest, black in its density and depth of green. Gowdey 
 pointed out the several localities in detail, as far as they could be 
 noted in the imperfect starlight. Some twelve or fifteen acres had 
 been cleared, an occasional group of oaks alone excepted. At 
 right angles stood four block-houses, cornering the clearing. These 
 were to be points of defence, made of squared logs, pierced for 
 musketry, yet designed as lodgings for the workmen. In the cen 
 tre was the mansion, a framed house on brick pillars, with wings 
 of logs, in which the family resided. The rest was rapidly ad 
 vancing to completion. The whole square was to be picketed ; 
 the outhouses and offices, occupying a line between the several 
 corners, to be pierced in like manner for musketry, yet susceptible 
 of use for ordinary domestic purposes; the doors and windows 
 looking into the court, which was a sort of place de la garde, a 
 plaza d armas, but answering for the purposes of court, and 
 grounds, and garden. Here and there a very fine old oak, or 
 pine, or cedar, sometimes clumps of each, had been suffered to 
 remain. Everything as yet was rude, and in a perfectly chaotic 
 state. Log-heaps, piles of brush, remained unburnt; piles of 
 brick and lumber obstructed the pathways. Everything denoted 
 progress and performance, but in just that state when the eye 
 looks dissatisfied over the whole disordered spectacle. The region 
 chosen for the settlement was a long, narrow ridge, running down 
 to the river, where it terminated, some three miles distant, in a 
 bluff. The front of the estate, upon the river, occupied little more 
 than a mile ; but it gradually stretched on either hand, as the sur 
 vey ran inland as may be supposed, when we know that the 
 barony comprised twenty-four thousand acres. 
 
 " Enough, now, Gowdey. I see the ground, and know where I 
 shall harbor. To-morrow night, if nothing happens, look to see 
 me some two hours after nightfall, when I shall expect you to 
 paddle me across the river. You need remain no longer. Good 
 night !" 
 
 " Rather, good-morning, your honor, for the day will soon be 
 upon us. "Well, sir, as you say so, I ll leave you. I ll look for 
 you, and be ready. You ve got a good hiding-place, and I know 
 that you ve the experience to make use of it. I don t fear that 
 
NIGHT-RIDE TO KIAWAH. 205 
 
 anything will happen. As for me, I mean to j ine that Injun 
 camp. I know em all, and I reckon the cassique here will want 
 my help to-morrow as an intarpreter. I m good at their lingo ; 
 and I m a leetle curious to know what s going on. I reckon it s 
 about an Injun hunter. The cassique wanted me to do his hunt 
 ing, but I ve got too old to follow any man s whistle. This old 
 chief, Cussoboe, wants his son to 1 arn English ways ; and he 
 agreed, some time ago, that, when they came back from the hills, 
 the boy should hunt for the cassique. It s gitting quite common 
 for the big men to have Injun hunters. But the idee s not a good 
 one. I see trouble in it. But that s not my lookout. After I ve 
 given good warning, a shut mouth is the sensible notion. And so, 
 your honor, I leave you ; and God prosper your s arch, whatever 
 it may be !" 
 
 And so they parted Calvert seeking the forest, where he hid 
 his horse, and Gowdey the camp of Cussoboe. 
 
206 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 * The grace of fortune still must have its foil : 
 The bliss may come in showers : but there shall be 
 Ever a bitter poison in the cup 
 Shall qualify the working to delight ! 
 We shall have palaces too, and goodly ones ; 
 But there still sits a mocker at the board, 
 To shake a skinny finger at our pomp, 
 And give our proud mortality to shame." 
 
 IN-DOORS or out of doors ? Which way shall we look ? With 
 out, the cassique is busy with the workmen. You hear the griding 
 of the saw, the clink of the hammer, the heavy, dull stroke of 
 the axe. And every sound declares for life the life of civiliza 
 tion usurping the domain of the savage. 
 
 Within ! Ah, within ! Is it life here ? It is the peculiar prov 
 ince of the woman. And why not life, even though there be no 
 strife, no bustle ? Life asserts itself no less sensibly and keenly 
 through pain and silent suffering than through the clamorous 
 voices that speak for human performance. 
 
 Wealth is here, no doubt. But the realm is a simple one. All 
 the appliances and appurtenances are rude. Compared with the 
 European houses of our settlers, the contrast is almost ludicrous. 
 Log-houses squared logs, it is true a great waste of timber 
 massive enough looking like rude castles show, nevertheless, 
 but uncouthly in European eyes, reared as our cassique and his 
 family have been, in the grand old homes of England. And this 
 central fabric, which is designed to be especially well finished 
 in which our Carolina nobleman means that his family shall dwell 
 what is it but a plain structure of pine and cypress ? Large 
 enough, certainly four rooms on a floor ; a great hall of recep- 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 tion, thirty by twenty-four ; dining-room, of the same dimensions ; 
 a grand passage through the centre ; a parlor for the ladies, some 
 what smaller than hall and dining-room ; and a library opposite ! 
 Chambers above, in a second story ; wings contemplated, giving 
 other chambers. Well, yes, from a distance, you will say this is 
 a stately mansion, of good dimensions for comfort ; and, if you 
 have seen none but the American world, it will be a big fabric, 
 rather grand of size and ample of accommodation, and supposed 
 to represent very superior wealth. 
 
 The enclosure which is staked off, partly fenced picketed, 
 rather confirms this idea. And there is wealth, the standards 
 of the country only considered ; and our cassique has prepared to 
 lodge his family well, with equal dignity and comfort. We are 
 to suppose a certain portion of the dwelling-house to be habitable, 
 if not finished. Some of the rooms are lined and panelled with 
 cypress-plank ; the chimneys are all built ; the furniture is there, 
 all fresh from England, of a rich, massy character hardly in 
 keeping, however, with the otherwise naked simplicity of the 
 dwelling. Clearly, the dwellers here have need to congratulate 
 themselves that their lot has fallen upon pleasant places. 
 
 But, are they happy ? 
 
 Even this question may be thought an impertinent one. We 
 are of those who think that we have got very little to do with 
 happiness. We have a certain destiny to fulfil, certain duties to 
 perform, certain laws to obey, and vicissitudes to encounter, with 
 such resources of courage as we have energy, industry, and pa 
 tient submission, with working ; and, these laws complied with, 
 we are to trouble ourselves no further about the compensative in 
 our lot. This is a matter which must be left to God. He will 
 settle our accounts, and make his award ; and, whether this be 
 happiness or suffering, is not a concern of ours, though it makes a 
 wonderful difference in the degree in which we may relish life. 
 
 Indeed, so certainly is all this true, that our instincts all recog 
 nise it ; and though we are told that the pursuit of happiness, in 
 our own way, is an inalienable right, yet nobody actually proposes 
 it to himself, at any time, as the object of his endeavor. Men do 
 not deliberately seek happiness at any time. They seek money, 
 seek power, seek indulgence, the gratification of one passion or 
 another ; but no one proposes to himself any scheme by which he 
 
208 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 contemplates the realization of Eden or Arcady. We all aim at 
 very inferior objects, and perhaps rightly. 
 
 And how should we pursue an object, in the possession of 
 which we have no guaranty ? Can there be any happiness in ill 
 health, in perpetual toil and anxiety, under the caprice of fortune ; 
 the caprice of wind and weather ; the knowledge that the most 
 precious hopes and affections lie everywhere, at every moment, 
 exposed to the spoiler to death, disease, loss, pain, denial, defeat 
 those hungry wolves that prey upon humanity those mocking 
 phantoms that delude it to despair ! 
 
 No ! we have nothing to do with happiness. He who pursues 
 it pursues a phantom. He who finds it becomes a coward, per 
 petually dreading death and disaster. A certain object lawful, 
 proper to our sympathies, natural to our condition, our strength 
 and resources this is what we may and should reasonably pur 
 sue ; and this is attainable by all those who bring honest purpose, 
 and judicious aim, and manly working, to bear upon the object of 
 desire. Even Love must be moderate in its aims, and we must 
 not expect too much from marriage. Men are not heroes all, nor 
 women angels ; and if the parties will only bear themselves toward 
 each other like honest men and women ; be faithful and fond, with 
 reasonable expectations of care and reverence, honor and respect ; 
 gentle solicitude on the one hand and manly protection on the 
 other we shall perhaps find it a goodly, comfortable world 
 enough : nor need we then trouble ourselves about the ideal con 
 dition which we figure under the word " happiness." The vulgar 
 mortal finds this to resolve itself into mutton one day, and roast 
 beef and plum-pudding another ; in the exhibition of new toggery 
 and trinkets ; or, as Zulieme Calvert was apt to do, in the fanciful 
 twirling of very flexible limbs to the inspiriting entreaties of tam 
 bourine and fiddle! 
 
 But were our cassique and his women-folk as happy as they 
 might be, in the circumstances of their condition, and under the 
 qualifying definitions of happiness which we have given ? 
 
 That is the question ! 
 
 Well, you have heard of the cassique, and what people thiik 
 Of him. You have seen him already in one brief interview. Look 
 at him now, among yonder workmen. We show him to you a 
 week in advance of Cal vert s visit. See the energy with which 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 he throws himself into labor : see the frightful intensity with which 
 he concentrates will, and thought, and muscle, upon the tasks be 
 fore him ; watch the eager impulse, the stirring mind, the restless 
 impatience ; hear the sharp, stern voice of authority, angry be 
 cause dull labor is slow to comprehend, and a sullen mood stub 
 bornly resists instruction. Note him, as he hurries to and fro 
 now on foot, now mounted hurrying this way, straining that ; 
 and now busy with the builders, now with the hewers ; and anon 
 with the ploughmen, as they drive their shares through the newly- 
 cleared lands striving, by dint of extra exertion, to repair the 
 loss of previous time the business of " breaking up" having been 
 begun rather late in the season. And now observe him, as, in a 
 state of physical exhaustion, he flings himself down upon the na 
 ked earth, trying to rest the animal man, while the mental, with 
 keen eye and impatient thought, chafes at the demands of the 
 poor body for needful hours of repose ! 
 
 " Well," you will be apt to say, " at least this man s nature is 
 satisfied. He is working in his vocation, con amore ; he is one 
 of those men who can not help but work who derives his enjoy 
 ments from his employments the greatest mortal secret." And, 
 to a certain degree, you will resolve correctly. 
 
 But, follow him now, as he starts up and passes into the dwel 
 ling. Note his countenance as he enters the house. See how it 
 alters in aspect. You have seen it wear, just now, a variety of 
 changes in a brief space of time. There was authority asserting 
 itself ; there was thought engaged in a problem ; there was eager 
 zeal growing angry at some vulgar retardation ; there were quali 
 ties of mind and temperament, all declaring themselves by sudden 
 and startling transitions. 
 
 But these disappear the moment he penetrates the dwelling. 
 We now see that a sudden cloud has passed over his brow, which 
 declares for some deeper working of the more secret nature. 
 There is sadness as well as solemnity in that cloud. There is a 
 gloomy shadow upon that spirit which the intellect does not offer 
 to disperse. It is a settled expression of anxiety, verging on ap 
 prehension, for which the mind prepares no medicine. 
 
 And you note that, when out of doors, and in contact with his 
 workmen, his carriage was rapid, eager, and without that reserve, 
 that staid dignity and measured movement, which vain men usu- 
 
210 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ally maintain when dealing with the vulgar ; yet, the moment he 
 approaches his dwelling, his movements become slow, his carriage 
 more erect ; he seems to brace himself, with effort, as for an en* 
 counter. He has put on his armor of pride and dignity as if for 
 the meeting with a foe. 
 
 Can this be the case ? And what are the relations of this lord 
 with his family ? 
 
 Let us look within. Let us eee how these women carry them 
 selves, ere the cassique appears. There is a tell-tale look or 
 action, a tone, a word, which, where there is a lurking sorrow, 
 will declare something of the secret ; and women are better tell 
 tales of the heart than men. 
 
 They occupy, mother and daughter, the parlor in the rear of 
 the dining-room, which has been assigned especially to their use. 
 
 The Honorable Mrs. Constance Masterton is about fifty years 
 of age, and, though carefully dressed, is not remarkably well pre 
 served. She may have been a pretty woman in her youth. She 
 has few traces of beauty now. The skin is sallow and wrinkled, the 
 cheeks sunken ; she is lean and tall, and, but for a piercing black 
 eye, still full of fire, keen and searching, the sharpness and severity 
 of her visage and the turbid yellow of her skin would make her 
 absolutely revolting. 
 
 She is a woman of dignity. She is stately in her air and man 
 ner, and, as we have said, studious of her dress. She carries 
 herself haughtily. She has a hard, hard heart; her training 
 has been that of a convention which gave the heart no chance 
 her manners have all been formed artificially. She knows no na 
 ture inconsistent with the rules of her circle. She has had na 
 life but that of society. She was one of those ridiculous people 
 who claim always to be "in fociety" to be "the society" and 
 who affect to despise all other classes who do not, in fact, ac 
 knowledge any other as in existence. She believes only in her 
 own "charmed circle" one which the natural man would never 
 esteem a charming one. Books are not among her objects. She 
 never read one in her life. Music she recognises only as essen 
 tial to the proprieties of the household, even as cushions and sofa 
 are regarded as a material part of the furniture. She knows 
 no more of mut-ic than a mule. Her tastes were limited to cos 
 tume simply, and this was prescribed by a French artiste. Such 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 was she in her English home. There, she was poor withal, in 
 pite of all this social pretension ; and in that melancholy situation 
 in which the social vanity is ever at a painful conflict with the 
 conventional necessity. She was a schemer, accordingly ; and 
 never did poor demagogue, with large appetite and small wits, la 
 bor, with more vulgar agents of trickery, for office, than did she 
 to maintain the social position from which poverty had compelled 
 her to descend. In the exercise of this faculty, she had shown 
 herself sufficiently dexterous. She had shuffled off a younger 
 son with nothing, and contrived to secure the elder, with a fortune, 
 for her eldest daughter. She had large practical wisdom ; was a 
 woman of shrewdest policy. 
 
 And that daughter ? Olive Berkeley ! 
 
 As a general rule, dear reader, we should expect the children 
 to inherit the aspect, the habits, tastes, and characteristics, of those 
 from whom they descend those, at least, by whom they were 
 trained and educated. But the contradictions between children 
 and parents sometimes confound us. We might reconcile them, 
 possibly, were we in possession of all the facts. But, in the pres 
 ent case, one portion of our criteria escapes us. Olive Masterton 
 had a father, but of him we know nothing. Was she like him ? 
 Perhaps ! She was certainly very unlike her mother. 
 
 But her mother had educated her, and the poet tells us 
 
 "Just as the twig is bent, the tree s inclined." 
 
 Another more certainly inspired, says : " Train up a child in the 
 way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." 
 And so, too, we may say, generally, of those who are trained up 
 in the way in which they should not go. But there are cases 
 individual and rare exceptions, we admit in which Nature shows 
 herself paramount to all other influences, whether of training, or 
 tyranny, or simple education. We suspect that Olive Masterton 
 was one of this description. Nature certainly had done not a 
 little to neutralize the misteachings of the mother. 
 
 Physically, the daughter was quite unlike her mother. She 
 was tall, it is true, but in this respect father and mother may have 
 been alike. In all other respects, they had little in common. 
 The mother was a brunette dark of complexion and of eye. 
 And, though called " Olive" why we know not the daughter 
 
212 THE CASSIQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 was a blonde, perfectly fair, of transparent skin ; light, lively blue 
 eye ; and the most delicate auburn hair, that floated wild, in free 
 ringlets, over head and bosom. She was, as is natural to this 
 temperament, inclined to be full and plump ; but there were good 
 reasons why she was not so at the date of our history. Something 
 of care and thought, of anxiety and disappointment the heart, 
 briefly, had been at conflict with the temperament ; and she is 
 now thin, pale very pale and spiritless. The change had 
 been very great in eighteen months. Before that time, there had 
 been few creatures of the same class who could be described as 
 more perfectly beautiful more round, and plump, and fair, bright, 
 and blessing, and elastic a thing of joy and beauty. There 
 were certainly fewer still whom we can conceive more loving or 
 loveaUe in character. Gentle, generous, ingenuous frank and 
 impulsive graceful and accomplished fair and beautiful 
 Olive Masterton was as unpresuming as if she had not a single 
 one of these excellences as if her mother had never taught her 
 one lesson of her own. Convention, and her proud, ridiculous 
 mother, had equally failed to spoil the liberal handiwork of Na 
 ture, however much they may have succeeded in perverting it 
 from its sweet and proper destination. Olive was one of those 
 who could and did pass through the infected district with a talis- 
 manic power, carrying away no single taint upon her pure, white 
 garments. 
 
 But you see that something has gone wrong with Olive. She 
 is a wife and a mother young wife, younger mother yet, as 
 you see her there before you, not eighteen months a wife, you 
 doubt if she be a bride ; you do not doubt that she is not, in any 
 sense, a happy one ! 
 
 She sits at the tambour-frame at one of those pretty, trifling, 
 slight sorts of work, so grateful to the feminine nature, so graceful 
 in feminine fingers, which, under a pretext of employment, affords 
 opportunity for reveries which may, or may not, be pleasant! 
 She seems unconscious of her occupation. Her eyes are half- 
 closed ; her whole air is listless and indifferent ; it is very evident 
 that her thought is far away, and not satisfied with what it finds 
 in its wanderings. Her face is not merely pale it is marked 
 by a deadly marble whiteness ; her cheek is colorless ; her form 
 thin to leanness. "When she looks rp, at the voice of her mother 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 her large blue eyes dilate with a vacancy of gaze which pains you 
 to behold. Young wife, young mother, but with no young heart, 
 or hope, or fancy. Her glance tells you, if not her cheek, that 
 she has survived all those sweet treasures of her youth. 
 
 Her mother watches her with an eager, sharp, dissatisfied sort 
 of interest. She, too, is engaged in needlework ; but she lays it 
 down frequently in her lap, and fixes her eyes upon her daughter. 
 Her tall, spare figure, sitting erect in the old Elizabethan chair 
 of massive mahogany, is a good study of pride, antiquity, and self- 
 complacency, assured dignity and satisfied importance. In some 
 respects she is not entirely assured. She is no longer the ruler 
 of her daughter, though she still maintains the natural ascendency 
 of a mother ; but she has a fancy that, were hers the only author 
 ity, she could very soon cure Olive of that brooding melancholy, 
 of which she begins to be exceedingly distrustful. The attempts 
 which she makes to this end are of a kind rather to annoy than 
 to relieve the mind of the sufferer. How should she th,} vain, 
 weak, ridiculous old creature 
 
 " minister to a mind diseased, 
 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain; 
 And with some sweet, oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the sick bosom of that perilous stuff 
 That weighs upon the heart 1" 
 
 Alas ! like toe many of our poor, vain family of man, she can 
 better make sick than well ; more certainly pain than cure ; rather 
 poison than find the antidote : and, so far as her callous conscience 
 works, that old woman begins to doubt whether she has not done 
 this vf,ry thing ! It is surely some cruel poison which has made 
 that young creature, once so happy, now. so perfectly " a creature 
 of the wo that never moans ; dies, but complains not !" 
 
 " Olive, my child, is there to be no end of this ?" said the moth 
 er, rising and approaching the daughter. The tones were re 
 proachful, not conciliatory. 
 
 " What is it you wish, mother ?" answered the young wife, hardly 
 conscious of the question, and looking up with eyes of great hu 
 mility ; that is, if the utter absence of all animation can be well 
 signified by such a word. 
 
214 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 44 What do I wish ? I wish you to shake off these melancholy 
 humors ; to be yourself, my child ; as you were of old, when your 
 spirits were gay as any bird s, and your face as smiling as any 
 sunshine." 
 
 "Ah ! mother, if twere as easy to do as to wish " 
 
 "And why not? T would be quite easy, if you d only try 
 only make an effort." 
 
 "And why should I make an effort, mother?" 
 
 " Why ? Why have you not everything in the world to per 
 suade you ? There s your child your husband " 
 
 " No more, mother, I implore you ! All this pains me does 
 no good." 
 
 " But there must be more, Olive. You owe it to the cassique 
 to wear a more smiling, a more pleasant, a more grateful aspect. 
 What has he not done for you ? what is he not doing ? Here you 
 have every prospect of a beautiful, a splendid home " 
 
 " Would to God, mother, that he had left us to the enjoyment 
 of our poor cottage and our simplicity !" 
 
 " Indeed ! In other words, to poverty and obscurity " 
 
 " Welcome obscurity ! 
 
 " And I say, No, my child ; and I shall ever congratulate my- 
 gelf that you had the wisdom to choose so wisely as you did." 
 
 " I choose !" 
 
 " Surely, you chose !" 
 
 " No, mother, spare me that accusation. It was your choice, 
 none of mine ; and my hourly thought is one of the deepest self- 
 reproach that I was submissive when I should have been resolved ; 
 weak oh, most pitiably weak where I should have been strong ! 
 But, please you, say no more of this. You have done your work, 
 irrevocably done it, and I am what I am ! Is it not enough 
 that I have submitted to your will ?" 
 
 " My wish, my child, not any will of mine. Your own will, you 
 know" 
 
 " It matters nothing now." 
 
 " But, my dear, it matters everything. Do you suppose it pleas 
 ant to the cassique, who is doing everything for us, that you should 
 meet him with such lack-lustre eyes always, such pallid cheeks, 
 such a spiritless air, such a wobegone countenance ?" 
 
 "Can I help it, mother?" 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 " To be sure you can, if you will try. It only needs that you 
 pluck up resolution." 
 
 "I do to keep from drowning ! I should sink quite, but that 
 I do try, and pluck up a sort of resolution. But I can do no more. 
 I do this only because I would, if it were possible for me, make 
 my husband happy. I do not reproach him." 
 
 " You reproach me, then me !" 
 
 The young wife was silent. The mother confronted her. 
 
 " Yes, Olive, you reproach me ; and that is, I say it, the height 
 of ingratitude ! You reproach me because I saved you from the 
 embraces of a beggar " 
 
 " Mother you promised me ! " 
 
 " Yes, I did promise you never again to speak of that poverty- 
 stricken reprobate ; but you also promised me that you w r ould try 
 to show yourself grateful for the blessings " 
 
 " Blessings ! Ah, mother, do I not seem to enjoy them ?" 
 
 "It s your own fault if you do not. Here s plenty; here s 
 wealth; here s servants, any number. Is it money you would 
 have dress, luxury, splendor ? You may have them all." 
 
 " All for peace, mother ! I would give all for peace for 
 sleep." 
 
 "And whose fault is it that you have not peace? What s to 
 trouble you ? You have nothing to apprehend. You have only 
 to will, and have command, and be obeyed ; and, I do say it, 
 your husband is one of the best of men." 
 
 " He is, and that is enough to rob me of peace ! that he de 
 serves so much, and I can give so little nothing, in fact, of what 
 he deserves and desires most." 
 
 "You don t try, Olive! You prefer to sit, and mope, and 
 weep, when your duty is to stir about, and be cheerful and smiling. 
 Trying will do it only try !" 
 
 " I have tried. Oh, do not ask me for further effort !" 
 
 "Olive, it s all perversity ! And when I consider the poverty 
 out of which he brought us ; the plenty which we now enjoy ; the 
 dignity to which he has raised you " 
 
 " Oh, mocks, mocks, mocks ! mocks all, and frauds, mother 
 where the poor heart sits naked and disconsolate in the solitude, 
 scorning the pomp which is wasted upon the wasting frame. 
 Mother, no more of this. You only make it worse !" 
 
216 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Make it worse ? As if I did not kn ow what was best for my 
 own child !" 
 
 The daughter shook her head mournfully, but said nothing. 
 How much might she not have said upon the theme ? The mother 
 was not so forbearing. 
 
 " Yes," she continued, " I ought to know, who Ve reared you from 
 the cradle. I say it s mere perversity that makes you go on so; 
 makes you prefer to be miserable when you might be so happy." 
 
 " Strange perversity indeed, mother, preferring misery to hap 
 piness ! Have you found it so easy to procure happiness ?" 
 
 "That s nothing to the purpose. Here are you, I say, with 
 everything to make you happy plenty, every way ; wealth and 
 servants ; and a good husband, a nobleman of rank ; one of the 
 first men in this country ; who is as kind to you as man can be to 
 woman, and one of the most loving, if you d only suffer him ; and 
 with one dear, beautiful child : and yet you sit here, pining and 
 trying to be wretched, when you should have a smile for every 
 thing, and be singing your happiness from morning to night and 
 from night to morning. And what s the pretence for all this? 
 Why, that once, when you were a foolish, inexperienced child, 
 you made a ridiculous engagement " 
 
 " Which you then approved, mother." 
 
 " Well, I did n t know, then, what I knew afterward that you 
 might have a far better man." 
 
 " No, mother : a richer, perhaps, but never a better !" 
 
 u And I say that makes a mighty difference. It s one thing to 
 have a husband that can keep you in state and comfort, but quite 
 another to be married to poverty, and want, and shame " 
 
 " Not shame, mother !" 
 
 " I say shame, Olive Berkeley shame : for what is Poverty, 
 always, but a thing that must hold down its head, and walk hum 
 bly through dark passages, and feel all the time that the world is 
 running over its neck? That s shame; and that would have 
 been your portion if you had married Harry Berkeley. And if, 
 as you say, it is / that have done it well, I say it s something 
 of which I might well be proud, and for which you ought to be 
 thankful. And what s the difference between the men, if you 
 come to that? Isn t the cassique as fine a looking man as his 
 younger brother?" 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 217 
 
 Olive answered nothing to this. 
 
 "Isn t he almost as young; quite as handsome; quite as wise 
 and learned ; as brave and graceful ; is n t he as noble and gener 
 ous ; and doesn t he, in fact, look almost as much like him as if 
 they had been twinned together?" 
 
 " Alas ! mother, he looks too like him. He reminds me of him 
 for ever !" 
 
 Well ! " 
 
 Well but I know that he is not Harry !" 
 
 And a gush of tears followed ; and the young wife, hearing her 
 husband s footstep in the passage, rose hastily and left the room 
 but not before the cassique, entering, discovered that she was in 
 tears. She did not look up hardly noted his appearance ; but 
 he, quickened to keenest scrutiny by his own anxieties of heart, 
 detected all her emotions in the one passing glance which he 
 caught of her convulsed features as she went. In the face and 
 manner of the mother he distinguished the proofs of recent con 
 troversy ; of vulgar authority ; of a harsh, ungenial censure ; of 
 a temper too little ruled by thought or sensibility to permit her 
 to become a consoler or counsellor for a bruised and suffering 
 spirit. 
 
 " Madam," said he sternly, " I could wish that you would say 
 nothing to Olive on the subject of her sorrows, whatever they may 
 be. I know not what they are. I can not decipher this mystery ; 
 nor, it appears, according to your admission, is it in your power 
 to do so. You allege to me that you know nothing of her present 
 cause of grief." 
 
 " To be sure not, my son ; but " 
 
 " To attempt to cure the disease of which we know nothing, 
 must be to hurt, not to help ; and we may kill the patient in the 
 fond attempt to save. You will permit me once more to insist 
 that you make no such attempt. Do not pry into her mystery. 
 You will only aggravate her suffering, as, I am sorry to tell you, 
 is invariably the case, after your conversations with her. As her 
 mother, you are naturally solicitous ; but solicitude here requires 
 forbearance. We must be content to wait upon her moods, tc 
 watch their changes ; and leave it to herself to suggest the means 
 by which we may bring succor to her mind or body. Once more, 
 madam, I repeat the wish, the injunction, that you will not again 
 
 10 
 
218 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 trouble her on the subject of her afflictions. Leave them to time 
 leave them to me, madam, if you please." 
 
 And, saying these words, not waiting for any answer, he with 
 drew from the apartment ; and, hurriedly moving now, left the 
 house, to rejoin the workmen without. 
 
 The mother shot an angry glance after the son-in-law. Had 
 she but dared, she would have given him a precious tongue-volley 
 as he went. But the virago was always subdued in the presence 
 of this stern man, who never addressed her one gratuitous word ; 
 whose words were always direct, even as fiery arrows sent head 
 long to the mark; whom she felt twould be dangerous to trifle 
 with. She well knew that the slightest disposition to pass between 
 him and his wife, or his will, would insure her immediate dismissal 
 from his house. 
 
 "Leave it to you, indeed!" she muttered; "as if you could 
 better know than me what is my child s trouble, and how to cure 
 it ! Well I never let him know of that engagement ! He shall 
 never know ! No, no ; that would be terrible ! He d never for 
 give me that ! But I must make Olive sensible to reason. She s 
 just throwing away happiness and fortune. I know this man so 
 well, that, sooner than stand this sort of life another year, he d 
 break loose from everything. And if, in his fury, he was to de 
 mand the truth from Olive, she d be just as like as not to tell him 
 every syllable. She hasn t the sense to keep her own secrets or 
 mine. And if she was to do that, what would become of her 
 nnd me ? He d swear that we deceived him ! No, no ! I must 
 bring Olive to her proper senses, before it s too late. He s 
 becoming sterner and more keen every day. He must not be 
 driven too far. She must be driven rather." 
 
 We shall see something yet of this driving process on the part 
 of our loving mother ! 
 
THE SHADOW ON THE HOUSE. 210 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE SHADOW ON THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 Macb. Cure her of that !" SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE cassique had gone back to the work without. It was with 
 spasmodic energy that he sought relief in employment. The ref 
 uge of his soul lay only in throwing off all his nervous energies, 
 by the exercise of all his physical faculties, in the most desultory 
 occupations. But the mind how did that employ itself the 
 while ? 
 
 It is surely not difficult to conceive his suffering. A proud 
 man, noble, disinterested, generous, impulsive, has set his heart 
 upon an object ; fancies that he has won it ; and, in his moment 
 of greatest exultation, finds the fancy a delusion ! 
 
 He has somehow been the victim of a deception. Was it his 
 own, or whose ? Has he deceived himself by his own vanities 
 .and desires, or has he been the subject of management ? An Eng 
 lishman is very apt to suspect the latter. All the Old- World 
 convention teaches intrigue and management in the affairs of the 
 heart. 
 
 But whose has been the management ? Not the wife s, surely. 
 Of that he is^atisfied. He knows not her secret is too noble 
 to pry into it: enough that his wife has a secret, which troubles 
 her, and which she does not communicate to him. It is enough 
 for him to know that. He cares to know nothing more. His 
 knowledge is already most mournfully sufficient. 
 
 That proves to him estrangement want of sympathy. "We 
 are not one," he mournfully utters to himself. " But is she guilty ? 
 
220 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Has she deliberately lent herself to a fraud upon my affections ? 
 No ! It is only to look at her. She, too, has been the victim. 
 If, in evil hour, she has lied to me, she is paying for it now the 
 dreadful penalty. The pang has struck home to the heart. There 
 is no doubt that she is quite as wretched as she has made me 
 
 " How is it that I saw nothing, suspected nothing?. . . Now, that 
 I look back upon our courtship, was there anything to encourage 
 me ? She was ever shy and shrinking ; ever denying me oppor 
 tunity. And. fool that I was, I construed even her reluctance 
 into modest favor ! Should I not have known better ? Was it 
 favor ? Does it now seem like favor ? Was it not rather cold 
 ness, indifference, aversion ? Oh, how blind I have been in all 
 this affair ! . . . . 
 
 "Was she not heart-whole then? Her mother assured me 
 never were assurances more solemn. But she is her mother; 
 and I know her now, if I do not yet know Olive ! . . . And she 
 was reared in that accursed set of the Clives and Saxbys all 
 hollow, corrupt, selfish, and artificial ; and all poor and preten 
 tious ! Ah, I have been a rash and headlong fool ! . . . . 
 
 " But did I not, even then, separate Olive from them ? Did I 
 not then see, and assure myself I thought I did that she had 
 suffered no contaminations had escaped their corruptions ? She 
 was pure, simple, unaffected ; had no ambition to shine ; preferred 
 solitude to gay society ; went not with the dancing fools and mon 
 keys ; seemed always most frank, most ingenuous, and delicately 
 honorable 
 
 " And I have not been deceived in her. She is such now. 
 I doubt her in nothing save that she has a secret, which she 
 keeps from me in the core of which lies all her care ! Could I 
 ask demand this secret? Ay she would declare it. I 
 doubt not but she would declare it, as truly, fully, fairly, devoutly, 
 as if in the presence of her God ! She might dread to do so ! 
 But I must not seek to know. It were base to se^k, despotic to 
 demand it. 
 
 " Nay, dare I seek ? How could I bear to learn that secret ? 
 Whither would it lead ? There lies the danger ! Olive is not 
 only my wife, but the mother of my child my son he who 
 must bear the name of my fathers ! . . . . 
 
 " On every side the cloud hangs heavily. I must not seek to 
 
THE SHADOW ON THE HOUSE. 221 
 
 pierce it ; but there s a terrible presentiment that racks my soul. 
 I shall know the truth ere long ; and then God give me the 
 needful strength to endure it ! God preserve my manhood !" 
 
 And, tearing himself away from thought, as from his direst 
 enemy, he darted with desperate zeal to toil. He himself grasped 
 axe and hammer ; seized upon the implements, in the very hands 
 of the workmen, and exhibited to their confounded senses the spec 
 tacle of a gentleman who could plan and execute at once could 
 exhibit such skill and strength as we are wont to consider unsuit 
 able and anomalous when united in the same person, and he a 
 gentleman. 
 
 But we must turn from him again to Olive. That day, she 
 declined appearing at dinner. The cassique took his seat silently, 
 Fte little, listened patiently to the harangues of his mother-in-law, 
 and, without answering, rose and disappeared. The mother fol 
 lowed soon from table, but took her way to the daughter s cham 
 ber. Another lecture, the avowed purpose of which was love. 
 
 " You must take exercise, Olive. You must go out and walk 
 with nurse and baby. Come, get ready. I will go along with 
 you." 
 
 Olive thanked her, but declined. 
 
 " Olive, my child, you are killing yourself." 
 
 To this the daughter made no answer, save with a smile a 
 smile of such a sort as seemed to say, clearer than any words 
 
 " And that were scarce a sorrow, mother !" 
 
 It was the luckless nature of this woman, which never suffered 
 her to rest herself, or permit rest to her victim. Under the pre 
 text of soothing, she pursued the daughter. Soothing, indeed ! 
 When did a cold heart cheer a sorrowing one ? She only wor 
 ried her ; and when the grieving woman pressed her temples with 
 her hands, with a sudden expression of physical pain, then the 
 good mother knew that there was headache to soothe, and other 
 vexing ministries to be performed, when all that the sufferer prayed 
 for was to be at peace to be let alone. It was a positive gain 
 to the excellent mother, when, at supper-table, she could report 
 to the cassique that his wife s sufferings were now certainly 
 physical. 
 
 The husband rose immediately, went to the chamber, looked in 
 only, and said, in the gentlest and most solicitous accents : 
 
222 THE CAS8IQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " You are unwell, Olive can I do anything for you ?" 
 
 " No, thank you. I simply need repose." 
 
 " You shall have it, Olive." 
 
 He returned to the table, and said quietly : " Olive would 
 sleep. You will oblige me not to seek her again to-night." 
 
 And this was all. If the mother made any answer, the cassique 
 did not hear it. In a few minutes after, he retired to the library, 
 where he sat reading half the night reading, or lost in those 
 meditations which left Thought stranded on a desert shore ! 
 
 The next morning there was a change in Olive, but hardly for 
 the better. There was an increase of nervous energy, but it 
 seemed to lack direction. The mind, though elevated a little, 
 seemed to wander in object. The eyes were bright, but it was 
 with a flickering sort of light, that seemed to argue confused and 
 excited fancies. She was restless throughout the day, and this 
 restlessness was construed by the mother into improvement. The 
 judgment of the cassique was more true. He regarded her with 
 an increased earnestness, but said little, and not a syllable on the 
 subject which distressed him. In the afternoon, Olive walked 
 out with nurse and baby. The mother and younger sister followed 
 in search of them. They were found in a great live-oak wood, 
 which stretched away more than a mile and a half in the direction 
 of the river. It was a noble grove, shady, cathedral-like, the an 
 cestral trees of which might have been growing five hundred years 
 a glorious avenue for contemplation. 
 
 Olive wandered in this wood with vacant look and manner. 
 She simply answered when addressed ; then fitfully, and with the 
 air of one whom her own voice startled. Even the mother began 
 to think there was something wrong ; and this made her some 
 what more cautious than usual in her communications. 
 
 The next morning the same symptoms, with decided increase. 
 There was as much wildness of air and manner, with more of a 
 spasmodic energy. Olive was still singularly restless passing 
 from chamber to chamber engaging momently in some new oc 
 cupation, and abandoning each in turn almost as soon as taken 
 up. It was noted by the cassique that there was at times a fever 
 ish quiver of her lips ; a sudden start, upon occasions ; an anxious 
 looking round her, as if in obedience to some call, or in expecta 
 tion of some approach. But, when spoken to. her replies were 
 
THE SHADOW ON THE HOUSE. 223 
 
 simple, artless, unaffected, to the point, and, if possible, still more 
 subdued in tone than usual. The mother observed that she not 
 unfrequently essayed to speak with her when they were alone 
 together ; would begin a sentence abruptly, as if under some un 
 governable impulse, yet as suddenly arrest herself in the utter 
 ance ; her eyes cast down, on the instant, with a sort of dogged 
 resolution, upon the work in her hands. Several attempts which 
 the cassique made to speak with her always in the gentlest 
 tones were met by an absolute recoil of manner, amounting to 
 repulsion, on the part of the sufferer. She seemed especially to 
 shrink from his approach. He consulted with the mother. 
 
 " She is either about to be very ill, or she has some oppressive 
 weight upon her mind." 
 
 u Oh ! there can be no weight upon her mind ; and I hardly 
 tlrink that she is ill, Sir Edward. In fact, for the last two days. 
 I think she has been gaining in life and strength." 
 
 " Losing in both, / think, and during this very space." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! She has twice the energy and animation now 
 that she had three days ago." 
 
 " Twice the restlessness, madam. There is a strange, hurried 
 wildness in her eyes, which alarms me ; and, if you perceive, she 
 shrinks from me with something very like aversion." 
 
 " Dear me, Sir Edward, this is a most absurd notion ! pardon 
 me for saying so. Olive is a creature of great sensibility too 
 much sensibility and she s liable to sudden changes of mood." 
 
 " I have frequently heard you say, madam, that she was always 
 very equable, cheerful, animated, full of natural gayety " 
 
 " And so she always was " 
 
 " Till I married her, madam !" 
 
 " Oh ! your marriage, I m sure, had nothing to do with any 
 change, Sir Edward." 
 
 " Yet it seems strange that it should take place at that very 
 time." 
 
 " No, indeed, Sir Edward, you are quite mistaken there. It 
 was a full six or eight months before that, when she began to be 
 less cheerful, and to look saddish and melancholy." 
 
 " Yet you say there s nothing on her mind ?" 
 
 "I m sure I know of nothing ! I don t see what there should 
 be. Olive has always been tenderly nurtured, and the good for- 
 
224 THE CASS1QUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 tune which has attended her, Sir Edward the fact that she is 
 the honored wife of a person of your wealth and nobleness " 
 
 " Enough, madam, on that score. The only question now is, 
 as to her ailment. What is her cause of suffering ? Is it of the 
 mind or body ? Not that I care to know, Mrs. Masterton, except 
 with the single desire to help and cure. I have listened to you 
 with deference, but I can not resist the belief which assures me 
 that she labors under some painful burden of the mind or heart " 
 
 " The heart, indeed ! No, no ! all s right in that quarter. Olive 
 is a loving, true, devoted wife." 
 
 " I confess, madam, I have not found her a loving one. I have 
 no reason to doubt that she is a true one. But I am forced pain 
 fully to feel that I have never had from her any such proofs of 
 sympathy as could persuade me of her love ; and latterly, the 
 pain of this conviction has been greatly increased by what s*em 
 to me evident signs of aversion." 
 
 " What an idea !" 
 
 " It is one, madam, which forces itself upon me, at all hours, 
 and with no encouragement from me. I do not welcome it, 
 madam !" 
 
 This was bitterly spoken. 
 
 " Oh ! dismiss it, sir ; it does Olive great injustice. She loves 
 you, sir ; yes " 
 
 " I wish I could believe it ; but do you know, madam, that I 
 can not help the further thought that she exhibits a similar aver 
 sion to our child her child and mine ; that the little innocent 
 wins nothing of a mother s love ; that she puts him from her, if 
 not with aversion, at least with indifference ; never dandles him 
 in her arms, never sings the mother s lullaby in his ears, never 
 puts his little mouth to hers with a mother s heartfelt fondness." 
 
 " Lord bless me, Sir Edward, how blind you seem to have been ! 
 Why, I have seen her do it a thousand times kiss him, and hug 
 him, and dandle him, and sing to him, by the hour." 
 
 " You have been more fortunate than myself, madam. She has 
 never done these things in my presence ; and I fancy you must 
 deceive yourself, at all events, in the frequency of these endear 
 ments. Seeing as I have done, madam and I have been a keen 
 because a grieving watcher I infer the worst from this unnatu 
 ral condition of mind and heart. I confess to you it moves me 
 
THE SHADOW ON THE HOUSE. 225 
 
 sometimes to the terrible thought that it is because Olive Berke 
 ley loathes the father, she denies her love to the child she 
 loathes him as loathing me ; or, if not this " 
 
 " Oh, Sir Edward, I am astonished at you ! It is really too 
 monstrous ! How can you, sir " 
 
 " Hear me, madam. There is but one other alternative ; and 
 that is " 
 
 " What, sir, what ?" finding that he hesitated. 
 
 "Another suspicion, scarcely less terrible" and here his voice 
 sank into a whisper " that my wife is on the verge of insanity !" 
 
 The mother began to cry aloud, when he seized her wrist with 
 an iron gripe : 
 
 " Not a word, madam, for your life ! Not a whisper of this to 
 mortal ! It is in your ears only that I breathe it. To suffer her 
 to hear either of these terrible conjectures of mine, would be fatal 
 would be her death, madam her death!" 
 
 " my God ! Oh, Sir Edward, these are most horrible suspi 
 cions !" 
 
 " Horrible, madam ! Ay, hell is at the core of either hel! 
 hell ! Enough, madam : be silent ! No officiousness now. I com 
 mand that you forbear my wife. I shall send to town for a phy 
 sician. Doctor Lining is said to be a man of skill, though God 
 knows I look for little succor at any hands !" 
 
 10* 
 
226 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAli. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ESPIONAGE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 "Bring me the joy in secret let me drink 
 The little lonely rapture that earth yields me, 
 Where none can see ! Oh ! thousand times more precious 
 As secret ! none can envy me the store, 
 The little store of love, which makes the substance 
 Of any life for broken hearts like mine !" 
 
 THE despatch was prepared and sent off for Doctor Lining ; aLd 
 the brave cassique, suffering but strong, hurried out again to his 
 workmen and grasped their tools, and smote, and hewed, and 
 sawed, and planed, to the surprise of all and as all, no doubt, 
 thought, in a fond pursuit of happiness ! Ah, that pursuit of hap 
 piness ! Certainly, if that had been his object, he ha^ pursued it 
 with shut eyes. And what sort of happiness, for her=.elf or daugh 
 ter, has the Honorable Mrs. Masterton aimed at? And poor 
 Olive, she had pursued nothing : she had only been pursued, and 
 Burely not by Happiness ! 
 
 With evening, Doctor Lining came. The cassique s carriage 
 had met him at the landing, and brought him on, post-haste. He 
 was an excellent gentleman, knowing his profession thoroughly as 
 it was at that day known. He was naturally intelligent, and well 
 read a fair sample of the average home-education of professional 
 people. Of his skill, nothing need be said here. Learning is one 
 tiling, skill another ; and medicine, like religion, poetry, and most 
 of the liberal arts and professions, demands a special gift from 
 Heaven. 
 
 Olive had retired when the doctor came. The mother presided 
 at the supper-table. But nothing was said of Olive s case. The 
 cassique very prudently resolved that Lining was not to appear as 
 a physician ; only as a friend, about to revisit the mother-country, 
 
ESPIONAGE OP THE BROKEN HEART. 227 
 
 and seeking the cassique simply to receive his commissions. Such 
 was the pious fraud as agreed upon between them. 
 
 That night, when the Honorable Mrs. Masterton had retired, 
 the cassique and the doctor conferred together in the library. 
 Colonel Berkeley or, as the courtesy of the country styled him, 
 because of his cassiqueship, Sir Edward was one of those down 
 right, direct, resolute sort of men, who allowed himself no circuit 
 ous processes in his objects. Heedless of the pain, he laid his 
 own and the case of Olive fully before the physician. 
 
 " I do not deceive myself, Doctor Lining, and must not deceive 
 you, in respect to the condition of my wife. I regard her as in 
 danger of becoming a lunatic." 
 
 " Good God ! I hope not. What are your reasons for this 
 fear?" 
 
 Berkeley made a full report of all the suspicious circumstances. 
 
 " She does not nurse her child ?" 
 
 " No, sir : her health affected her milk ; and, by the advice of 
 Arbuthnot, we employed a healthy wet-nurse, and she has been 
 relieved of this duty. No evil consequences have happened to the 
 child." 
 
 " The necessity, however, was an unfortunate one. The ma 
 ternal duty might have been a means, and but go on, sir: I 
 would first hear your particulars. We can think over them after 
 ward." 
 
 u It is perhaps necessary, doctor, that I should go into details 
 that do not seem immediately to bear upon the case. But, I am 
 uneasy in respect to this very point, because doubtful of the cause 
 of my wife s sufferings ; and one way to mislead a physician is to 
 suppress facts which may be important." 
 
 The doctor nodded affirmatively. 
 
 " It becomes necessary, then, that I should reveal a small family 
 history, beginning with my first acquaintance and marriage with 
 Miss Masterton." 
 
 " If you think it necessary," said Lining. 
 
 " Surely : on no other account. I saw Miss Masterton, then a 
 young lady, after my return from the continent. Our families had 
 been intimate, and I had seen her in childhood, but not to remark 
 her particularly. When I came back from the continent, she was 
 a blooming girl of eighteen. I was charmed with her manners 
 
228 THE CAJ3SIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 her person, her intelligence. I sought her, saw her frequently, 
 and my visits and attentions were encouraged by her mother. 
 Olive herself was reserved toward me. At first, she received me 
 with frank and cordial welcome ; with pleasure, as I fancied ; but, 
 as my attentions increased, she became shy. I persevered, how 
 ever ; and, to make a long story as short as possible, my proposals 
 were made, through her mother, and, after some delay, were ac 
 cepted. Some further delays, urged by herself, as I have reason 
 to believe, prevented our immediate marriage. That finally took 
 place ; and, after the birth of our son, we removed to Carolina." 
 " There is nothing in all this, Colonel Berkeley." 
 " No, sir : but I soon discovered that my wife, though submis 
 sive, was not genial ; though gentle, not fond ; not, seemingly, sus 
 ceptible of fondness ; reluctant in my presence ; silent ; finally sad 
 and, with every day, growing more and more taciturn, more fond 
 of solitude, more reluctant to respond to me in any way. I was 
 not harsh, not imperative ; never said a hasty word to her ; tried 
 to soothe and conciliate; strove to please. I was always met with 
 coldness a measured coldness which was sadness also and 
 which has recently become, as it seems to me, aversion." 
 " That is a strong word ! May you not deceive yourself?" 
 " No, sir ! I have weighed all the facts with the utmost cau 
 tion and deliberation. That she is wretched, I see ; that she 
 makes me wretched, I know ! That she grows more wretched, 
 more estranged daily, more insensible -to my cares, more listless, 
 heedless, indifferent in everything, is apparent to every eye. 
 When I first knew her, she was plump and round ; she is now 
 reduced to a skeleton. She was young, bright, blooming, when I 
 first came from the continent ; she has lost bloom, and flesh, and 
 brightness, almost from the moment of our marriage. Once she 
 was cheerful ; now she wears the look of one to whom life can 
 offer nothing ; who has no hope. Appetite, spirits, animation, all 
 are gone. Latterly, from being utterly passive sad, to such in 
 difference, that I verily believe had I smitten her, she would 
 never have lifted hand to protect her face nay, would have 
 smiled gently at the infliction now, she has become restless, 
 wandering, capricious ; easily startled, nervous ; with a restless 
 light in her eyes, which is painful to behold to me the most 
 startling of the signs that trouble me." 
 
ESPIONAGE OF THE BROKEN HEART. - 229 
 
 And so he proceeded, till he had concluded tho details which 
 lie conceived important; not omitting that statement in which 
 lie differed with Mrs. Masterton that Olive appeared entirely 
 regardless of her child, and gave it no proofs of her affection. 
 
 "That, certainly, is a most singular circumstance. But I 
 will not say anything of the case, colonel, till I have seen the pa 
 tient. It is understood that I am not to be known as her physi 
 cian. She must simply be watched and studied. I will devote 
 myself to that to-morrow." 
 
 " It may require several days, doctor." 
 
 " Fortunately, the town is just now so healthy, that I can spare 
 the necessary time 
 
 The conversation flagged, even over a bottle of Madeira, and 
 the parties then retired for the night. 
 
 With morning, began the watch and study. Olive little knew 
 the surveillance to which she was to be subjected. She had arisen 
 as usual. Her face, air, manner, tones, all exhibited the aspects 
 which we have already reported as characteristic of the three pre 
 ceding days. There was the same flushed impulse, the same rest 
 lessness, caprice, incertitude ; the same wild, spiritual brightness 
 of eye ; and certainly a great increase of general excitement. Bui 
 the physician, introduced as Mr. Lining, a friend of her husban^ 
 about to revisit Europe, did not occasion any emotion after the 
 first introduction. She scarcely seemed to heed him. And this 
 afforded the doctor a good opportunity for studying her. He did 
 so with a silent inquisitiveness which she had no reason to suspect. 
 The cassique contrived frequent occasions for him. 
 
 You must see our boy, Lining ! My Lord John will expect 
 you to make a full report. Bring in Young Harry. " 
 
 At the words, the wife started, and looked about her wildly. 
 
 " Young Harry, with his cuisses on !" continued the cassique, in 
 the proud tones of the father. " He is a brave-looking fellow, is 
 he not ? See what a brow he has ! From the first, he looked 
 like a dear brother whom I lost a wild, manly, noble fellow 
 and he bears his name ; and every day seems to strengthen the 
 likeness. I shall be satisfied if he grow like Harry Berkeley." 
 
 A deep sigh closed the speech, but it issued from the lips of 
 Olive Berkeley. Every eye was turned toward her. She lay 
 back in her chair. Her own eyes were shut. She had fainted. 
 
230 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 The cassique darted to her, and raised her in his arms tenderly. 
 The mother was officious, till pushed away by the doctor. He 
 sprinkled some water upon the face of the unconscious woman 
 called for hartshorn, which was luckily at hand, and soon wit 
 nessed her revival. 
 
 " Take her now to her chamber." 
 
 When mother and daughter were withdrawn, and the cassique 
 and physician remained alone, the latter said musingly 
 
 "Of what were we speaking, colonel?" 
 
 "I know not! I have forgotten everything. Her suffering, 
 doctor, her most inscrutable suffering, takes from me all power of 
 thought and observation." 
 
 " Nay, not so bad as that. This fainting-fit is probably not a 
 bad symptom. It would be terrible were she without emotion ; 
 and that was what I feared from your statement. But what were 
 we talking about ?" 
 
 The cassique did not answer. Lining resumed : 
 
 "The child ah! yes; and the name. You have a brother 
 named Harry, Sir Edward ?" 
 
 "Had, doctor." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "A noble fellow bold, brave, daring, full of soul and spirit; 
 but the waves are over him." 
 
 " Ah ! he was lost ! How long, may I ask, since the event ?" 
 
 " We know not. He was nearly three years gone from Eng 
 land when I was on the continent. He had a passion for the sea ; 
 became captain of a West Indiaman ; afterward took out a private 
 commission against the French and Spaniards, and made so many 
 captures, that he came to own a privateer. She was lost, some 
 where along the Spanish main. This must have been about the 
 time of my return from the continent. We received advices, soon 
 after the event, which left no doubt of his fate." 
 
 The doctor mused, but made no further inquiries on this head. 
 Scarcely had the dialogue ceased between them, when, to the sur 
 prise of all, Olive reappeared, followed closely by her mother." 
 
 " She would come, sir." 
 
 Olive interrupted the mother with a smile, and with such seem 
 ing composure and strength as to increase the general surprise. 
 
 " I felt so much ashamed of my temporary weakness, and so 
 nmch better, that I resolved not to play the invalid." 
 
ESPIONAGE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 231 
 
 The husband smiled ; the doctor mused. The latter saw, what 
 the former did not so much was he pleased with the unwonted 
 event, a smile from Olive that her presence, smile, and speech, 
 were due to an extreme effort a will rising into utmost earnest 
 ness, in obedience to some exigent motive. 
 
 And what was that motive ? " Quien sabe T says the Span 
 iard. What the cassique said need not be repeated ; the doctor 
 said nothing, but meditated much. 
 
 And throughout the day, Olive continued to sustain herself, in 
 a somewhat more cheerful strain than usual, but by what the doc 
 tor rightly conceived to be an extraordinary effort of will. There 
 was excitement as before ; great unrest ; frequent uneasiness ; a 
 nervous sensibility to sounds, especially of the human voice ; and 
 an anxiety that prompted a frequent looking around her, as if for 
 some expected approach. And there was now to be seen occa 
 sionally a sudden crimson flush over the marble whiteness of the 
 cheeks, which passed away, as with a flicker, almost the moment 
 it appeared. And there was still a glazed fixedness of the eye, 
 which was intensely and spiritually bright. 
 
 Lining noted all these symptoms. He had every opportunity. 
 The cassique devised as many methods ss possible for leaving her 
 in his presence He showed him over the whole house, not ex 
 cepting the chambers, and required her to assist. 
 
 " My uncle will inquire about everything, and you must be 
 able to answer. I hope, when it is shown how easily I can 
 transfer the comforts of an English to a Carolina home, to beguile 
 him out here also, where he can properly fill the dignity of the 
 palatinate. He will be our lord-palatine, if he will come out. 
 By-t he-way, Olive, do let Lining see your collection of Indian 
 curiosities." 
 
 They were shown. 
 
 " And now, Olive, can t you give Lining some music ? Nay, for 
 that matter, give me some. I have had none for a long season. 
 The fact is, Lining, we have had such an infernal clangor of ham 
 mer and saw, that music would have been only so many sweet 
 bells, jangled, harsh, and out of tune, enveloped in the perpetual 
 din ! But now what say you, Olive, my dear?" 
 
 And she rose passively, without a word, and went to the harp 
 sichord, of which she had once been the mistress. 
 
232 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Will you sing, Lady Berkeley ?" asked Lining. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir ; but I can not trust my voice to-day scarcely 
 my fingers." 
 
 The chords were struck : the hands swept the keys slowly at 
 first, then with rapidly-increasing fervor as the symphonies rose, 
 following out the caprices and gradual swelling of the human pas 
 sion which made the burden of the piece. It might have been a 
 battle-piece, though it expressed only the conflicts of one poor, 
 suffering human heart. 
 
 Did she play from memory, or was it a fantasia of her own ? 
 None of the hearers knew ; and, playing on, she said nothing ; 
 while the instrument, from a sad complaining a merely plaintive 
 sighing forth of a secret sorrow rose to a wail, a wild burst and 
 outbreak of a mortal agony, which at length set its prison restraints 
 all at defiance. 
 
 And they could see the breast of the player heave in concert 
 with the strain, while her head gradually uplifted, and her dilating 
 eye seemed to rest upon a far corner of the ceiling rapt, as it 
 were, with some unexpected vision. She no longer watched the 
 keys of the instrument. She no longer seemed conscious of the 
 persons present. But, suddenly, the music changed ; the notes 
 fell ; the high, passionate tones gave way to vague, feint, faltering 
 pulsations, rather than beats, varied with occasional capriccios^ 
 in which a mocking spirit seemed to be at conflict with a broken 
 one: and so the strain fell no longer gush, and burst, and wild 
 flight of music, but its tear, its sigh, its broken, faltering accent, 
 in which you read the history of defeated love, departed hope, 
 the wreck of a beautiful dream of stars and flowers, and the thick 
 night closing over all ! Then suddenly it stopped, and nothing 
 was heard but a low, ringing echo through the apartment, 2,3 if 
 the escaped soul only lingered, moaning ere it went, from the 
 once-beloved abode ! 
 
 And there was a strange thrill that passed over the frames of 
 the two strong men. They felt the unnatural power of the strain. 
 Was it simply art ? Was it not rather the inspiration of a pas 
 sionate wo, which gladly seizes upon the stricken one, as the only 
 mode of expression and relief? 
 
 And Olive her brow is still uplifted. Her eye rests still 
 upon the remote ceiling. Her fingers fall suddenly with weight 
 
ESPIONAGE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 283 
 
 upon the keys, and the crash which follows startles her out of her 
 fancies. Her eyes sink down. She sees the cassique and the 
 doctor gazing wistfully upon her ; and, with a slight flush upon 
 her cheek, she rises, bows, and leaves the room. 
 
 " It is a curious case, colonel, and not to be judged rashly. We 
 must see all that we can, yet our watch must be unsuspected. 
 You must warn her mother on this point." 
 
 Of course, the scrutiny was difficult, but it was pursued with in 
 dustry, and was sufficiently cautious. Olive did not seem suspicious, 
 but she was shy ; and, though her general deportment continued 
 pretty much the same throughout the day, as we have already 
 described it, she seemed to be somewhat more than usually in 
 clined to obey her mother s injunction "to make an effort. * 
 Whether it was because of the presence of a visiter, it was evident 
 that she was disposed " to try," and behave with a closer regard 
 to conventional requisitions. There was nothing remarkable in 
 her conduct; only in her appearance, the tones of her voice, ex 
 pression of her eye, and the frequent wanderings of her thought, 
 as exhibited in her general manner. 
 
 So dinner passed. 
 
 In the afternoon, Olive had disappeared. The nurse had taken 
 out the child, " Young Harry," into the great avenue of oaks of 
 which we have already spoken ; and, whether she knew the fact 
 or not, thither Olive had also gone. Her movements were con 
 ducted slyly. She had left the gentlemen, as she thought, too 
 deeply engaged in the library to be conscious of her absence. So, 
 too, she believed her mother to be in her chamber, when, slipping 
 out of the back door, she stole off to the thicket. 
 
 But they were all on the alert. 
 
 It was in the deepest and shadiest part of the grove, that, watch* 
 ing from a thick covert, the Honorable Mrs. Masterton beheld the 
 young mother busied with the child. She had taken him from 
 the nurse, who had wandered a few hundred yards farther on. 
 Olive tossed the child in her arms, sat with him upon the ground, 
 kissed him repeatedly, and hung over his shiny round face with 
 the deepest interest, perusing every line and feature. And be 
 tween the kisses and this study, big tears fell from her eyes upon 
 the blooming, red cheeks of the infant, while broken murmurs 
 " My Harry ! my Harry !" escaped her unconscious lips. 
 
234 1HE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Mrs. Masterton, as she saw this, could not help saying, very 
 audibly 
 
 " How I wish Sir Edward could only see this !" 
 
 A low voice behind her said : 
 
 " Hush, madam ! not a word ! Pie does see ! Now, madam, 
 steal away, as I shall do, and do not, for the world, suffer yourself 
 to be seen." 
 
 The cassique, accompanied by the physician, stole back to the 
 house, with a heart even lighter than his steps. He was dis 
 abused at least of one of his most cruel apprehensions. The doc 
 tor encouraged him. 
 
 " She weeps ; she loves the child ; has emotions ; is not indif 
 ferent. But it is evident that these joys of the mother are sought 
 only in secrecy. There is some secret anxiety there is some 
 suspicion ; and this argues " 
 
 " A want of sympathy with those about her !" answered the cas 
 sique, and in rather gloomy tones, completing the sentence which 
 Lining seemed reluctant to finish. 
 
 " Precisely so !" 
 
 " But, whether the discovery of the cause of this will enable vis 
 to do anything by which to relieve her mind from this tension ? * 
 
 " If she could be disabused of the cause of suspicion " 
 
 " Yes, and that depends upon a knowledge of the suspicion 
 itself." 
 
 " You must beware how you question her, Colonel Berkeley." 
 
 "Yes! you are right. That should never be done by me. 
 It would be something worse than bad policy. It would be an 
 abuse of the relationship between us. The confidence of man and 
 wife must be involuntary. To attempt to force it, on his part, 
 would be a base and unmanly despotism. That it is not given 
 here, Doctor Lining, is the most humiliating annoyance which I 
 have been called on tD bear. I must endure it as 1 may !" 
 
 " Time, my dear colonel, is the best medicine. Give her that, 
 and she will do you justice. What sort of woman is her mother, 
 and how can she aid you ?" 
 
 The cassique answered with a gravity and sternness that looked 
 a little like ferocity. Laying his hand on the wrist of Lining, he 
 said : 
 
 " She is a fool, sir, with an empty head and a cold, selfish heart 
 
ESPIONAGE OF THE BROKEN HEART. 235 
 
 She is, I fancy, at the bottom of all this mischief; but in what way 
 I can not conceive. I have had to check her in a frequent at 
 tempt to exercise an authority in my house, and in regard to my 
 wife, which is at variance with mine. I have had also to warn 
 her in regard to a system of annoyance, practised on Olive, since 
 she has been in this condition ; the silly mother having no real 
 conception of the daughter s danger, and perhaps contributing to 
 it all the while by the perpetual prying, and questioning, and 
 counselling, of a very restless and ridiculous tongue. She is one 
 of those fools of society with whom hearts are nothing ; who would 
 sacrifice all the best sympathies ay, virtues to the empty 
 pomps and miserable exhibitions of social vanity, and what is called 
 high life" ! You know the animal as it exists in English society : 
 she is one of its most absurd specimens." 
 
 When the unconscious Olive came in from her ramble, her 
 mother was safely in her chamber, and the gentlemen still con 
 versing in the library. She met them at supper, where nothing 
 remarkable occurred ; Lining still keeping a vigilant watch, while 
 Berkeley was at pains to maintain the deception which proclaimed 
 the former to be a simple guest, on his return to Europe. 
 
 The next day the doctor took his departure. He encouraged 
 the cassique to hope everything from time. He could do no 
 more. He could only counsel equal forbearance and solicitude. 
 The symptoms of Olive, that day, were the same. They seemed 
 to increase after the doctor left, but not in any degree to produce 
 apprehension. It was a sufficient source of anxiety to the cas 
 sique that they continued. At all events, something had been 
 gained. He had seen her caressing " Young Harry" as only a 
 loving mother could caress ; and he was so far satisfied. 
 
236 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THE DARK. 
 
 There is a something haunts me, most like madness, 
 
 As reason comprehends it. But the presence 
 
 Is not the less a presence to the spirit, 
 
 As it scapes human touch ! The immortal vision 
 
 Makes itself evident to the immortal nature, 
 
 When the coarse fingers stiffen into palsy, 
 
 And can grasp nothing !" 
 
 BUT, that night ! 
 
 Alas for her, the suffering woman, the victim to a false system 
 and a falser heart ! Alas for him, the brave, noble man, lied to, 
 and defrauded of his peace and hope of all that is precious to 
 the soul and sympathies by the same base, pernicious system, 
 the same false, vain, worthless agency ! Alas for the world which 
 never sets out honestly in the pursuit of happiness ; which only 
 seeks for shams ; which ignores the affections, in behalf of the 
 vanities ; and sacrifices the soul, that was designed for heaven, in 
 the chase after things of earth and oh, so earthy ! Alas ! alas ! 
 we may well wring hands, and weep over these terrible sacrifices, 
 made daily, ay, hourly, on the altars of false gods frogs, and 
 toads, and apes, and monkeys baser things even than ever were 
 those set up by African and Egyptian ! 
 
 Lining gone, and the cassique alone, he busied himself, as usual, 
 with his workmen during the day, and at night gave himself up to 
 solitary reading and reflection in the library. His family gave 
 him no succor, no companionship. Those blissful evenings of 
 which he had dreamed, of rural happiness and sweet content in 
 the primitive forest ; cheered with the smiles and songs of love ; 
 a calm of heaven over the household, and a brooding peace, like a 
 dove in its happy cote, sitting beside his hearth anJ making k 
 
LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THE DARK. 237 
 
 glad with serenest joys these were dreams which he no longer 
 hoped to realize. His wife evidently shrank from his companion 
 ship. She was never at ease when alone with him. She would 
 sing if he required it, but not speak ; would answer meekly to his 
 questions and demands listen with seemingly attentive ear to all 
 he said but make no responsive remark. She had no voice 
 echoing to that frank one, speaking from his heart, which had 
 ever striven, but how vainly, to find the answering chord in hers ! 
 
 Yes, he knew that she could speak well, gracefully, thought 
 fully, and with equal truth of sentiment and sweetness of expres 
 sion. He knew that she had taste and fancy, which are in them 
 selves always suggestive. He knew that, in addition to a good 
 natural intellect, she had gathered stores from books, which, if her 
 mind were allowed free play, would make her a charming com 
 panion. He remembered that she was so considered by all ere 
 she became his wife ; and was painfully reminded by this fact 
 that he, too, had found her so, in the days of his first intimacy 
 with her, and before any suspicion was entertained that he sought 
 her for his wife. The cruel inference forced itself upon him irre 
 sistibly "It is I who have changed her thus !" 
 
 Yet how had he changed her ? Not, surely, by harshness of 
 usage ; not by lack of sympathy ; not because of any failure of his 
 own heart to bring out the secrets of hers. He had no self- 
 reproaches on this score. He felt that he had always been gentle, 
 soothing, solicitously heedful of her needs, her possible wishes, her 
 happiness and comfort. The further conclusion was inevitable : 
 
 " Jt is only because of a lack of sympathy with me. She never 
 loved me. She must have loved another ! . . . . But why did she 
 consent to become my wife ?" 
 
 Here, thought brought him again to the probable conclusion : 
 
 " It was submission to a mother s will. That cunning, cold, 
 selfish, calculating woman has done it all ! And there is no rem 
 edy ! God ! what a prospect lies before us both ! What a waste 
 of life, of affections, of soul, and thought, and feeling! a gloomy 
 waste, over which we must travel together, without speech or 
 hearing between us all in silence ; not a flower by the wayside ; 
 not a fountain in the desert; nothing to refresh death in the 
 privation through which we live, and death the final goal ! And 
 she will die ! she will die ! Whatever this secret struggle in her 
 
288 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 soul, and however caused, she can not endure it long ! She wiU 
 die !" 
 
 Such were his musings in the library till the deep hours of mid 
 night closed in upon him. Then, with a sense of weariness rather 
 than sleep, he retired to his chamber. 
 
 It was hers also. 
 
 The simple world in which our cassique lived had not yet 
 reached that degree of graceful domesticity which allows husband 
 and wife separate apartments ; and, with gentle footsteps, Colonel 
 Berkeley proceeded to Olive s chamber without waking a single 
 echo. 
 
 A dim light was burning in the chimney-place as he entered. 
 He approached the couch where she was sleeping. She slept, but 
 not profoundly ; at least, she showed herself restless. Her arms 
 were occasionally tossed about her head, and sighs and faintly- 
 murmured accents escaped her lips. He watched her for awhile, 
 then undressed himself quietly, and with the most cautious move 
 ment, so as not to disturb her repose, laid himself down beside 
 her. But not to sleep. 
 
 An hour passes ; her sleep seems to deepen, but she is even 
 more restless than before. He hears the occasional murmur from 
 her lips, accompanied sometimes by a wild movement of her hand. 
 At lengh he distinguishes her broken syllables. 
 
 No ! no ! do not, dear mother do not ! I pray you, no more 
 no more of this !" 
 
 This was all. What could it mean ? What did that mother 
 propose to do, which was so painful to her child ? 
 
 The cassique closes his eyes. He would not hear. At least, 
 he will not listen. But the accents reach him still, more earnestly 
 expressed, with keener feeling, and a still sadder pleading. They 
 are rendered distinct now by reason of their increasing intensity : 
 
 " You will kill me, mother ! I do not believe it ! I tell you 
 he lives ; and 1 must live for him for him only ! I can never 
 be another s. I will die first !" 
 
 A cold sweat covered the brow of the cassique. He raised 
 himself on one arm. He could not help but listen now. The 
 matter was too full of significance, as involving his own peace 
 quite as much as hers : 
 
 " Tell me nothing of these things, mother. Why should they 
 
LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THE DARK. 239 
 
 affect us ? To be sure, we are poor. But why should you make 
 me poorer ? Why rob me of that faith which makes me smile at 
 poverty ? I care for nothing beyond. His wealth is nothing in 
 my sight. Society! But what to me is the crowd and noise 
 which you call society ? Peace, rather let me be at peace, 
 dear mother, if you would not drive me mad !" 
 
 The cassique groaned audibly ; but the sound did not disturb 
 the sleeper. Her voice became freer her language more im 
 pressive : 
 
 " Well, he is dead ! You have rung it in my ears so often, that 
 the sense deadens. I do not see now so much meaning in what 
 you tell me. He is dead dead dead! In the deep sea 
 wrecked, drowned; and I shall never be his wife shall never 
 see him more ! Well, you see I understand it all ! You need 
 not tell me that again. I can say it to myself, and it does not 
 pain me. But it sounds horribly from your lips. It makes you 
 look hateful in my sight. Don t you say it again, mother do 
 you hear? if you would not have me hate you ! I will say it 
 for you. He is dead Harry is dead and I shall never be his 
 wife ! There ! are you satisfied ? . . . . 
 
 "But" after a short pause "is that any reason why you 
 should force me to be the wife of another ? Is there any sense in 
 that ? Let him die, too ; tell him to drown ! Yes, let us both 
 die and drown in the deep sea! It s just as well we should. li 
 can t be so dreadful, since he was drowned in it. And the song 
 tells us the same thing. No, it can not be dreadful." 
 
 Here she sang, without effort, in the lowest but sweetest and 
 clearest tones, the ballad from "The Tempest:" 
 
 " Full fathom five thy father lies, 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 These are pearls that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea change 
 Into something rich and strange ! 
 
 Ah ! " 
 
 A deep sigh ended the ballad -a long-drawn sigh and the 
 lips closed for a space. There was silence for awhile in the cham 
 ber ; but not for long. Her lips again began to murmur Then 
 there was a sort of cry, something between a laugh and sob, and 
 she spoke out audibly : 
 
240 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ** Said I not it was all false ? I knew it all the while. He is 
 not dead ! There was no drowning ! He lives ! He comes for 
 me ! I shall see him again ! I shall be his wife his wife no 
 other s ! Ah, Harry, dear Harry, you are come ! They told me 
 you were dead, Harry that you were dead and buried in the deep 
 sea. But you are come at last. They shall never part us again !" 
 
 And she rose in the bed, in a sitting posture, threw out her 
 arms, clasped the cassique about his neck, and their eyes met, and 
 she stared fixedly into his, and, throwing herself upon his bosom, 
 murmured fondly 
 
 " Dear Harry, you are come at last !" 
 
 Her eyes were open wide, full looking with dazed stare into 
 those of her husband. But their sense was shut. At all events, 
 the illusion was complete ; and she suffered him to lay her back 
 upon the pillow, which he did very gently ; while, still looking 
 into his eyes, or seeming to look, she murmured repeatedly : 
 
 "You are come you are come at last, my Harry! I knew 
 that you would come !" 
 
 The cassique could bear it no longer. He rose, dressed him 
 self deliberately, and went forth. She was again asleep con 
 tentedly, it would seem for her lips were closed: her murmurs 
 for the time had ceased. 
 
 The unhappy husband had heard enough. There was no 
 longer any mystery. His own thoughts had led him to a right 
 conjecture ; and her unconscious lips had confirmed it in the in 
 tensity of her dreams. Nature had compelled the utterance of 
 those agonies of thought and feeling, in her sleep, which in her 
 waking moments she would have died sooner than he should hear. 
 
 All was confirmed to him of despair. He walked the woods 
 during the weary hours of that night. At morning he ordered 
 his horse. He summoned the mother to the woods as soon as she 
 had risen led her to a deep part of the thicket, and, confronting 
 her with a brow of too much sorrow for anger, he said to her : 
 
 " Madam, you have betrayed your daughter to her ruin ! You 
 have deceived me to mine ! You have been false to both ! You 
 assured me that there was no other preferred suitor to Olive Mas- 
 terton. You solemnly affirmed her entire freedom from all ties ; 
 that she was heart-whole, until she had been sought by mine! 
 And you knew that all this was false." 
 
LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THE DARK. 241 
 
 " False, Sir Edward ?" 
 
 "Ay, madam, false as hell I Nay, madam, do not assume that 
 look of virtuous indignation. It does not suit you to wear it ! It 
 would become me better, whom you have so terribly deceived, but 
 that indignation is too feeble a sentiment to him who has begun 
 the lesson of despair. You have crushed that poor child s heart, 
 madam ; you have trampled upon mine ! She will die, and you 
 will have murdered her ! She has death now in her heart ! For 
 tunate only, thrice fortunate, if madness shall so usurp the func 
 tions of the brain as to make her insensible to the agonies of a 
 prolonged dying !" 
 
 " Really, Sir Edward, these are monstrous charges. I should 
 almost doubt your own sanity. Pray, sir, what are your discov 
 eries, that you venture to charge such heinous crimes to my 
 account ?" 
 
 " Ask your own conscience, madam ! You assured me of Olive s 
 freedom !" 
 
 " Well, she was free ! There was a person, with whom she 
 had formed some childish engagements ; but he died before you 
 returned from the continent. I think, sir, you will admit that the 
 tie, slight as it was, between them, was fully broken by that event." 
 
 "Even that, madam, I am not prepared to admit. It would 
 have made some difference to me, at least, to have known the 
 fact. This you withheld from me. Nay, madam, more: you 
 denied that her heart had ever been committed." 
 
 u Well, sir, even in that I see no reason why you should ques 
 tion my truth. A childish entanglement, such as Olive s, does not 
 necessarily imply the committal of the heart." 
 
 " Perhaps not necessarily, perhaps not at all, in that convention 
 in which you have had your training, madam." 
 
 " My training, sir ! And what should be my training ? My 
 family, Sir Edward Berkeley, I take leave to say, is quite as old, 
 and as fortunate in its connections and society, as were ever those 
 of the houses of Berkeley and Craven." 
 
 " Perhaps so, madam ; it is a subject upon which I do not care 
 to waste a syllable. Enough that you assured me solemnly that 
 your daughter had committed her affections neither in fact nor in 
 language ; that she was totally free, and had always been so.," 
 
 " I certainly never attached any importance to the childish en- 
 
 11 
 
242 THK CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 tanglement of which I have spoken ; especially when it had been 
 ruptured by the death of one of the parties " 
 
 " Stay, madam. This engagement, which you describe as child 
 ish, had continued up to the moment when I addressed your 
 daughter. She was then eighteen an age when we are apt to 
 suspect that the affections may be quite as tenacious of their ob 
 ject as they are fond and warm in their conception of it. You 
 may remember, madam, that I was especially anxious on this 
 point, and shaped my questions to you emphatically in respect to 
 any committal whatsoever of your daughter s heart." 
 
 * So you did, Sir Edward," the lady answered, querulously ; 
 "but these are questions of course with all young men all of 
 whom have a notion that if they have not been a first object in a 
 girl s fancy, they are robbed of some of their natural rights. But 
 people of experience know the absurdity of such a notion ; and 
 know that girls rarely marry the persons whom they happen to 
 fancy in their teens. It is the fancy only, not the affections, that 
 makes their prepossession ; and it is for this reason that thought 
 ful parents are required to be so vigilant in giving the proper 
 guidance to their daughters in all affairs of the heart. It should 
 be enough, Sir Edward, for you, that I took proper heed to Olive ; 
 seeing that she did not fling herself away upon a worthless person, 
 and that she was provided with one of whom the whole world of 
 English society had but one opinion. I have no reason to regret 
 the choice I made for Olive." 
 
 " Better, madam, a thousand times, that you had suffered her 
 to make her own choice ! Your appeal to my vanity does not 
 lessen one atom the agony you have forced into my heart. But 
 tell me, madam, who was the person with whom Olive had this 
 childish entanglement ?" 
 
 " You do not know that, then ?" she exclaimed, as inadvertently 
 as exultingly. " Then you will permit me to be silent, Sir Ed 
 ward. You will never hear it from me !" 
 
 " Mrs. Masterton, when I was so urgent with you touching any 
 previous engagement or committal of Olive, I had a serious rea 
 son for it. Rumors had reached my ears that there had been an 
 engagement that one was actually existing then between her 
 and one whom I loved as dearly as I could have loved any wo 
 man upon earth ! That was my poor brother Harry. His death 
 
LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THE DARK. 243 
 
 would have made no difference in my conduct in respect to one 
 v;bom I should have conceived to be his widow ! She would have 
 been sacred to me. I should have been satisfied, in such a case, 
 to stand in relation with her as a most loving and faithful brother 
 nothing more ! I was therefore urgent with you on this point. 
 And this was the very point upon which you deceived me. Never 
 did human being speak more confidently than yourself. Never 
 were asseverations made with more solemnity. I hinted at my 
 brother s intimacy with the family. You spoke of him as one 
 little known, who had not been seen for long seasons ; who had 
 taken but little interest in your family, and scarcely knew any 
 thing of Olive." 
 
 " You put it too strongly, Sir Edward." 
 
 " God be my witness, if I say one word too much ! On this 
 point, madam, I was very urgent. The mere doubt, arising from 
 the simplest rumor, was enough for me. Charmed as I was with 
 Olive, had I not received your assurances to the contrary, I had 
 foregone all my own pretensions. I should then have honored her 
 as my brother s betrothed as his wife as a dear sister, who 
 should have had my life if she desired it, but never a single avowal 
 which would have brought pain to her bosom. If you have de 
 ceived me on this subject, as you have on others, Mrs. Masterton, 
 then may God forgive you I can not! I will not curse, will 
 not spurn you. You are a woman, but and even now you can 
 somewhat relieve me. Say, madam, tell me, for mercy s sake 
 tell me that my brother had no interest in the heart of Olive Mas 
 terton !" 
 
 The cold, selfish, high-bred woman did not scruple at a lie. 
 
 " As God hears me, Sir Edward, Harry Berkeley was not the 
 person !" 
 
 " Yet his name was Harry, too ?" 
 
 " Yes, his name was Harry, too !" 
 
 "A singular coincidence!" replied the cassique ; then added: 
 " May God forgive you your other offences, madam, only as you 
 have spoken truth in this matter ! You have, at all events, taken 
 one sting of agony from my soul !" 
 
 He turned away abruptly as he said these words, and hurried 
 to the covert where his horse awaited him leaped upon him, and 
 disappeared for several hours. As hf vent from sight, the Hon- 
 
244 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 orable Mrs. Masterton drew a deep sigh, as of relief. She had 
 gone through a severe passage ; but her stubborn, rigid nature 
 never shrunk from the pressure put upon it. 
 
 " How could he have found it out?" she demanded of herself. 
 " Yet how fortunate he did not find out the whole ! He shall never 
 hear it from me that Harry Berkeley, his own brother, was in 
 truth his rival ! And I must see that Olive makes him no wiser. 
 She is fool enough to tell everything !" 
 
 And she chuckled aloud with the grateful conviction that she 
 had been able to lie successfully. 
 
 But her day was not yet ended. At breakfast, when the cas- 
 sique did not appear, Olive asked 
 
 " Where is he ?" 
 
 " Rode off an hour ago, very fast I suspect to the city." 
 
 " He is gone for the day, then ?" 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 "Ah !" and the exclamation was a sigh of relief. 
 
 The servant was in waiting, and no more was said at the mo 
 ment. But when the mother retired to her own apartment, Olive 
 suddenly made her appearance. Her eyes were wild with light ; 
 her cheeks were slightly flushed ; her whole appearance indicated 
 increase of excitement. 
 
 The mother was struck with some alarm. She remembered 
 what the cassique had said : " She will die ! Happy if madness 
 do but usurp the functions of the brain, so as to relieve her from 
 the long consciousness of dying !" 
 
 "Why, what s the matter, Olive?" 
 
 The young wife looked about her suspiciously, closed the door, 
 and locked it ; then said, approaching her mother with great eager 
 ness, while her eye glittered almost fiercely : 
 
 "He is not dead! He lives Harry Berkeley ! he lives! 
 He has spoken with me. I have seen him face to face !" 
 
 " You dream, Olive ! What can you mean ? The thing is 
 ridiculous. The man you speak of has been dead, I tell you, 
 more than eighteen months." 
 
 " And I tell you, mother, that he is not dead ! He lives. You 
 have deceived me betrayed me oh, how dreadfully betrayed 
 me ! O mother, mother ! how could you wrong me so ?" 
 
 The mother was almost stupefied by the successive assaults 
 
LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THE DARK. 245 
 
 upon her doubly bewildered, as she had been so solemnly 
 warned by the cassique in what manner she spoke to Olive, lest 
 she should drive her to madness. And this was madness ! Of 
 Harry Berkeley s death by sea, Mrs. Masterton, to do her justice, 
 had no sort of question. But, uncertain what to say, lest she 
 should increase the mental infirmities of her daughter, the wise 
 woman of good society was yet compelled to say something, how 
 ever little to the purpose. 
 
 "I betray you, Olive ? I deceive you? Was ever so cruel a 
 charge brought against a mother; and a mother I am proud to 
 say it who has done everything for her child?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you have done for me ! What made you tell me 
 such a falsehood ? Who told you that Harry was drowned? 
 Where did you [>*: that letter?" 
 
 " From Ivison. He wrote it. He knew the facts. He was 
 one of the survivors in the long-boat. He saw the pinnace go 
 down, with all in her." 
 
 "He lied to you, mother ! The pinnace did not go down 
 I m sure of it. Harry escaped to the shore. I know it now ! 
 Hark you!" and she bent forward, and whispered "it is a 
 secret yet a secret and we must study what to do with it. 
 But Harry is alive ! I have seen and spoken with him, nightly, 
 the last five nights !" 
 
 u Seen spoken with him, Olive ! And where, pray?" 
 
 " In my chamber ! He comes and wakens me out of my sleep ; 
 he sits by me, and talks to me, and wraps me in his arms so 
 fondly ! Oh, yes, he loves me as much as ever, though he re 
 proaches me that I have been false to him. But I told him all. 
 I laid the blame on you ; told him how you had sworn to me that 
 he was lost in the deep sea ; that the great ocean had gone over 
 him ; that I should never be his wife that I should never see 
 him more. Then he said to me, as I have so often said to myself, 
 * But why should you, Olive Masterton, become the wife of an 
 other? Then I answered him yes, I answered out, mother 
 though twas all said in a whisper, for shame shame for you, 
 mother then I answered : It was for the cassique s gold, Harry ! 
 I was bought and sold, like an African from the Gold-coast, though 
 they did not call it selling they only called it marriage ! I told 
 him it really was not marriage only a sham; and that, in my 
 
246 THE CASSIQUE OF K1AWAH. 
 
 heart, I had only one husband, and that was himself! And he 
 forgave me, mother, and took me in his arms, and said I was in 
 truth his wife, and the other marriage was all a sham !" 
 
 " My child, you have been dreaming. This is nothing but a 
 dream." 
 
 " Mother, I say I saw him face to face, as close as your face is 
 now to mine ! He was in the bed with me ! He took me in his 
 arms, and laid me down upon the pillow ; and he had been talking 
 with me long before. I knew that I was not dreaming. I was 
 broad awake. It was like no dream ! It was all a reality. Yes, 
 mother, my true husband, Harry, is alive !" 
 
 We may readily conceive what were the arguments used by the 
 mother to persuade her that she dreamed. 
 
 " How could he be here, Olive ? how get into your chamber ? 
 The cassique was here has slept with you every night. No 
 body else could enter your chamber. If Harry Berkeley were 
 living, he would never dare to do so." 
 
 " Harry Berkeley would do everything, mother, to protect his wife." 
 
 " But you are not his wife, Olive ! He might love you, and 
 you love him ; but he has no lawful right in you. You are mar 
 ried to his brother ; you are the lawful wife of the cassique ; and, 
 if Harry Berkeley were living, he would know that, and would 
 know that it would ruin you for ever were he to come into your 
 chamber. Only think, Olive, if Harry were living, and the broth 
 ers were to meet do you not see that they would fight? They 
 would take each other by the throat ; they would draw deadly 
 weapons upon each other ; and there would be murder ; one or 
 both of them would be slain !" 
 
 " O my God, mother ! what do you tell me ? Yet it is true ! 
 They would butcher each other ; and you, mother, would be the 
 cause of it all ! Can it be possible that I have only been dream 
 ing ? And everything was so real, so actual, and so sweet ! My 
 poor head, how it aches with thinking !" 
 
 "You must go to bed must lie down, my child, and try to 
 get some rest. And remember, all the while, what a dreadful 
 thing it would be for the cassique even to guess that you had 
 loved his brother, and he you !" 
 
 " What ! did you not tell him, mother ? You promised me you 
 would. 
 
LURID GLEAMS THROUGH THR DARK. 247 
 
 " Yes, but I was not such a fool ! What was the use, my child, 
 when we knew that Harry was dead ?" 
 
 " I can not think him dead. I feel him all around me. I seem 
 to breathe the same air with him ; I seem to hear his voice at mo 
 ments ; and, sometimes, to catch the bright flash of his great blue 
 eyes. Oh, no ! it is impossible to think him dead. You have 
 made me doubt something, but not that he is living still." 
 
 " You must lie down, my child, and try to sleep. I will give 
 you some drops to compose your nerves. But not a word of this 
 dreaming to the cassique ! Forget these fancies. They are mere 
 delusions of the brain. You have been strangely excited for the 
 last few days." 
 
 " Yes, I will lie down. I feel sure he will come to me again, 
 mother, if I lie down." 
 
 " That should prove that you only dream these things, Olive. 
 If he comes now, it will be in spirit only." 
 
 " His spirit ! Oh, if it be so, I do not fear ! The spirit of 
 Harry Berkeley shall be more welcome to Olive Masterton than 
 any living man. I will lie down in your bed, mother : I do not 
 wish to see the cassique again." 
 
 " But he is your husband, my child." 
 
 " Oh, mother, I feel that I am the wife of Harry Berkeley 
 only !" 
 
 The mother led her off to a couch, and gave her a composing 
 draught, and watched her while she seemed to sleep. But she 
 had only shut her eyes upon the daylight, in the fond hope of 
 recalling the vision of the night. 
 
248 1HE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE WHITE BIRD. 
 
 " Now shall we see, 
 
 That, in this fair simplicity, there lies 
 
 Some subtle policy. So spiders weave 
 
 Their silken snares, that spread about unseen, 
 
 Take the unwitting victim to his fate." OLD PLAY. 
 
 SUCH was the condition of things, at the barony, \vhei Harry 
 Calvert made his night-ride to the precinct, in company with 
 Gowdey. It was the night of the day when the cassique had 
 brought her offences home to the Honorable Mrs. Masterton ; 
 when Olive s reproaches faint and few as reproaches, terrible 
 thrusts as the simple utterances of a wo-stricken heart had smit 
 ten heavily, though almost with as little profit as her lord s, upon 
 the rocky nature of the world-wise mother. She was stunned, 
 rather than subdued or convinced. 
 
 Had her loving purposes, on her child s behalf, been really so 
 mischievous in result ? How should she think so ? Surely, but 
 for the peculiar perversity of that child s nature, they must have 
 been productive of the very best sort of human happiness accord 
 ing to her definition of the word, which comprised little beyond 
 ample fortune, and a fine social establishment in the beau monde. 
 
 But, leaving her to work out the worrying problem as she may 
 leaving her lovely victim to the hallucinations in which lay at 
 once her danger and her delight let us follow the steps of the 
 cassique. 
 
 His policy is to stifle the pangs of heart in the employments 
 of his head. He must work down the demon of Unrest and 
 Thought ! and Will must subjugate Sensibility. With the dawn 
 ho had gone forth. The first gleams of sunshine found him busy 
 
THE WHITE BIRD. 249 
 
 with a score of workmen around him, and his own hands grasp 
 ing square and rule. 
 
 He was thus employed when almost surprised by the embas- 
 sage of the Indians, whose camp-fire had been discovered by 
 Gowdey the night before, as described in a previous chapter. 
 
 An embassage of the red men is no ordinary affair. They have 
 a great sense of their dignity. The cassique knew enough of the 
 character to recognise the claims of its vanity. He was desirous 
 of conciliating the race. He had philanthropic purposes, to lift, 
 and ennoble, and civilize it if he could. He had dedicated no 
 small sums of money to this purpose, some thought, and much 
 patient painstaking. He had laid in stores of such commodities 
 as the red men most desired. These were to be used as presents. 
 He had already given much : he was prepared to give more. 
 But, first, he must receive them in such state as became his dig 
 nity and their own ; the latter consideration by far the most im 
 portant, and necessarily involving due regard to the former. 
 
 He hurried back to the dwelling the moment he was apprized, 
 by a runner, of the approach of the cassique the Micco Cusso- 
 boe the great chief of the Kiawahs and hastily put on the 
 uniform of a British colonel. Clothed in scarlet, with rich facings, 
 chapeau bras on his head, and long-sword by his side, he too was 
 a chief, and he came forth properly accoutred for the reception of 
 his brother-noble. 
 
 But we have no intention of making a scene of it. It will help 
 us nothing in our narrative. The reader must fancy, for himself, 
 the reserved airs of the red man and his followers ; the lofty car 
 riage, the imposing manner, the grand speeches which Gowdey 
 helped to translate and the gifts of strouds, blankets, bells, 
 beads, knives, and hatchets, with which the white cassique of 
 Kiawah proceeded to gratify, at the close of the orations, the cu 
 pidity of his copper-colored namesake and visiter. The belts of 
 wampum, symbols of treaty, amity, and commerce, were inter 
 changed, with a state and grace becoming higher potentates. 
 
 The white cassique, with proper policy, humored the red one 
 to the top of his bent. He could have smiled many times during 
 the proceedings, but his heart was too full of its own peculiar cares. 
 
 That he should go through the scene at all, having his own 
 agonies to endure all the while, was no small proof of his strength 
 
 11* 
 
250 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 of soul, and the brave will which he brought to bear upon, and 
 crush down, the keen, sharp, incessant struggle of his sensibilities. 
 
 But the embassage was not one simply of courtesy. It con 
 templated a special business, for which there had been a previous 
 understanding between the parties. The red cassique of Kiawah 
 came, in fact, to apprentice his only son to his European name 
 sake. " How apprentice," you ask, " and to what occupation ?" 
 To explain this will require but few words. 
 
 It is perhaps not generally known that the custom had been 
 for some time adopted, among the wealthy settlers of the white 
 race in the Carolinas, of hiring experts from among the red men, 
 to hunt for their families and procure their game. The red chief 
 Cussoboe, hearing of the want of our cassique, had voluntarily 
 offered his son for this purpose ; and the boy, only sixteen years 
 old, had been hurried through the usual Indian novitiate which 
 prepares for the toils of manhood, in order to meet the known 
 wishes of Colonel Berkeley. 
 
 This novitiate of the red man ? A few words on this subject. 
 
 In the complacency of our civilization we rate the red men 
 somewhat below humanity. At all events, we give them credit 
 for a very small advance beyond the condition of the mere bar 
 barian. And yet, setting aside the bias of our peculiar conven 
 tion, we are, probably, in one respect, wanting somewhat in the 
 wisdom of the red man. Our discipline of the young, contempla 
 ting the relative duties of the two races, is scarcely so exacting, 
 so proper, or so elevated, as theirs. We shall make no compari 
 sons, lest we make ourselves odious : and we admit, in limine, 
 that the larger complications of civilization embarrass the subject 
 of discipline in a degree which the red man scarcely feels ; and 
 civilization contemplates objects which do not enter at all into 
 his calculations. But, regarding only what are his, he undoubt 
 edly has a better idea of propriety, and the mode by which hi3 
 ends are to be attained, than we have readied, with all our gains 
 of learning and science, and in respect to the variety of consider 
 ations which press upon our cares. 
 
 The red man has two great studies before him. He is to be 
 the hunter and the warrior. His life is thus simplified, as nar 
 rowed down to these occupations. How to train himself and son 
 for these ? Hardihood, dexterity, cunning, fleetness of foot, firm- 
 
THE WHITE BIRD. 251 
 
 ness to endure, inflexibility in trial, a steadfast purpose, a strong 
 heart, a cool head, deliberate courage, and a steady aim these 
 are the objects of his education, training him equally for the two 
 employments of his life. He is schooled even more severely than 
 was the Spartan. His pride, from childhood, is brought into play, 
 and made to stimulate all his proper faculties. He longs to emu 
 late the great hunter, and circumvent the bear, and trap deer and 
 turkey, and transfix the flying game with his unerring arrows ; 
 and so, from eight to fifteen years, the naked urchins of the tribe 
 are engaged in every exercise which can increase the volume and 
 elasticity of muscle, the strength of legs and arms, the quickness 
 and farsightedness of eye, the subtlety of pursuit and snare, the 
 agility of movement, the rapidity of flight, the dexterity of aim 
 and action, and the cool, resolute purpose to achieve and to endure. 
 
 At fifteen, just when the moral nature begins to stir with dis 
 content, the lessons rise, so as to appeal to the spiritual and im 
 aginative faculties. At fifteen, there is a new ordeal, when the 
 priesthood interpose and take up the training, just where .the 
 merely physical development is supposed to be sufficiently com 
 pelled by habit. 
 
 We do not, of course, deem it necessary to dwell upon certain 
 incidental lessons which have been imparted in the meantime. 
 These are preparatory, a part of the training, though they may 
 seem to have been delivered without any apparent conscious 
 ness that the boy is listening. Wild songs are sung, of ancient 
 braves, in his hearing ; tales are told, of wondrous deeds of daring 
 and endurance in the past ; and traditions are transmitted, of such 
 as, from extra developments of character, have risen to the rank 
 of demigods, and shine in the mythology of the red men as brightly 
 to their imaginations as ever did the Thesean and other mythic 
 heroes in the imagination of the Greeks. Of course, we do not 
 propose to compare the two races, though some of the red men 
 might well challenge the comparison with Greek or Roman fames. 
 But their hero-deities, having no poet, have no record none, at 
 least, which can spell our senses into fond allegiance. We will 
 suppose that, from eight to fifteen, the Indian boy has eagerly 
 listened to thousands of such legends of myth and hero. 
 
 At fifteen, all his early training of the physique, and its tribu 
 tary faculties of sight, and smell, and taste, and touch, and hear- 
 
252 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ing, together with those lessons which have wrought upon his 
 imagination and superstition, are appealed to, by a new and pecu 
 liar process, which is training also ; and the boy is solemnly dedi 
 cated to the Great Spirit and yielded to his hands, and made to 
 go through an ordeal which brings into exercise all that is spir 
 itual in his nature. 
 
 This process is but imperfectly described, in our language, ai 
 the initiation of youth for manhood. In one sense, it is this. It 
 is the taking on of the toga virilis. It is the assumption, for the 
 first time, of the responsibilities of life. But it is something more. 
 It is a sacrifice, a consecration, an invocation a religious rite, 
 the higher purpose of which is to place the neophyte within tht 
 immediate care of the Great Spirit ; to commend him to special 
 favor ; and to procure, if possible, such a visitation from the Deitj 
 as will prefigure to him the particular role which he shall adopi 
 in the vague future which lies before him. 
 
 He is expected to dream dreams, and to see visions ; each of 
 which is to have a special purport to his mind. In the Yemas- 
 see, and the kindred dialects of the Kiawahs, Edistohs, Cussoboes, 
 Stonoes, Sewees, Ockettees, Accabees, and other tribes, occupying 
 or ranging through the same precincts, this ordeal was called the 
 jBeni-as-ke-tau ; among the Muscoghees, it was A-boos-ke-tau / 
 and the several Indian nations had, each, its peculiar name for a 
 ceremonial which was common to them all. 
 
 According to Gowdey, and no doubt many others of the whites 
 who knew the habits and character of the red man, it was the 
 formal introduction of the boy to the Indian devil ! 
 
 But, to the process itself: 
 
 The youth, having reached the proper age, say fifteen, and 
 promising to be worthy, by reason of the progress he has made in 
 the sports and exercises which are meant to harden properly his 
 physique, is suddenly withdrawn from the tribe, and conducted to 
 a region of extremes! solitude. With the nations of the interior, 
 this was chosen among lonely dells in the mountains, or deep 
 thickets of the forest, remote from the travelled routes. Along 
 the seaboard, according to the season, it was in the depths of the 
 swamp, or on some desert islet, which was consecrated to this 
 especial purpose. 
 
 Here, after various exorcisms of the Driest, he was left with a 
 
THK WHITE BIRD. 253 
 
 certain meagre allowance of food, carefully measured for a limited 
 space of time varying, according to the different usages of the 
 tribes, from seven to twenty-seven days. The food left him -was 
 just in sufficient quantity to preserve life. He was left weapon 
 less. He had nothing but coarse meal of the maize, and water 
 was always convenient ; he might drink what he pleased of that. 
 In addition, he had provided him certain quantities, duly meas 
 ured out, of bitter roots, which are emetic in their property. 
 These are sodden in water, and he drinks of the water at morn 
 ing and evening. When he has vomited freely, he partakes spar 
 ingly of his allowance of meal. Having thus fed and physicked 
 himself, with the occasional countenance of the priest, for a space 
 of five days, he substitutes for the emetic roots those of another 
 sort, which have the effect of intoxicating : in fact, from the de 
 scription given of their properties, we may suppose them to resem 
 ble those of the oriental hacksheesh, the preparation from hemp. 
 They produce delirium, if they do not temporarily madden. 
 
 Then the visions follow. And these visions have a divine 
 import, which the young man must carefully remember. They 
 embody the mystery, and the moral, and perhaps the model, of 
 his future life. They present to his mind the ideal which governs 
 his aims and aspirations ; and from these he detaches, for special 
 worship, the chief object which fastens most tenaciously upon his 
 fancy. 
 
 We can well understand how and why it is that, with little or 
 no food, and under the constant appliance of medicine which ex 
 hausts the system, and then, with an imagination wrought to in- 
 tensest activity by the intoxicating potion, the boy should see 
 wondrous things in his visions, and that these should exercise 
 most potent influences over his mind in all succeeding years. The 
 only wonder is, that he should escape from madness. 
 
 And you may trust these Indian boys, alone, to carry out faith 
 fully all the duties prescribed to them. They know the object of 
 the ordeal. Their ambition has been raised to the occasion. They 
 arc eager for the trial, and never fail in its requisitions. They 
 would die sooner than skulk. In the meantime, should the boy 
 meet another, undergoing the same novitiate, he neither touches 
 nor speaks with him. They are left wholly to God : they will 
 commune with no meaner being. Ablutions and lustrations fol- 
 
254 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 low, and a copious sweating process closes the ceremonial, when 
 the priest reappears, and performs certain mystic rites, and the 
 mockasons of manhood, prepared for the occasion, " esta-la-pee-ca," 
 are fastened upon his feet, and he is armed with a new bow, belt, 
 and arrows, which we may suppose to have been prepared by the 
 young women of the family. They are consecrated by the priest, 
 and the boy usually receives a new name, which is temporary, 
 and to be changed with his first remarkable achievement to one 
 which is significant of the event. 
 
 The reader will suppose us to have abridged this description, 
 cutting off many minor details. We have given the main features 
 and objects of the ceremonial, and these must suffice. 
 
 We enable him to understand now why we have introduced this 
 description here, when we recall to his memory the scene, in the 
 first part of this veritable history, in which honest Jack Belcher 
 detected the Indian canoe on its passage to the sacred isle of 
 Kiawah, and when subsequently the alarm was given to the same 
 personage, in company with his superior, Calvert, when they dis 
 covered the same Indian canoe so nearly athwart the hawser of 
 the saucy cruiser, the Happy-go-Lucky. The inmates of that 
 canoe were the chief Cussoboe, the priest, and the favorite son, 
 just brought back from Kiawah, the latter having gone bravely 
 through his ordeal of seven days, the usual term of the novitiate 
 among the Yemassee. 
 
 " How came he the Spirit? 1 was the first query of the cas- 
 sique to the nearly-exhausted boy. 
 
 " An he-gar ; lac-o-me-ne-pah." 
 
 "Ha! the little white bird? Saw yen no great wings? no 
 eagle ? Was there no wolf that howls no panther that springs ? 
 Heard you no cry as of the bird that tears the throat ?" 
 
 The boy gasped out only the one response 
 
 " An-he-gar ; lac-o-me-ne-pah !" 
 
 "What hast thou to do with little white bird? It is not for 
 hee. I would have had thee see the great sea-eagle ; better 
 the panther that leaps, or the wolf that howls ; or the great bear, 
 whose embrace is death ! But so the Great Spirit hath spoken ! 
 And who shall say, * Wherefore this speech ? " 
 
 This was all said in the dialect of his people. The philosophy, 
 as spoken, was unexceptionable ; but the gloomy brow of the chief 
 
THE WHITE BIRD. 265 
 
 was scarcely in jnison with the uttered sentiment. He was 
 troubled. He walked away dissatisfied. 
 
 But he soon returned, and, with great effort, shaking off his dis 
 satisfaction, he proceeded to some of the final ceremonials, such 
 us the fastening on the mockasons and belt, and arming with bow 
 and arrows. And then the whole party walked away together 
 to the beach, where the boat awaited them. 
 
 And even as they walked, there lay in the path before them a 
 long, beautiful white feather, as if just fallen from some snowy 
 bird in flight. And the boy reverently stooped and picked it up, 
 and fastened it within the fillet that encircled his brows. And he 
 murmured in low tones, as he did so 
 
 " An-he-gar ; lac-o-me-ne-pah." 
 
 The father heard the words, and again he frowned ; for it did 
 not please him that the image which had made the deepest im 
 pression on the boy s mind should be so insignificant of character 
 But the lad had gone bravely through his ordeal ; and, though 
 feeble, he carried himself erect ; and his eye was bright, and his 
 bearing calm and resolute. So the chief made no reply to the 
 words, and no comment upon the action. In fact, whatever the 
 symbol vouchsafed the boy in his visions, it was of sacred origin ; 
 and the faith of the red man rarely questions the wisdom in the 
 ultimate designs of the Deity, though it may be that it conflicts 
 with his own pride and the calculations of his policy. It appeared 
 to do so in the present instance, and Cussoboe was troubled. He 
 had a cunning policy, a profound purpose in view, which required 
 that the boy should exercise the highest attributes of manhood ; 
 which contemplated for his future, and that at an early period, 
 tests which would tax his strength to the utmost, and trials which 
 should demand his best courage. 
 
 In brief, the boy was dedicated almost as solemnly as Hannibal ; 
 and long, searching, and severe, was the examination by which, 
 subsequently, the sire sought to probe the nature of the son. and 
 raise his mind to the height of those duties which were in reserve 
 for his future execution. 
 
 But we must not anticipate. Ostensibly, he was simply ap 
 prenticed to the great white chief as a hunter of the deer and tur 
 key. The terms of this compact were all understood between 
 the parties, prior w their present meeting. It only remained to 
 
25C THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the English cassique to bestow his gratuities upon his dusky 
 brother. This was done, and the liberality of the one even sur 
 passed the expectations of the other. 
 
 But Colonel Berkeley was careful, among his gifts, to bestow 
 no weapons ; and this was a disappointment to the chief Cussoboe. 
 He might not have been so placid under this disappointment, but 
 that he meditated schemes which would supply hereafter all pres 
 ent deficiencies of this description. 
 
 It was in the midst of this scene, and while Cussoboe was 
 eagerly clutching and putting aside the coveted gifts robes, 
 shawls, knives, bells, blankets, and a score of " what-nots" besides 
 that a bright, fairy-like creature, an English girl, fair as a 
 new-budded rose, and fresh as morning, pressed in between the 
 spectators, and made her way into the circle. This was Grace 
 Masterton, the sister of Olive, the wife of Berkeley, a tall girl of 
 twelve or fourteen years, perhaps ; a light, graceful creature, whose 
 eyes sparkled with impulse and kindled with every imagination. 
 Scarcely did she appear, when the Indian boy murmured, as if 
 unconsciously 
 
 " An-he-gar ! lac-o-me-ne-pah !" 
 
 And his eyes were fastened upon her face with a long, medi 
 tative gaze. And she, too, regarded him with keenest scrutiny 
 for a few moments, when the English cassique, noticing her pres 
 ence, said to her : 
 
 * Grace, my dear, this is the young Indian hunter, who is to 
 bring us venison. You must treat him kindly, my child. He is 
 the son of the cassique." 
 
 " To be sure I will, brother," replied the girl, promptly. " I 
 like his looks. He s handsome, though so red. He shall play 
 with me. I can go with him into the woods." 
 
 " You shall teach him English, Grace, when he s off the hunt. 
 Won t you like that better? He knows nothing of our language 
 vet, I fancy. Ask him, Gowdey, if he understands what we say." 
 
 The interpreter translated for the parties. The boy replied in 
 his own tongue : 
 
 " I hear the strange bird singing in the woods of Kiawah. Tis 
 the white bird that sings. It is sweet to the ears of the young 
 hunter, but he knows not what she sings. He will listen closely, 
 till he learns." 
 
THE WHITE BIRD. 257 
 
 As the interpreter rendered this speech, the gill, with the ut 
 most frankness and simplicity, as if the answer was quite sufficient 
 for friendship, crossed over to where the boy stood, his eyes bright 
 and watchful, and, suddenly taking one of his hands in her own, 
 said : 
 
 " I like what you say, red boy, and I like your looks. You 
 shall play with me, and tell me all about the woods, and I will 
 tell you all about the English and England ; and I will teach you 
 how to speak with me, so that we may understand each other. 
 And you shall hunt for me, too, and shall catch and bring me a 
 beautiful smart young fawn a young deer, you know : you must n t 
 shoot it, mind you, nor hurt it, but catch it in a snare, and just bring 
 it to me so ; and I will put a collar round its neck, and hang my 
 silver bell to it, and it shall follow me about wherever I go. 
 Will you not bring me the beautiful little fawn, red boy ?" 
 
 "When she spoke, the boy started, as if from a dream. But he 
 did not withdraw his hand from her grasp, and he looked rever 
 ently in her eyes, as if trying to comprehend her speech ; but 
 when she stopped speaking, he could only murmur as before, but 
 now looking to his father 
 
 " An-he-gar ; lac-o-me-ne-pah." 
 
 " He calls you the white bird, Miss Grace, the little white bird 
 that sings. Anhegar is the Yemassee for little white bird." 
 
 Such was the translation made at the moment by Gowdey. 
 
 " Ugh ! ugh !" with a nodding head, was the commentary of 
 Cussoboe ; but he looked on with great gravity, apparently not 
 much pleased with the scene. 
 
 " And what is the name of your son ?" asked Berkeley. 
 
 The question was understood by the chief, but he was not so 
 successful in conveying his reply, though he attempted one in 
 English. Gowdey came to his assistance. 
 
 " The chief says, your honor, that the boy has no proper name 
 yet; that he can have no good name till he makes one. That s 
 Injin custom, your honor. What they call him now is not a name 
 to last. It s to be taken off, he says, but not till he s made a 
 mark for himself; that is, a totem. If he should have a stiff fight 
 with a bear, now, and take his hide, they d call him by some 
 name that means The boy that skinned the bear ; or if t was 
 war-time, and he took a man s scalp, the name would tell all 
 
258 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 about the affair. Now they call him IsivatteeJ ami I don t know 
 well what that means ; but the nearest I can come to it is, The 
 tree put to grow. For short, they call him Iswattee ; and J 
 reckon that s the name he means you to call him." 
 
 "Ugh! ugh! Iswattee good boy Iswattee. Shoot dear, kill 
 bear; good boy Iswattee. Hunt for white Micco. Heap kill 
 heap catch ! Good hunter is young chief, Iswattee." 
 
 We spare the reader more of these details. The ceremonials 
 were ended. Cussoboe had made up his piles ; had clutched the 
 hand of the English cassique with a hearty gripe, seemingly of 
 good will ; then suddenly turned away for the forest, leaving his 
 treasures behind him, but under the guardianship of his followers. 
 None seemed to remark his going except the boy Iswattee. He 
 suddenly, as if starting from deepest revery, took the track afte* 
 his father, and followed him in silence to the adjoining thickets, 
 which were close at hand, and in which both of them were soon 
 buried out of sight. 
 
THE QUIVER OF ARROWS. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE QUIVER OF ARROWS. 
 
 " Here, boy, is the commission for thy work : 
 So many days, and the great peril demands 
 Thy instant, swift, decisive, and sharp stroke ! 
 Be true as vigilant ; for thy duty here 
 Is a most sacred service to thy people, 
 And the Great Spirit that watches o er their weal." 
 
 THE SEMINOLE a Play. 
 
 YET, though buried in the thicket, the chief and his son did no$ 
 pass wholly from human sight. They had left the groups, Euro 
 pean and Indian alike, which had made the assemblage gathered 
 for the occasion. But other eyes than these were upon them. 
 
 Harry Calvert harbored in the very thicket to which they di 
 rected their steps. From the edge of this thicket, approaching as 
 nearly as he might with safety, he had watched the whole pro 
 ceedings. Now, as the cassique and his son drew nigh, he receded 
 stealthily into yet deeper thickets, taking care not to lose them 
 from sight. Not that he felt much, or any curiosity, with regard 
 to their movements. In observing them, he simply obeyed those 
 instincts which had been habitually exercised by the life he led, 
 and the vigilance which its necessities had rendered natural to his 
 mind. He had been a warrior and hunter himself with the red 
 men, and knew much of their ways. It was only the habitual 
 employment of his wits, in the absence of every duty, that he 
 should fathom their purposes. He had a motive in this, by-the- 
 way, in consequence of what Gowdey had reported to him of the 
 doubtful fidelity of the red men in the precinct. 
 
 Cussuboe suspected no such surveillance. He led the boy into 
 the wood, never once looking behind him, and not doubting that 
 
260 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH 
 
 the son would follow. Having reached a supposed place of shel 
 ter and security, he paused, and awaited the youth. The latter 
 drew nigh, and Calvert, from a clump of bushes, could behold the 
 scene, though too remote to gather what was spoken. He saw 
 that the cassique spoke with solemnity ; that his action was impo 
 sing and dignified. He saw his hands lifted to heaven a one 
 moment, and in the next laid on the young man s head. 
 
 The latter stood motionless and attentive. The father then 
 pointed to the settlement of the English cassique ; and finally, un 
 folding his robe, he produced a sheaf of arrows, which he num 
 bered with his fingers. From this sheaf he detached a single 
 shaft, snapped it in twain, and, this done, he looked about him 
 until he found a living tree which had a hollow in its trunk. Int 
 this hollow he thrust the sheaf with its remaining arrows, an 
 with his hatchet made a single stroke across the bark, on the side 
 of the tree opposite the cavity. The two then moved away to 
 gether to the edge of the wood. When there, they separated 
 the boy taking his way to the settlement of his new employer, the 
 cassique skirting the opening, but keeping in the cover of the 
 thicket, until he had joined his followers a few hundred yards 
 below. 
 
 They had loaded themselves with his merchandise, the gifts ci 
 the white man, and were now waiting for the coming of their su 
 perior, as at an appointed place. In a short time they had disap 
 peared from the scene, moving away as calmly and indifferently 
 as if they had not left behind them the hope of the tribe ; as if 
 heedless of the new toils to be forced upon him his isolation 
 among foreigners the tenderness of his youth the temptations 
 and dangers to which he was exposed among those whom his 
 people, whatever the appearances they maintained, undoubtedly 
 regarded as their enemies. 
 
 Harry Calvert had been able to behold the scene already de 
 scribed ; and, though he heard not a syllable, he yet fully con 
 ceived its purport. He waited in his hiding-place until the re 
 men were certainly gone, and at a distance, when he readvanced 
 to the edge of the opening, which revealed the new settlement, 
 and satisfied himself that all there were too much occupied to in 
 terfere with his own actions. He returned to the thicket, found 
 the tree in which the sheaf of arrows had been deposited, and 
 
THE QUIVER OF ARROWS. 261 
 
 drew it forth. He found it tied with the skin of the rattle 
 snake ! 
 
 Such a quiver, so encircled, is, when formally despatched by 
 one tribe to another, a solemn declaration of war. And even 
 now, though unsent, it had a peculiar significance, which Calvert 
 well understood. He counted the arrows, and restored the sheaf 
 to its hiding-place. Then, gathering up the fragments of the shaft 
 which had been broken, he retired still deeper into the thickets, 
 till he reached a little branch, or brooklet, upon the banks of 
 which the canes or hollow reeds, of which the arrows were made, 
 grew abundantly. He gathered one of these, as nearly like, in 
 size and appearance, as possible, to the one which had been bro 
 ken ; trimmed it with his knife to the same shape and measure, 
 and inserted it within the sheaf with the rest, This done, he re 
 sumed his scrutiny of the plantation and settlements of his brother. 
 
 In this scrutiny, he consumed the better part of the day. He 
 noted all the bearings and relations of the several buildings, the 
 courses of the streams and woods around the place, and made 
 himself familiar with the various paths or avenues which seemed 
 to lead to and from it. For hours he watched the buildings from 
 such points as afforded him the best survey. He could distinguish 
 the workmen at their several tasks, and his brother among them. 
 He could see much everything, indeed, which would have been 
 necessary had he been making a reconnaissance in contemplation 
 of assault. 
 
 But he was still unsatisfied. His eyes never once rested on 
 the object which was most precious to his sight which he came 
 especially to see ! 
 
 But there was one sight which worked keenly upon his sensi 
 bilities. Toward sunset, he beheld the nurse, with the child, enter 
 the great grove of moss-bearded oaks a Titan family, hoar with 
 fid. and with branches large as the shafts of other trees which 
 ranged along one side of the whole settlement ; a natural avenue 
 such as no prince of Europe might boast. 
 
 He could not doubt that this infant was the child of Olive. " It 
 should be mine ! it should be mine !" was the half-choking mur 
 mur from his lips. His first impulse was to dart forward and 
 tear the infant from the arms of its bearer. But with a shudder 
 he arrested himself, turned away for a moment, and then one big 
 
262 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 tear rose into his eyes, and, glowly gathering, rolled down upon 
 his cheeks. He dashed it off hurriedly, as if ashamed of the mo 
 mentary weakness ; and now continued to watch the infant, but 
 with a sterner feeling, deeply imbued with bitterness, which, how 
 ever brought no emotion into play upon his face. And thus he 
 watched, with a sort of stony stare, until child and nurse had dia 
 appeared. 
 
 With night he rode back to Gowdey s castle, at Oldtown on 
 the Ashley. Gowdey was in waiting for him. The old man had 
 shaken off his red companions in an hour after the embassage was 
 over. Calvert told him what he had seen, of the interview be 
 tween the chief and his son. He told him, also, what he had 
 done, in substituting a perfect for the broken arrow. 
 
 " Ah ! captain, I see you knows the red devils as well as my 
 self. You ve got the count of their arrows, I hopes; for, jest as 
 sure as a gun, the day when that last arrow is broken is4;he day 
 for sudden mischief." 
 
 "Yes; here s a memorandum in pencil. Score it, Gowdey, in 
 fire-coal on your walls, so that you too shall remember. We 
 shall have to make our preparations against that day. I shall be 
 able to do something. That this chief, Cussoboe, means mischief, 
 there can be no doubt. That this boy is to be made an agent, 
 some way, in effecting some special and important object, against 
 a particular time, is equally beyond question. Now, what is he to 
 effect ? Have you thought of that, Gowdey ?" 
 
 "Well no! I don t really see. He s so young he s not 
 more than sixteen, I reckon ; and then he s a sort of hostage, you 
 see." 
 
 " An Indian boy at fifteen is five years older than a European 
 boy at the same age." 
 
 " In the woods, he sartinly is." 
 
 " And his life is in the woods only. What we call civilization 
 and society are here mere impertinences. The manhood of the 
 forests is the best manhood in the forests, and this boy is already 
 trained with a Spartan education." 
 
 "I can t say, captain, that I altogether understand that Spar 
 tan. " 
 
 " Ah ! true. Well, Gowdey, the Spartans were a sort of In 
 dians in their day who trained their children to a hard life, in 
 
THE QUIVER OP ARROWS. 263 
 
 order that they might be strong, selfish men. But this must not 
 divert us from what we were saying. This boy s tender years 
 make no difference in this matter. He will do what his father 
 requires. His father will not require him to do anything which 
 he is not able to do, provided he can bravely make the attempt, 
 and has the hardy courage to pursue it." 
 
 "That s true, sir." 
 
 " Now, Gowdey, it is a mistake to suppose that the boy is in 
 the situation of a hostage. The very business for which my bro 
 the cassique, I should say employs him, gives him perfect lib 
 erty. He ranges the woods at pleasure ; is absent and returns 
 when he pleases ; and, unless locked up, can execute any appointed 
 mischief that lies within his strength, courage, and opportunities." 
 
 " That s sart inly true, your honor." 
 
 " Now, the question occurs, what can the cassique, his father, 
 expect him to do, which he could not do himself? Nothing, un 
 less the boy, from peculiar opportunities allowed him by the situ 
 ation he holds, can obtain access to objects and places which his 
 father could have no pretence to seek." 
 
 " That seems quite sensible, captain." 
 
 " If, then, as we believe, these red men meditate treachery, the 
 objects with which this boy is put to Colonel Berkeley will be, to 
 gain some advantages which are desirable to the insurgents. 
 What are these objects ? The boy has free access to the whole 
 domain of Colonel Berkeley. He may be able to open the gates 
 and doors at midnight ; may be able to get possession of arms and 
 gunpowder " 
 
 "Ah! that reminds me that old rogue Cussoboe, though the 
 cassique gave him a smart chance of everything that he wanted, 
 he was not satisfied, and he asked for a gun for himself, one for 
 his brother, and one for the boy. He made quite an argyment to 
 the cassique, after them guns ! T was lucky the colonel fought 
 shy of that, though he did n t actually refuse." 
 
 " There, then, lies the danger. Now, Gowdey, in my exami 
 nation of the place to-day, I note that there is a strong log-house 
 without windows. It struck me, as you had already told me that 
 Colonel Berkeley had a large supply of guns and ammunition, 
 that this log-house was really the armory and magazine." 
 
 " I know it is, captain." 
 
264 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " I thought so, Gowdey. But now, mark you : this log-house, 
 or armory and magazine, is at least one hundred and fifty yards 
 from any of the other houses." 
 
 " Yes, and he told me the reason for putting it so far off. It 
 was the danger from explosion." 
 
 " I thought that likely. But, do you not see that, as there is 
 no covered way from the dwellings to the arsenal and magazine, 
 it would be impossible to get to it, from the houses, in the event 
 of a sudden assault ? The red men have only to cover the space 
 between, and nobody can cross to get the weapons. The door, 
 too, of this log-house, though fastened by the best lock ever made 
 in Europe, I can blow open with a pistol I can pry open with 
 an axe ! It only needs a resolute and numerous enemy, and the 
 place is incapable of defence. To make it even partially secure, 
 there must be a covered way, a double row of pickets, from the 
 chief dwelling to the door of the armory, completely enclosing 
 that, and the houses must all be fenced in with pickets. This> 
 with the force which Colonel Berkeley can now muster, can all 
 be done in a few days. He must do it. You must see him, Gow 
 dey, to-morrow, and urge the matter upon him." 
 
 " Lord love you, captain ! he ll never hear to me. He s got a 
 notion, as I told you afore, that these red devils are real humans, 
 and never would do wrong ef they worn t pushed to the wall. 
 Now, ef you d see and talk to him " 
 
 " Me ! You forget, Gowdey, that I am not the man to let my 
 self be seen by one of the proprietors, or council, just at this 
 time." 
 
 " But I don t reckon he knows you." 
 
 " I am bound to take for granted that he may know me, and to 
 keep out of his sight, for a time at least. I shall see nay, seek 
 him when the time comes, and it is proper to do so. I may say 
 to you that it is my purpose to seek him. I have something to 
 say to him which concerns us both very nearly." 
 
 Ah ! " 
 
 " Yes ! But, in the meantime, we must not suffer him to be 
 murdered. You must see him, and warn him of his danger. No 
 body can do it better. I can understand that it will be difficult to 
 disabuse him of these notions of which you speak. He has a 
 hobby of philanthropy ; and hobbies, unless well bridled, invaria- 
 
THE QUIVER OF ARROWS. 265 
 
 bly fling their riders. We must make him put a strong bit, 
 though for a season only, on that which he rides. You can do 
 this. You must go to him, and warn him of his danger. Tell 
 him that you know there is an insurrection of the red men on foot. 
 You do know it. /know it. You feel sure, from what you know 
 of the character and habits of this people from what you your 
 self have seen, and from what I have told you that there is an 
 insurrection on foot." 
 
 " I could swear it on Holy Writ." 
 
 " Swear it to him, then ! But beware how you offer to argue 
 with him, or give him the testimony upon which you ground your 
 convictions. Pie will never comprehend your proofs or mine. 
 He knows too little of the red men to understand the significance 
 of such actions as satisfy us of the danger. His very prejudices 
 will make him undervalue your arguments. But you can impress 
 him with your solemn asseverations. You have but to tell him 
 that you know the fact, but refuse to give your evidence. You 
 can easily find an excuse for being silent." 
 
 " Yes, I can do that." 
 
 " Meanwhile, I will warn the governor, in person. You must 
 have an increase of force for your garrison half a dozen stout 
 fellows at least, though twenty would not be too many. Can you 
 not pick up a score or two of brave fellow s who can stand fire ?" 
 
 "I reckon, captain, if I had the money. But the govern 
 or" 
 
 " You shall have it ! We must not wait upon governors and 
 councils : they move too slowly for this case. Before they could 
 organize a corps of rangers, there would be a hundred scalps 
 taken. Pick up a score or two of strong fellows within the next 
 three days. Get them into the block-house secretly. It is of the 
 first importance that your enemy should never know where you 
 are, or how strong you are. The red men probably know how 
 weak you are now. I have no doubt that you will have some of 
 them seeking to procure admission here, on some innocent pre 
 tence, just to find out the weakness of the place." 
 
 " They ve been at me already, hallooing to get in." 
 
 " But only one has shown himself ?" 
 
 "Only one that s sart in ; but I guessed as how there was 
 twenty others in the woods." 
 
 19 
 
266 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 "Well, do you get a score of stout fellows. I will provide 
 others, and will send over Jack Belcher to you to-morrow. I 
 want him here, and he can co-operate with you. How are you 
 off for weapons ?" 
 
 " Enough for a few men only." 
 
 " You shall have enough for a dozen ; and what your governor 
 fails to do, I shall supply. You will communicate to him, how 
 ever, as if you knew nothing of me ; and let him give you orders 
 for the men, if he will. That will guaranty their pay. But. 
 whether he gives you this guaranty or not, get the men, and I 
 will find the money for six months pay. Contract for that time 
 at least. That will carry you through the harvest. In all proba 
 bility, Colonel Berkeley is himself the cause of this contemplated 
 insurrection." 
 
 " As how, captain ?" 
 
 " He has awakened the greed and appetite of the red men, by 
 the ostentatious exhibition of stores, which tempt their cupidity, 
 which they esteem beyond all things, and by the little prudence 
 with which he guards them. He has numerous cattle which 
 range all about him. He will awake some morning to find all 
 their throats cut, even before his own. I counted, in one enclo 
 sure, not less than twenty-six of the finest Irish graziers " 
 
 By-the-way, captain, the very best sort of hogs for the swamp- 
 ranges ! With their long legs, they don t mind bog or distance; 
 and they re sich gross feeders, that nothing comes amiss. But, 
 captain, you re a most wonderful man. You ve seen to e T ery- 
 thing." 
 
 " Ah, Gowdey, my seeing does n t take the mote out of my own 
 eyes !" 
 
 The sudden change in the voice of the speaker ; the deep pa 
 thos conveyed in those few allegoric words ; the utter rejection, 
 ip tone, manner, and thought, of that tribute to the vanity of the 
 superior, which the humble man probably designed and inno 
 cently too to convey in his complimentary language all com 
 bined to reveal the presence of a great grief, perhaps an incurable 
 one, which hitherto Gowdey had never supposed to exist in the 
 heart of Calvert. 
 
 " Is it so, then, master ?" said the former ; and these insignifi 
 cant words, in themselves so meaningless, enforced by the tremu- 
 
THE QUIVER OP ARROWS. 267 
 
 lous accents of the speaker, conveyed volumes of the most touch 
 ing sympathy. 
 
 " Master, is it so ?" and, repeating the sentence, the old man 
 grasped the hand of the young one, and the big tears gathered in 
 his eye. 
 
 " It is so, Gowdey." 
 
 " Then God forgive you, and give you peace, master !" 
 
 Master ! Plow that word would revolt, at this day, the vanity 
 of inferiority ! Yet it conveyed then, in the mouth of that speak 
 er, no degrading acknowledgment. It was simply the speech of 
 an honest affection, paying tribute to a noble superiority, that did 
 not suffer forfeiture of a perfect manhood in the indulgence of the 
 greatest of human griefs. It was a just tribute of an honest heart 
 to a genuine heroism. 
 
 " It is so, Gowdey !" 
 
 " And is there no help ?" 
 
 "None ! none !" 
 
 " O captain, have faith! Look up! that s all that s needful. 
 And you may even shut the eye when you re a-lookin up. The 
 faith is apt to see better when the eye is shut. It s the faith that 
 cures the hurt, and gives sight to the blind man !" 
 
 " Enough, Gowdey ! Let us sleep now. You must take me 
 across the river before the dawn." 
 
268 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE DESPATCH. 
 
 " Hard rides the messenger of Law, but Fate 
 Rashes, with keener spur, the steed s sleek sides 
 That hurries in pursuit." Old Play. 
 
 BY the dawn of the next day, Calvert was safely sheltered 
 within the close chamber in the dwelling of Governor Quarry. 
 It was too late that night to disturb the household of Mrs. Per 
 kins Anderson, and agitate the repose of a wife so little nervous 
 as the fair Zulieme. It was enough to find a welcome from the 
 accommodating Governor Quarry, to whom, without committing 
 himself in any way, or revealing his own personal purposes and 
 objects, Calvert made known all his apprehensions of the hostile 
 intentions of the red men. 
 
 " Really, my dear captain," said the governor, "you are grow 
 ing nervous. I do not suppose that the Indians have any good 
 feeling toward us far from it; but I have myself had no evi 
 dence which might confirm your statement. So far as I can hear, 
 they are uniformly pacific ; have been quietly getting their maize 
 and peas into the ground ; and working as usual (precious small 
 is the degree of work, I grant you) upon their little planting-tracts. 
 Upon what do you found your opinions ?" 
 
 "I have <nven you no opinions, Governor Quarry. I assert 
 positively that the red men are preparing for mischief. I state a 
 fact which I will not argue." 
 
 "But your facts must be founded upon something; you hare 
 evidence for this assertion ?" 
 
 " Surely, but it is of a sort which I am not prepared to impart. 
 The revelation of my facts involves other interests." 
 
 "But, unless T have some evidence alleged proofs of the 
 
THE DESPATCH. 269 
 
 facts, at least upon which I can found the apprehension, how 
 should I alarm the council ? how move them to agree upon the 
 organization of the rangers? Rangers are expensive luxuries, 
 captain, and the colony is a poor one." 
 
 " Can you exercise no discretion as governor? since, if you 
 are to wait upon the dilatory debates of a council, you are Lkely 
 to send your rangers out only to gather up the scalped heads of 
 your colonists." 
 
 " Are you really serious ?" asked the governor, now becoming 
 serious himself. 
 
 " Never more so in my life !" 
 
 " But, do tell me upon what you ground these suspicions ?" 
 
 " That I can not well do. If your council be as ignorant of the 
 nature of the red men as Europeans generally are, what I hold to 
 be conclusive proofs would be to them wholly insignificant. If you 
 yourself can not act in the matter, I should despair of your coun 
 cil doing anything in season. If your scattered colonists up the 
 two rivers, especially here to the south as far as the Savannah, 
 could only be advised by runners to be on the alert ; your frontier 
 block-houses strengthened against surprise ; patrols of good skill 
 in woodcraft sent out, especially in Berkeley and Colleton coun 
 ties ; and all done without beat of drum, and with the utmost 
 secrecy then you might hope to avert the danger, or meet it 
 successfully. But what is done should be done quickly. I doubt 
 if you will have more than three weeks for the work. Why 
 should you not assume the responsibility, keeping all the measures 
 secret for a while ? It would redound wonderfully to your credit 
 after the event." 
 
 " But most atrociously against my credit if the event should 
 never take place. It would fasten a debt upon the colony which 
 the council would never sanction. No, no, captain ; unless you 
 give me what the scouts call Indian sign, and enough of it, I can 
 take no steps such as you propose." 
 
 " Who keeps the block-house at Oldtown ? Have you a garri 
 son there?" 
 
 " A single man only an old sea-dog, trapper, hunter, all sorts 
 of a scout named Gowdey." 
 
 " Does he report nothing ?" 
 
 "Nothing. I have hardly seen him for a month. He has 
 
270 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 been to me twice or thrice during the last six weeks, but I left 
 him to my secretary. I was quite too busy myself to see him ; 
 and the old trapper carries with him usually such a strong odor, 
 such an ancient and fishlike smell, that my nostrils resent his 
 presence as they would the precincts of a pest-house. My olfac- 
 iories keep him from my auditories." 
 
 " You may be too nice for safety," answered Calvert, gravely 
 ** Take my counsel, and see him, and hear what he has to say ; 
 at least, seek all the information that you can from your scouting- 
 parties ; and bring your council to frequent and early meetings as 
 soon as possible, and on any pretext. In the course of a few days, 
 I may be able to put such evidence before you as may even suf 
 fice for their enlightenment." 
 
 " My dear rover, the council are more likely to fancy danger 
 from a very different class of people than the red men. Do you 
 know that they have a most pernicious habit of treating of priva 
 teering as if it were piracy ! It is because of this lamentable per 
 versity of opinion that I have not sought them, or cared to see 
 them, since you have been in the precinct. They scarcely speak 
 of anything else ; and it has been to me matter of real rejoicing 
 that Berkeley and Morton are busy with their several baronies, 
 and that Middleton has gone pioneering somewhere about the 
 San tee, so that I am temporarily relieved of their discussions as 
 to the proper mode of treating a certain notorious offender, whom 
 they familiarly style the pirate Calvert. " 
 
 " Take no heed of me, I pray you. I can put myself in safety 
 at any moment." 
 
 " Are you quite sure of that ? By my soul, but I am not ! I 
 must take heed of you. Read that, and you will see that your 
 former agent, Master Job Sylvester, or Stillwater still water, 
 you know, has a proverbial depth, if not darkness is disposed 
 to look after you, since you will not look after him. He has not 
 only grown virtuous, but patriotically suspicious. He is busily so ; 
 and assures me that he has good reasons for believing you to be 
 even now in town." 
 
 "Indeed!" and Calvert read the letter, only to lay it down 
 quietly. 
 
 " What ! you despise its dangers ? You treat with contempt 
 the virtuous citizen who tells me that, having seen the errors of 
 
THE DESPATCH. 271 
 
 iiis ways, he is prepared to make amends for his past errors, by 
 bringing to the gallows his old associates ! Do you not see that 
 he tells us in one sentence that he is moved by the fear of God 
 and the love of the law or is it the love of God and the fear of 
 the law? perhaps. But you see where he somewhat modestly 
 asks if there be not some five hundred pounds offered for the cap 
 ture of this most nefarious sea-robber, Harry Calvert ? Oh ! a 
 most precious rogue is Master Job Stillwater, but not the less a 
 good, virtuous citizen for all that. He is true to his eastern edu 
 cation, which accommodates itself to God whenever the transac 
 tion is profitable ; and to the law, after he has made it sufficiently 
 malleable. I confess to you, I somehow fear this virtuous fel 
 low. He has latterly grown so good as not to be quite willing 
 that anybody should live by vice but himself. All such animals 
 have a rare instinct in finding where other foxes take cover. Be 
 ware of him." 
 
 " I shall !" 
 
 " But how have you offended him ?" 
 
 " By withdrawing all trust from him. I sent Belcher to sound 
 him and others some time ago. You may remember the time, for 
 he had a communication for you." 
 
 " Yes, and I warned him of your danger here." 
 
 " Precisely. So did Franks. But the counsel of Sylvester 
 was bold and encouraging. He was particularly careful to give 
 a bad account of your excellency s courage and of Franks s hon 
 esty. And Belcher found out that, withal, he had grown pious. 
 I so far resolved to respect his piety as to subject him to no more 
 temptations. Accordingly, he was suffered to know nothing of 
 my coming or presence." 
 
 " Ay, but he knows something now ; at all events, he suspects. 
 He is invited to confer with me in person, and to report the evi 
 dence upon which his suspicions are based. I must, of course, 
 give him every encouragement; but shall not object, my dear 
 captain, if, in your own chamber, your ears should happen to be 
 keen enough to obtain any useful knowledge for yourself." 
 
 Three hours later, this promise was realized. Sylvester or 
 as the governor persisted in calling him, Stillwater was punc 
 tual to his appointment, and Calvert was an unsuspected wit- 
 ness. 
 
272 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Stillwater was a person of many preliminaries, and somewhat 
 circuitous in his progress to an end. We shall abridge these to 
 our limits, confining him and ourselves as strictly as possible to 
 what is absolutely necessary to our narrative. He was careful to 
 confess his previous connection with the pirate, but that was only 
 while piracy was an innocent practice. The moment that God 
 and his majesty Charles II. had discovered its heinousness, from 
 that moment Stillwater felt a change of heart. But he felt that it 
 was not enough for him to shake the sin from his own skirts ; it 
 was incumbent upon him to pursue to justice those who continued 
 to indulge in the crime: and when he learned that there was a 
 proclamation of his majesty which rated the offence so high as to 
 offer five hundred pounds for the capture of the chief offender in 
 these parts, he, with becoming virtue and loyalty, resolved to 
 merit his majesty s approval and reward. Accordingly, when 
 Jack Belcher, the emissary of the infamous pirate Calvert, came 
 to him some months ago, as had been his wont on previous occa 
 sions, to make arrangements for the sale in Charleston of the 
 plunder which the pirate had made, he, Job Sylvester, with the 
 cunning of the serpent and the innocence of the dove, gave him 
 every encouragement to come, and bring his wares to the custom 
 ary market. And he, Sylvester, had laid his virtuous snares so 
 happily, that he felt cock-sure of making the pirate a captive, and 
 getting possession of the piratical vessel and all her crew and 
 cargo. 
 
 " But you never told me of this, Master Job !" quoth the gov 
 ernor. The pious rogue had his answer : 
 
 " The moment hadn t come for it, your honor. I waited for the 
 time. The time has come at last ; and you see me here, ready to 
 finish the good work." 
 
 " Ah ! you can lay hands, then, on this pirate and his vessel 
 now ? He and she are here, do you say?" 
 
 " I ve got such evidence, your honor, as makes me certain. 
 The town s full of new goods, which never came from England. 
 Franks is working in secret day and night. There s Spanish fruit 
 fresh in the market, and we ve had no direct arrivals from Ha 
 vana or the West Indies for more than a month. Then, strange 
 sailors have been seen about town at night ; and, what s more, 
 there s a strange woman staying at the house of Madam Perkins 
 
THE DESPATCH. 273 
 
 Anderson, a Spanish woman you ve heard of her, for she s a 
 famous figure to see ; they call her the Senorita de Montana, and 
 all the young bucks are after her. But I m pretty sure she s no 
 other than the mistress of this pirate Calvert." 
 
 " Ha ! what makes you sure of it ?" 
 
 " I heard something about this woman before. He calls her 
 his wife. I got it from one of the sailors, long ago, that he s mar 
 ried to a Spaniard." 
 
 " Perhaps she is really his wife, if connected with him at all. 
 Why should you suppose her his mistress ?" 
 
 " Oh, your honor, it s not charity to think that these pirate- 
 captains ever call in the church when they splice. They have n t 
 the virtue for that. They re loose livers, and have a wife of 
 that sort in all the ports where they trade. But I got a hint 
 of the whole story more than a year ago, from one of the sailors 
 he was a Spaniard himself, and knew all about it who worked 
 aboard the Happy-go-Lucky. The woman s his mistress, be sure, 
 and she s here, and he, I reckon, is not far off. And the ship s 
 somewhere about ; though, this time, they have n t run her into 
 the place where they always took her before. But the goods that 
 fill the market, the fruit about town, the strange sailors that are 
 seen here by night, and this Spanish senorita how should they 
 get here, when there s been no arrivals from Havana and the 
 West Indies? They come in the Happy-go-Lucky, sir; and I ll 
 have em all in a bag, if so be your honor will give me the need 
 ful help when the time comes." 
 
 " And what do you need, Master Job, for this patriotic ser 
 vice?" 
 
 " Well, your honor, I want a despatch express to New York, to 
 bring on the Southampton frigate, and the Scarborough, or any 
 other of the king s ships that are on that station ; and, until that s 
 done, I do n t want to make any stir, unless we can be so fortunate 
 as to bag the captain, when he s off the vessel and skulking some 
 where about town. Once we can get his head into sack, we can 
 find out all about the vessel." 
 
 " A most notable idea. You are decidedly right. You are an 
 old trapper, Master Stillwater, and the despatches shall be ready 
 for you when you please." 
 
 12* 
 
274 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Right away ! Now s the time, your honor." 
 
 " This very day, if you think proper ! Can you procure me a 
 good express a safe, hard-spurring fellow ?" 
 
 " 1 Ve just got such a man, your honor : Gideon Fairchild 
 a good man a brand, like myself, plucked from the burning, and 
 now a shining light in the meeting-house !" 
 
 " You know him thoroughly, Master Job ?" 
 
 " Like the A, B, C ! We learned our letters together in Con 
 necticut. He s had his falls, your honor. He s been a sinner, 
 even as I have been a sinner. But the Lord has been pleased to 
 send his holy grace to both of our wretched souls, and we are re 
 deemed by his mercy. Gideon Fairchild won t let the grass 
 grow to his horse s feet ; and he s been the route many times 
 before, when he went on no such virtuous business." 
 
 " Let him be ready by three o clock. The despatches shall be 
 prepared for him to the governor of New York. Is there any 
 thing more that should be done now ?" 
 
 "Not just yet. your honor! Might I ask your honor 
 if the reward says * dead or alive, in the case of this pirate- 
 captain ?" 
 
 u Alive ! alive ! We want him for an example, Master Still- 
 water. Remember that !" 
 
 " It might be much easier to kill him than to take him," said 
 the pious convert. " He s quick to fight, and mighty heavy- 
 handed." 
 
 " Oh, do n t be so bloody in your piety ! at least, do n t defraud 
 the gallows of its prey." 
 
 u And your honor wha-t s the reward for the capture of the 
 pirate-ship ?" 
 
 " Salvage on the cargo, Master Job, is, I take it, the law on 
 that subject. For the rest, leave it to the generous bounty of his 
 majesty s counsellors, to determine the proper reward for those 
 who shall render him so great a service as the capture of this for 
 midable pirate. 
 
 " And there will be salvage, your honor, on the ship, as well 
 as the cargo ?" 
 
 " Why, Master Job, your loyalty takes a very voracious aspect ! 
 But, even here, you will not be disappointed. You will have 
 your reward. But such a vessel, with such heels as the Happy- 
 
THE DESPATCH. 275 
 
 go-Lucky, is more than likely to take her place, once in our pos 
 session, among his majesty s own cruisers." 
 
 " And she 11 do credit to the service, your honor. She a got 
 the heels of them all. I m humbly thankful, your honor. Gid 
 eon Fairchild will be in readiness, punctual, at three o clock. 
 It is a long ride, but Gideon will find a spur in his loyalty 
 and conscience, your honor; and I can answer for it that no 
 despatch ever sent before, ever reached so soon as that he 
 carries." 
 
 " If it ever reaches !" was the unuttered thought of his amiable 
 excellency, who had his own reasons for doubting the success of 
 Gideon s mission. 
 
 " Well," said h 3 to Calvert, when Sylvester was gone, " you see 
 where you are. What will you do ?" 
 
 " Can your excellency have a short missive conveyed from me 
 to Franks within the next half-hour ?" 
 
 " To be sure. Of course, it is your own private affair, and un 
 der seal." 
 
 " Surely. Even the messenger need n t know you are in the 
 business." 
 
 And Calvert scrawled a few lines in a billet, which he sealed 
 and put into the governor s hands. 
 
 " It is possible," said Calvert, rising, " that Jack Belcher is 
 somewhere waiting. I fancy I heard his whistle from yonder 
 orange-shrubbery. If your excellency will suffer me, I will an 
 swer." 
 
 The governor nodded ; and Calvert, applying a silver whistle 
 to his mouth, sounded three mots, and then a fourth, after a pause. 
 The governor walked out of the chamber to the lower story and 
 the back-door of the house, taking the billet with him. He re 
 turned without it. 
 
 The despatches were ready at three o clock. The governor 
 read them to Master Job Sylvester. They were very emphatic, 
 and particularly urgent. Nothing could be more emphatic, or 
 more satisfactory to our patriotic citizen , and, at half-past three, 
 Gideon was on the road ! 
 
 At half-past six, he was knocked from his horse by sundry un 
 civil persons, who took from him money and despatches. He 
 was fastened again upon the horse, his legs tied together beneath 
 
276 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 the belly of the animal, his hands behind him, and his mouth 
 muzzled ! 
 
 It was midnight before he was suffered to alight : then, lifted 
 tenderly enough from the beast, he found himself hoisted, with 
 equal tenderness, into a boat, and transferred to the deck of the 
 Happy-go-Lucky, in the hold of which we must keep him for a 
 season, cooling his heels and temper together, in a somewhat 
 uncomfortable position. 
 
THE DESOLATE HEART. 277 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE DESOLATE HEART. 
 
 " The strong man weeps, from sympathy, not fear : 
 He knows and braves the fate that yet must crush !" 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 BUT we are not to suppose that the dangers of the Happy-go- 
 Lucky, and her valiant captain, were set at rest by this prompt 
 practice. True, Gideon Fairchild was laid by the heels, and kept 
 on short commons, in the hold of the saucy cruiser ; and his brother 
 in grace, the goodly Job Sylvester, wist not, all the while, but 
 that he was fast making his way to the king s cruisers at New York. 
 
 But Job was not the less active because he had set certain 
 wheels in motion. He was one of a tribe which habitually keeps 
 all its wheels in motion. He was not the person to fancy any 
 thing done, while anything which he could do remained undone ; 
 and the king s reward of five hundred pounds exercised such a 
 potent effect upon his pious fancy as to keep him sleepless in 
 fruitful meditation upon the plans which should render it of easy 
 and safe acquisition. He gave the world credit, now that his cu 
 pidity was aroused, for a vigilance, cunning, and energy, like his 
 awn ; and perpetually trembled lest some person just as cute 
 and clever as himself, probably with better luck, should interpose, 
 at a drowsy moment, and rob him of his prey. 
 
 No sooner had he got the despatches from the governor, and 
 started Gideon on his route, than he began to reflect upon the 
 readiness with which the former had yielded to his wishes. He 
 suspected the governor it may be as well said here as elsewhere 
 and began to feel some doubts of his good faith, when he re 
 called the facility with which he had obtained his object. He 
 had expected his excellency to evade his application to make 
 
27 P THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 light of his arguments, and to put him off for a season ; and had 
 already made his calculations that he should have finally to appeal 
 to some of the members of the council whom he knew to be much 
 more honest in their desires to carry out the ostensible objects of 
 the king s proclamation. 
 
 That Governor Quarry should have foreborne the formal pub 
 lication of the government missives against piracy should have 
 given no circulation to the fact that a heavy reward had been 
 offered for Calvert was, of itself, sufficiently suspicious ; and Job 
 was not the man to be put at fault by any such pretexts as those 
 which had quieted Sir Edward Berkeley. Of course, his suspi 
 cions were rendered lively by a degree of knowledge which he 
 possessed, through former associations, in respect to Quarry s flexi 
 bility of conscience, of which Berkeley and the rest of the council 
 were either wholly or mostly ignorant. 
 
 He was morally sure of Quarry s corrupt practice, and shrewdly 
 suspected that no small share of the piratical profits had gone into 
 the pockets of the government official. With this knowledge, 
 and these suspicions, he was not satisfied to rely upon the gov 
 ernor s good faith, even now, when the promptness of the latter, 
 in complying with his application, might well have disarmed the 
 suspicions of less cunning persons. He did not, accordingly, re 
 lax his watch or exertions ; but, affecting the utmost confidence 
 in the official, he put on a frankness of speech which, for him, 
 required no little effort. When he came for the despatches at 
 three o clock, he said, in reply to the renewed question 
 
 " What more do you think necessary, Master Stillwater, for se 
 curing the pirate?" 
 
 " Nothing just now, your honor. As yet, I ve got no clues to 
 his hiding-place. But, when I m sure that he s in town, and can 
 find out where he is, then I shall come to your excellency for the 
 necessary force for his capture." 
 
 When he was gone, and Calvert came forth from the chamber 
 where he had heard everything, the governor said 
 
 " I fancy I have disarmed that scamp of all suspicions." 
 
 " Not so," answered the more sagacious cruiser. " You hare 
 surprised him, that is all. But he has no more faith in you than 
 before. Surprising him by your promptness, without disarming 
 his suspicions, has only made him more vigilant. He knows 
 
THE DESOLATE HEART. 279 
 
 more than he has told you. When a cunning fellow, who is cold 
 blooded, as all merely cunning people are, puts on a voluntary show 
 of frankness, he is then most dangerous. In his frankness he is 
 ostentatious. Of course, he has his object in it. You must be 
 more than ever vigilant. He will be communicating with the 
 council. Have you a trusty rogue whom you can put upon hi3 
 heels? You must have his movements watched. Be sure he 
 will watch yours, and I must relieve your house of my presence 
 this very night." 
 
 u Where will you go ?" 
 
 " Better that you should know nothing. I will take care of 
 myself. I will see, too, that he is watched." 
 
 We need not pursue the conference, which was one simply of 
 details. That night, Calvert left the governor s mansion as darkly 
 as he came. He soon found another hiding-place under the 
 guidance of Franks, with whom, and Belcher, he had a long con 
 ference. With the latter he crossed the river to Gowdey s castle. 
 Here, another conference took place, between these parties ; but 
 this chiefly contemplated other matters. Gowdey made a rough 
 map, at the instance of Calvert, showing the topography of all the 
 region lying along the coast from the Kiawah to the Stono rivers, 
 and to the Edisto beyond, and inland up to the barony of Sir 
 Edward Berkeley. The routes were described, their bearings 
 shown, and all the distances accurately given. 
 
 "The ship must shift her ground, Belcher. She must run 
 round, in a few nights, to Cooper river ; run up out of sight from 
 the harbor ; and we must discharge the rest of the cargo in the 
 woods above. But I have told Franks everything on that head. 
 The rest remains for you. You will go with me to-night. Gow 
 dey will let you have his horse. You must see the governor to 
 morrow, Gowdey, and get his sanction, if possible, for picking 
 up a score of stout fellows. Tell him everything, which you 
 yourself kr -w, which justifies us in suspecting these red men of 
 mischief. If still he refuses to give you the men, get them your 
 self. Here is bounty -money ; and I will see that you have six 
 months pay for a dozen at least." 
 
 At midnight, Calvert and Belcher were upon the road. By 
 dawn they were on the banks of the creek in which the Happy- 
 go-Lucky was harbored. 
 
280 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Calvert s coming was a surprise ; even the wonted audacity of 
 Lieutenant Molyneaux failing him for a moment. He had not 
 looked for his superior from this quarter. But, whether Calvert 
 had suspicions or not, he never gave the slightest indication of 
 them. He was simply taciturn ; he had no reproaches ; spoke of 
 the discipline of the vessel ; and gave his orders with regard to her 
 future disposition, only leaving the period of the ship s removal 
 in doubt, to be determined by his further orders through Belcher. 
 But he made a selection of a dozen of his best marines, put 
 them under an orderly, bade them be in readiness for any call, 
 and keep their weapons ready. To both lieutenants he said, at 
 parting : 
 
 " Let these men march the moment Belcher calls for them, and 
 he will assume the direction of the party until he joins me. Let 
 him be implicitly obeyed. Meanwhile, have the ship ready to 
 move with the first wind, and as soon after Belcher brings my 
 orders as possible. You can not be too vigilant, gentlemen. The 
 Indians are growing numerous, and you must watch the land as 
 well as the river. See that your men do not wander. They 
 will be cut off. Of course, you have suffered none of them to go 
 to the city ?" 
 
 This was said carelessly, affirmed rather than asked. He did 
 not wait for the answer, which he would have found a confused 
 one. The suggestion somewhat agitated Molyneaux. We shall 
 see hereafter, perhaps, that the first lieutenant was even more of 
 an offender than Calvert thought him. But, when Belcher, after 
 they had left the ship, and remounted their steeds, proceeded to 
 certain detailed passages in respect to his dealing with the discon 
 tents, Calvert silenced him. 
 
 " I know all that you would say. perhaps more than you gmvs. 
 I have had other agencies at work, and know exactly how fur he 
 has gone with the men ; nay, I could almost put my hards on the 
 very fellows whom he has corrupted. But his schen^ % s are not 
 yet matured. Neither his fruit nor mine is ripe. I shall be 
 able to anticipate all his purposes. He is simply a brave block 
 head, whom Nature never designed for a conspirator. But for thft 
 men themselves, I could almost suffer the fellow to proceed. He 
 little knows, Jack, how cheerfully I could surrender the little 
 vessel to htr fate, and be content to wear out the rest of my poor 
 
THE DESOLATE HEART. 281 
 
 time in the obscurest solitude of sea, or rock, or forest, that an 
 outlawed heart may find, in which to seek a grave and find 
 rest !" 
 
 Belcher would have remonstrated with this woful self-abandon 
 ment, but Calvert hushed him : 
 
 " Of what use, Jack ? Do you not know me by this time ?" 
 
 " Oh ! sir, is there no hope ?" 
 
 " Hope is the child s star, which it fain would clutch ! I have 
 done with it. I know too much know all ! Life has nothing 
 in reserve. I can no longer deceive myself with any dream of 
 my own : how idle to show me one of yours ! I tell you I have 
 grown indifferent to all things in this weary world." 
 
 "Oh!" groaned Belcher, bitterly; and then, as if in soliloquy, 
 " O for a grapple, yard-arm to yard-arm, with the biggest cruiser 
 of the dons !" 
 
 A sad smile passed over the face of Calvert as he heard the 
 speech, and he answered mournfully : 
 
 " Do you think, because I am indifferent to all things, Jack, 
 that I would not do many things that especially? Yes, I could 
 pray for that, as the last act to finish the drama fitly. To fight 
 the dons would be easy ; nay, to feel the thrill and passion of the 
 conflict as I have felt it when I had a hope that, too, would 
 seem natural enough. Do not suppose that, because I have sur 
 vived hope, I have survived impulse. I must still, even while I 
 live, work down these restless energies which find their stimulus 
 in the very disappointments which follow every effort. They 
 drive me forward, as a bird before the storm ; but I have no aim 
 there is no port which I would seek : the bark is rudderless 
 she cares not whither she drives." 
 
 Jack Belcher had no answ r er but a deep sob ; and the two rode 
 on in silence through the thick forests. They met with no in 
 terruption. When, at length, they had reached a point which 
 Calvert judged to be about a mile from the barony of Kiawah, 
 he stopped, alighted, and motioned Belcher to do the same. He 
 then threw himself upon the sward, and, covering his eyes, lay 
 awhile without speaking. Belcher did not seek to disturb his 
 revery. When he did speak, his tone, words, and manner, con 
 veyed, more fully than anything he had said before, the hopeless 
 apathy of his soul. The mind might be present in iU fullest \igor 
 
282 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the energies of manhood, the courage, the resolve but oh, 
 how mournful the desolation that seemed to wither up the heart ! 
 
 " The sun shines, I think, Belcher. The sun shines ! There 
 is not a cloud to be seen ; and how sweet is the peace of these 
 forests ! if we could only sink into the earth, taking root, and 
 spreading out, simply to grow, like these trees, and not to feel 
 anything but growth and sunshine ! But such is not for us not 
 for me. I have no growth, no sunshine ; but I have toils tc 
 achieve, and perils to encounter, nevertheless. Who shall say 
 
 when these shall end ? It matters little I think I have 
 
 told you everything. You will do what I have bidden. If aught 
 happens to me, you know what is to be done. My wife must be 
 cared for. You will protect her. You know where our treasures 
 are secured : I leave you in full guardianship of the trust. To 
 put her in safety once more ; to save these poor fellows ay, 
 even the faithless among them, and from themselves is my lirst 
 duty. I must do it. I have brought them hither ; have done 
 something toward making their present life acceptable ; and this 
 life is one which is banned by law. I must put them in safety. 
 I will carry them to the isthmus, provide each with the means of 
 honest livelihood, and for the rest ! what more ?" 
 
 " Yourself !" gasped Belcher. 
 
 " It will be time to think of myself when I have done for 
 these." 
 
 " O my dear master, do not speak so hopelessly ! Why should 
 you not share the retreat that you seek for your people ? Why 
 should we not your wife, and I, your poor, long-tried servant 
 
 why should we not all live together in some quiet retreat upon 
 the isthmus? It is a peaceful world almost to itself is soli 
 tary enough, God knows, for any sore heart; but the sky is 
 bright, and the air mild, and the fruits delicious, and the flowers 
 beautiful. And the senora too ! O my dear master ! she is a 
 child, I know, and perhaps will never quite understand you, or 
 any Englishman ; but, as I am a living man, and your faithful 
 servant, I do believe she loves you as truly as it is possible for 
 her to love any mortal man. It is not with these Spaniards of 
 the isthmus to feel very passionately : she s like the sky, and the 
 flowers, and the fruits of her country. She s changeable of tem 
 per, and she can never answer to a strong thought in a serious 
 
THE DESOLATE HEART. 283 
 
 soul ; but she s true ! and, I tell you I feel it, I know it she 
 loves you, and none but you, and as much as she can ever love 
 any living man." 
 
 " Why, Belcher, you are eloquent." 
 
 " No, no, master ! only my heart is full, and I must talk out 01 
 cry ; and I am doing both." 
 
 " We can not turn the leaves of our lives at pleasure, Jack, and 
 will what is to be written there. It may be as you say. Did 
 you suppose that I would abandon you or her ? No, no ! Let 
 me suffer as I may, I will be no savage. I have only spoken to 
 you of my hopelessness; only spoken of things for you to do, 
 should the Fates deprive me of the power to do. I hold my pur 
 poses subject to my necessities. I see great dangers before me, 
 and many troubles. To save these very men, against their will 
 this is, perhaps, the worst; but it shall be tried. For the 
 rest but you already have your instructions. Watch here, 
 while I sleep for one hour. Then leave me, and find your way 
 to Gowdey s castle, and help his preparations. Take charge of 
 the place if he would go to town. I hope to be with you at 
 midnight." 
 
284 THE CASS1QUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE JOLLY ROGER. 
 
 " Eang out the sign, the fatal sign of blood, 
 Wcven while the hurricane sweeps the sea with rage, 
 And strews the shore with wreck of goodly ships ! 
 Now swear beneath its folds ; while, overhead, 
 In the black sky, the trooping fiends shriek joy 
 And welcome to the kindred souls below, 
 That swear to bring them homage." The Pirate. 
 
 AND, closing his eyes, our rover sank almost immediately to 
 sleep, awaking at the very moment which he had designated. 
 Such is the force of habit with all persons who are accustomed to 
 keep vigil, and are compelled to seize capricious moments for the 
 relief of Nature in her exhaustion. 
 
 Having given Belcher instructions in respect to his route, and 
 warned him to guard against all chance encounters, whether with 
 red men or white, Calvert shook the hand of that faithful follower ; 
 and, mounting their horses, the two went different ways, Belcher 
 taking his progress toward Gowdey s block-house, and Calvert 
 shaping his route for the barony of his brother. 
 
 Once there, he was careful to conceal his steed in the deepest 
 coverts, yet convenient to his reach ; then he walked forward till 
 the grounds of the new settlement began to appear through the 
 woods. 
 
 His first object was to visit the tree in which the sheaf of ar 
 rows had been deposited by Cussoboe. He found a second shaft 
 broken, as he expected. As before, he supplied its place. Then 
 he resumed his espionage upon the premises. 
 
 He soon caught a glimpse of his brother, the cassique ; saw him, 
 still impetuously busied with his workmen ; and, in the course of 
 
THE JOLLY ROGER. 285 
 
 his watch, noted the Indian boy, wandering about the settlement, 
 accompanied by Grace Masterton ; she rather leading him than 
 he her, and eagerly challenging his observation to the thousand 
 wonders, in her eyes, of that primitive world which she now for 
 the first time inhabited. 
 
 Let us leave Calvert to this espionage, which shall not profit 
 him greatly, even though he may satisfy that curiosity if we 
 may describe, by such a word, the mood which prompted him 
 which was perhaps the only object of his watch. It was a wast 
 ing care which possessed him ; and his eye grew dim, and his 
 face pale, and his heart sank within him, while his watch was pro 
 tracted. His was the nature which required great physical exer 
 tions to work off the stimulating passions which excited him; 
 and, lacking these, during the hours devoted to this unprofitable 
 employment, his excitements grew momently more powerful, and 
 told upon his frame. His movements were marked by a nervous 
 and irregular energy ; his action was spasmodic ; he started now 
 at every sound in the woods ; he found his fancies active, as it 
 were, in the mood equally of experience and judgment; he felt 
 himself no longer the cool, deliberate master, of either his situa* 
 fton, his resources, or his own moods. It was only when he could 
 throw himself into the interests of others, while planning for his 
 ship, people, or the colony working in concert with Gowdey and 
 others, in anticipation of danger that he felt reassured on the 
 subject of his own manhood. More than once a strong impulse 
 seized him to dart forward, join his brother, denounce him where 
 he stood, no matter in what presence, and have any issue with 
 him which should effect a crisis ; or to grapple with the tools of 
 the workmen, and lose his intellectual nature in the mere brute 
 exertions of his physical. 
 
 We will suppose a week to pass in these employments : by day, 
 in surveillance of the barony ; by night, in riding to Gowdey s, 
 passing over to the city, or cantering up to the cruiser where she 
 still lay in her snug harborage up the river. The tides happened 
 to be low, however, the winds were ahead, and there were rea 
 sons why the Happy-go-Lucky should not yet change her posi 
 tion. When Calvert now visited the ship, he did so on horse 
 back ; but h 3 took care to leave his horse in the woods, to approach 
 stealthily, and never appeared on shipboard. His visits were 
 
286 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAF. 
 
 unsuspected, save by one of the crew, who, previously counselled, 
 knew where to expect him, and had learned to distinguish his 
 whistle in the thickets from that of any wandering bird. 
 
 From this person our rover gathered a certain knowledge 
 nightly of what was done in the ship. But, though he heard 
 much, he heard not all. There were still some things beyond the 
 scrutiny of Bill Hazard such was the fellow s name, or nom de 
 guerre. The factious lieutenant, Molyneaux, was working in se 
 cret, with a degree of circumspection, the credit of which was due 
 to one of his accomplices rather than to his own sagacity. This 
 was an old sea-dog, a genuine pirate, who, having served an ap 
 prenticeship among the " Brothers of the Coast," as the pirates 
 called themselves, was by no means satisfied with the less excep 
 tionable practices of one who still claimed to sail under a quasi 
 commission of the British crown. He, it may be said here, was 
 the original tempter of Molyneaux. He found him impatient of 
 control, eager for action, anxious to be in sole authority, and es 
 pecially jealous of his superior. The old sailor took the full 
 measure of his man, and laid his baits accordingly. He found 
 hi inaccessible enough ; and, though insinuating his temptations, at 
 first, with sufficient caution, it was very soon easy to speak openly. 
 
 Sam Fowler, alias " Squint-eyed Sam," became the right-hand 
 man, the chief counsellor of Molyneaux, and his agent for dis 
 seminating treason among the crew. He had won over a goodly 
 number, though but few were admitted to the more private coun 
 cils of the two heads of the conspiracy. The plot had been some 
 time in progress, and never standing quite still at any time since 
 its first inception. It had been broached between the lieutenant 
 and Sam several months before, and while they lay at Tarnpico. 
 But it had never been so thoroughly matured as now, when the 
 captain, and his satellite, Jack Belcher, were so frequently absent. 
 And now, such had been its progress to maturity, that the frequent 
 question, with all the guilty parties, was simply as to the proper 
 moment for firing the train which they had so skilfully laid. 
 
 It was a dark night, when Molyneaux made his way stealthily 
 from the ship to the shore, and buried himself from sight among 
 those mighty trees in which the fair Zulieme had roused up all 
 the sylvan echoes, by her joyous laughter, as she danced, capered, 
 swung, when the vessel first ran into her harbor of seclusion. 
 
THE JOLLY ROGER. 287 
 
 Here, at a spot which had been already too frequently used for 
 the purposes of conspiracy, he was joined, at intervals, by some 
 five of the more intelligent seamen who had been won over by 
 the arts of Sam Fowler. Each was challenged as he came. He 
 gave no name only a pass-word ; and, squat in the covert, they 
 proceeded to report progress severally, and to discuss the plans of 
 the future. 
 
 But where is the chief agent in the treason ? Sam Fowler is 
 not present. He is, however, momently expected. 
 
 He was even then in the breach of orders ; had been despatched 
 to the city secretly the night before, in a skiff, with two stout row 
 ers, on a mission which concerned a variety of illegal interests. 
 
 The rogues had stores of their own for which they sought a 
 market. They, too, had emissaries in the town, as well as their 
 superior. They had passions and appetites, for which the town 
 could afford the only proper theatre ; and they had a mission to 
 execute, on behalf of Molyneaux himself. All parties were ac 
 cordingly impatient for the return of Sam ; and what discussion 
 took place among them before he arrived, was confined mostly 
 to topics which had been on the tapis long before. But, among 
 conspirators, iteration is an essential necessity for confirming them 
 in a purpose which implies no small peril. 
 
 At length, Sam Fowler came, stealing through the thickets like 
 a catamount. He soon made his way into the circle. The boat 
 had been left hidden in the rushes a quarter of a mile below. The 
 old sailor took his place among the brethren with the freedom of 
 one who knew his importance. 
 
 " Some grog, fellows, fore I begin. I m as blasted thirsty aa 
 the chap as was in Abraham s buzzom. The Jamaica gin out 
 five miles below ; not a blasted sup after that ! And, somehow, 
 twas short commons in town ; I had to lie so close. T wan t as it 
 used to be there." 
 
 The liquor was soon provided. Conspiracy, and among pirates, 
 is wonderfully helped by its potations. The supply of grog was 
 abundant. Long, and strong, and deep, was the draught taken by 
 the old sea-dog, whose sentences, by-the-way, were so larded with 
 oaths as to render them only in part intelligible. We shall strip 
 them of most of his weeds of rhetoric. When he had fairly con 
 eluded his draught, which was taken with exceedingly deliberate 
 
288 1HE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 gusto, and wiped his mouth with a gorgeous bandanna, Sam con* 
 descended to enlighten his brethren. 
 
 "I ve sold your plate, Jordan ; your silks, Foster; your tobac 
 co, Rollins. Got the cash for em. You shall have it when we 
 empty the boat. Done a pretty good business, considerin that 
 the honest traders always make out to cheat the free bretheren. 
 And they say prayers while doin it. But that s no matter, nei 
 ther here nor there. We ixpects as much : always ixpect to be 
 cheated when the trader makes a prayer while makin a barg in. 
 They re mighty vartuous and religious, on a sudden, in Charles- 
 toon. The old church was bad enough in its goodness ; but these 
 Dissenters, as they calls em and town s full of em they re 
 
 the d dest rogues that ever lied in the name of God ! It 
 
 a molt turns my stomach when I has to deal with em. I ixpects 
 to be cheated ; but this callin in o God to be a witness, as it were, 
 ag in himself, is worse than any Spanish practice. But there s 
 no helpin it. We has to do with em, or we can t trade. Now, 
 Sproulls, the man I deal with, he s about as good as the best ; but 
 though he grins at his prayers, jest as ef he was a-cheatin the 
 Lord himself, he can t no more help prayin than he can fly. I 
 jest said to him, Shut up your oven, and say no more prayers 
 if you please ; but he kept on jest the same, sayin , by way of 
 ixcusin himself It s no use to try, Fowler; I can t help it, 
 and it don n t mean nothiri ! It s only a way I ve got. And 
 jest so I answered him when he wanted to put a clapper on my 
 mouth for swearin . Says I, * Them s my prayers, and they don t 
 mean no more than yours. It s jest a way I ve got. Then he 
 showed his teeth ag in, jest like a shark in shallow water among a 
 school of mullets, and we went on with our trade till the cheat 
 was over." 
 
 " Did you see Franks and Sylvester ?" 
 
 " Did n t I see em ! But I was n t sich a dummy as to let em 
 see me. Sylvester s got religion in all his garments : he shakes 
 it out as he walks. His hat s got religion ; his coat ; his breeches ; 
 the tie of his cravat ; and I think his nose has got a good inch 
 longer and sharper from the new vartue that s in it ! He s all 
 over religion ; and sich a sample of it, that there s no more trust- 
 in* him with a trade than trustin your finger in the gripe of a 
 Btonc-crab. Franks ain t so vartuous ; but my business was to 
 
THE JOLLY ROGER 289 
 
 watch him and make out what I could, without lettin him over 
 haul me with his eye. He as close as he s sharp, as you all 
 know, and I reckon is true to the captain as a trump. Of course> 
 twould n t do to let Franks or Sylvester know that I was in 
 town ; for I reckon that both of them s in the captain s books, jest 
 as deep as ever. 1 m not supposin that any religion of either 
 will do much to stop a trade if they can make it." 
 
 " Did you get sight of the captain ?" asked Molyneaux. 
 
 " No ! and I had all the lights out, too. I tried my best to g(.t 
 into his wake. But he carries no flag. I could n t hear a word 
 from Sproulls, though he was monstrous curious with me, and I 
 reckon was jest as curious with all other persons. It s clear that 
 the captain, wherever be is, keeps mighty close ; and there s rea 
 son for it. There s a big price offered for him, so I hear tell, 
 though there s no open proclamation yet ! Sproulls was quite 
 curious to get out of me what he could. * Where was the ship ? 
 he asked. Over the bar, was my answer. I m jest sent up 
 with the boat to get medicine, and I took the chance to sell off a 
 little prog. But that s not enough for him ; and ef he d ha had 
 a chance, he d ha had a spy at my heels, I m thinkin , ef t was 
 only to get wiser on a poor man s secrets. He s curious, that 
 Sproulls. He 11 not blow so long as the profit comes in ; but 
 he, too, is gettin more and more vartuous from what I know d 
 him a year ago and that made it only the worse for my 
 barg ins. He did cheat me worse than ever this time. You ll 
 see, fellows, by the bills, when I settle. There s a sort of 
 fashion of religion now, mong all the people in town ; and you 
 get less money and more preachin for your goods than I ve ever 
 know d before ; but there s a better chance, for that very reason, of 
 finding friends for sich a trade as ours. The more they can make, 
 the more vartuous the business ; they re all hot ag in the king s proc 
 lamation ag in pirates. They say and that s true that we re 
 their best friends ag in the Spaniards. Sproulls said we might 
 come up to the wharf, and nobody would trouble us among the 
 people, though he did confess that the governor and council were 
 sich bloody fools as to talk of minding the king s orders. I reckon, 
 from what I seed and heard, that we might haul up the Happy -go- 
 Lucky right ag in the town battery, and nobody ever think to p int 
 a cannon at her. The captain s gettin scary without any casion." 
 
 13 
 
290 THE CASSTQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; something s the matter with him here" replied 
 Molyneaux, scornfully, touching his forehead with his finger. 
 " He could fight once, boys, bravely enough ; but ever since he 
 had that knock-over from the Spanish splinter, he s been weak in 
 the upper story : ay, and in the heart too, or he would n t care a 
 button for the king s proclamation. Why should we fear the 
 king s proclamation any more than we do his cruisers ? We can 
 trip the heels, and, yard-arm to yard-arm, muzzle every gun in 
 her own porthole, in the very best of them ; yes, and give them 
 the advantage over us, five guns a side. But for the captain s 
 cowardice, fellows, we might be gutting the Spanish galleons 
 now !" 
 
 " And we will be doin it soon, too, if other men have their 
 hearts in the right places," said Sam Fowler, significantly. 
 
 " The sooner the better !" was the common answer. 
 
 " And if the courage be all, men," quoth the lieutenant, " I can 
 answer for one, who will never back out from any don that ever 
 sailed the gulf." 
 
 " Ay, indeed !" responded Sam Fowler. " That s all well 
 enough all right enough, lieutenant ; but there s not enough of 
 it. It s not the dons only that we must n t show our backs to ; 
 it s not the Spaniards only that we ve got to face ! I m bold to 
 say that ef we are to do the right business, we must muzzle a 
 king s cruiser, and the marchant of any nation, jest as bold as we 
 muzzle a don and ef only to show that we re not guine to let 
 ourselves be muzzled by any of em. I m for a free flag of our 
 own, even if we have to hang out the * Jolly Roger ! Ay ! I m 
 not afraid to speak it. Run up the l Jolly Roger, say I ; and 1 
 drink to 4 TiiE JOLLY ROGER for ever! Here, boys, is to the 
 Brothers of the Coast the free life, the black flag, and death 
 to the traitor and the coward that s afraid to fight under the Jolly 
 Roger !" 
 
 There was a murmur of excitement. It might be enthusiasm. 
 With some of the parties, no doubt the bold speech of Sam Fowler 
 was in considerable degree contagious. But it is doubtful wheth 
 er, before this meeting, the conspirators had been prepared to run 
 up the black flag. They had mostly contemplated nothing more 
 than running away with the ship and getting a more flexible cap 
 tain. To defy the laws of nations openly, and at a season when 
 
THE JOLLY ROGER. 291 
 
 the cruisers of Britain and Spain were everywhere en the alert 
 against piracy, required no little audacity ; and it is probable that 
 the speech of Fowler would have fallen cheerlessly upon the 
 senses of not a few of the conspirators, had it not been that it was 
 so promptly seconded by Molyneaux. That unhappy young man, 
 eager for power, arrogant in his vanity, and not a little warmed 
 by strong drink, acting upon his highly-inflammable nature, echoed 
 the toast of Fowler with additions ; rising to his feet, seizing the 
 cup from the hands of the latter, filling it to the brim, drinking its 
 contents to the bottom, and flinging the vessel over his head into 
 the thickets, as he cried aloud 
 
 " Hurrah for the Jolly Roger ! the Jolly Roger for ever !" 
 
 " Your hand upon it, lieutenant !" said Sam Fowler ; " but you 
 need n t wake up the woods jest yet ! It 11 be time enough for 
 that when we feel blue water under us. Stand round, fellows 
 all round, and j ine hands! And now, here we are, brothers 
 of the coast, sworn to one another ag in all the world. Them 
 that s not with us is ag in us ! Swear, fellows ! and all cowards 
 and traitors to the sharks !" 
 
 There were no more murmurs. The conspirators were grouped 
 together in a circle, and joined hands, while Molyneaux stood in 
 the centre, with weapon drawn, upon which they all swore horri 
 ble oaths of fidelity to one another, and to the more horrid pur 
 poses of crime for which they stood leagued together. This done, 
 Sam Fowler suddenly shook out over their heads the folds of the 
 black flag, prepared for the purpose ; dark as night ; with a bloody 
 fringe ; and, wrought in ghastly white in the centre, a skull and 
 crossbones the usual insignia, in those days, of the pirate banner. 
 
 He lowered it among them. 
 
 " Every man kiss the Jolly Roger ! " 
 
 And with a chill probably at the hearts of most of them, each 
 of them in turn embraced the gloomy flag, and pressed his lips 
 upon the ghastly emblems of mortality which it bore 
 
 " It s as good as sworn, fellows," said Sam Fowler. " As good 
 as sworn, I say : all hell looking on, and fires of sulphur lighted 
 for the coward and the traitor that deserts the flag of the true 
 Brothers of the Coast ! We are sworn to one another through 
 thick and thin ; and we re the men to stand by one another, til) 
 all burns blue ! But for a time, boys, a keen eye, a quick hand, 
 
292 THE CASS QUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and a close tongue! We re not out of shoal water, remember. 
 But it s only the length of an oar, and there s sea-room enough. 
 Hearts up eyes wide and hands ready ! One drink round, I 
 say, fellows, to the * Jolly Roger, at the mast-head of the Happy- 
 go-Lucky !" 
 
 And the liquor went round ; and, even as they drank, Sam 
 Fowler kept the fatal flag in motion over their heads, as if, woven 
 under some troubled sign, it was supposed to be endued with the 
 power to exercise a demoniac influence over the souls of those 
 who had sworn to serve under it. 
 
CONSPIRACY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 CONSPIRACY. 
 
 " He dies, at least ! by fraud or force, he dies 
 T is sworn ! His death alone secures the prize." 
 
 Ihe Rover. 
 
 " AND now, boys," said Fowler, " get to quarters, one by one, 
 without waking up any of the water-rats. We ll settle our small 
 affairs together in the mornin . There s a good handful of the 
 king s pictures for all of you. We understand one another to 
 night. Me and the lieutenant [" I and the king"] have some 
 thing more to say together, which don t need any help, and has 
 to be settled in private. But it s for the good of the cause ; and 
 you knows very well that means the good of all. Git into your 
 hammocks, quiet as you can, without shaking the ship s knees. 
 Who s on the watch?" 
 
 " Stoddart." 
 
 " He s safe ! Well, off with you, now ; and we ll have another 
 and a closer talk, to-morrow night, jest here, in the same place." 
 
 So Sam Fowler, who. with the habitual dictation of an old sea- 
 dog (and, we may add, an old conspirator and turbulent), found 
 authority easy, when such was the game ; and assumed the pa 
 role, without any concession, made previously, to the self-esteem 
 of Lieutenant Molyneaux. The latter would have kicked at this 
 assumption with all the fury of a Celt, but that he, too, felt the 
 natural force of an authority which was based upon a superior 
 experience. Besides, he too, we may add, was a little taken by 
 surprise by the decided movements of his coadjutor. 
 
 When the rest were gone, and fully out of hearing, and Fowler 
 had satisfied himself, by following them a certain distance, that 
 
294 THK CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 they were all moving quietly in the direction of the ship, he re 
 turned and resumed the conference. 
 
 " And now, lieutenant, you re to be captain : that s settled in 
 my mind. What am I to be ?" 
 
 " First, of course. What else ?" 
 
 " All right ! It s what I looked for. In course, you see what s 
 to be done. We ve to run off with the ship the moment we ve 
 got all things ready for moving. There s no stayin here much 
 longer. We ll have the king s frigates down upon us two, 
 three for jest so many have they got in New York, and all on 
 the shy. Sproulls tells me that there s been a despatch sent 
 for ard to bring on the frigates fast as wind and water will let 
 em." 
 
 " That despatch will never reach ! Set your mind easy there. 
 We ve got the fellow fast now in the ship s hold, and a terrible 
 praying and psalm-singing does he keep up day and night. The 
 captain s got the despatch. He fixed the whole business, and 
 had the fellow brought here and put under fast locker," 
 
 Where the h 1 can he be, then ! I tried my best to get upon 
 his tracks in town, but twas no go. Couldn t hear nor see noth- 
 in of him ; and no one could tell. Sproulls pumped mighty hard 
 to get it out of me ; for I could see he didn t half believe what I 
 said about the ship over the bar. He s cute and close, and I m 
 thinkin a leetle mixed up with Sylvester. They goes to meetin 
 together ; I knows that. But ef the governor and council are 
 inakin despatches ag in us, they re not a-guine to stop at that 
 one. We may overhaul one jigger, but what s to prevent em 
 sendin a dozen ? The captain may be sly as a fox, but there s a 
 shifting of the wind in town ; that s a sign of bad weather ahead. 
 In old times, governor and council had a blind eye for a free 
 trader. Is it so certain that they haven t got the captain himself 
 somewhere under hatches ? There s a squall comin on ! The 
 governor s got wind of us, and the council too, I reckon ; and how 
 could they help it, if they wanted to see ? The town s full of our 
 goods. Fresh fruits are plenty, though there s been not a single 
 craft so Sproulls tells me from any West Injy port for nine 
 teen days before we came. In course, these people ain t fools 
 and there s rogues enough among em to keep em from blindness, 
 even if Natur had made the most of em the very best of fools ! 
 
CONSPIRACY. 295 
 
 And so they reasons together; and though they don t guess where 
 we are, they know we re somewhere about ; over the island they 
 reckon, behind the swamp ; but able to run in with the tide, every 
 night, and land a cargo. We can t keep snug much longer ; we 11 
 have to run for it ; and that, too, before they bring on their frig 
 ates. T would be the stupidest thing in natur to let em catch 
 us here at anchor, and in a creek in which we could n t swing 
 round, and in a river where a long-sided craft like ours could n t 
 go about, under a broadside." 
 
 "There s hardly any danger yet, Sam, and we want all the 
 time we can get. We ve got only nineteen of the fellows 
 over." 
 
 " But them s the true men / As for the others, they 11 jest do 
 what they sees the boldest men do, once they re under workin 
 orders. You get me together six fellows that are ready, tooth 
 and nail, and the rest, though they be sixty, will be quick enough 
 to fall into the ranks." 
 
 " Not with such a fellow to halloo them on against us as Harry 
 Calvert," 
 
 " There I gree with you. But where s he to halloo them on ? 
 Look you, captain so I makes free to call you at once I m 
 a-thinkin that Captain Calvert will never pipe our fellows to 
 quarters ag in. He s safe from us, ef he ain t safe from the gov 
 ernor ; and, thank the devils, we re safe from him !" 
 
 " You think so ! He was here three nights ago." 
 
 " And three days have gone since then. Where s he now ? 
 We hear no more of him ! I knows that Franks hain t seed him 
 Vi all that time. No ! I m tellin you jest what s the reasonable 
 shinkin . They ve got Calvert fast. He s the main one they 
 strike at, for you see there s a good five hundred pounds offered 
 for him one, dead or alive. They 11 be satisfied to have-him in 
 the darbies, and they ll be pleased to have our trade jest the 
 same." 
 
 " I would n t trust em." 
 
 " Nor would I ! But s posin him locked up in cold quarters, 
 or s posin him not locked up, and jest schoolin about on his own 
 business, what s it to us any way ? It only gives us the more 
 chance to get off. We must run, ef we can. Better now, when 
 \ve needn t fight for it when it s with wind and tide than to 
 
296 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 have a bloody fight of it on the high seas : and we re so far in, 
 that, if we do n t move now, pretty soon, it must come to that. 
 The first question is, whether we shall use our heels to please 
 Captain Calvert, or to please me and Captain Molyneaux. I m 
 clear that we should go for our own dear selves, in preference to a 
 man that jest rules us as he thinks proper, and do n t ax us who s 
 pleased besides. He s been a famous captain in his time, but 
 somehow he s only a Dutch lugger now. He s not the man any 
 longer. I m clear for one thing cuttin loose from moorings 
 here, jest as soon as we can, and not waitin to see where the 
 wind s goin to come out. If we wait for Calvert, there s so 
 much more to do, and so much more risk in the doin of it. 
 There s one thing which I wouldn t like to have to do." 
 
 "What s that, Fowler?" 
 
 " Cut the captain s throat !" 
 
 " D n him ! why should you shirk at that ?" 
 
 "It s not because I love him. No! the devil, no! It s be 
 cause, whenever the thing has to be done, there ll be more throats 
 
 to be slit than the one. He s a d d great fellow in a fight, 
 
 and he s got the strength of Jolly Csesar, the great Roman ; and 
 he s got the trick of the broadsword and the tornhog [tomahawk], 
 the knife and the blunderbuss, better than any sea-captain that 
 
 ever stepped a quarter-deck in our day ; and he s got some d d 
 
 true fellows that 11 back him, ef he can call for em, gainst any 
 force we can bring. Ef we can get off with the ship without his 
 knowing, we must n t stop to find out where he is. It s enough 
 for us ef he ain t in our way ; and that s jest what we ve got to 
 do ! But, ef we wait for him, we must feed the fishes with 
 him." 
 
 "Look you, Sam! Captain Calvert owes me a life. I ve 
 sworn to have it. He has wounded my honor ; he has treated 
 me with scorn and insult. I will have my revenge." 
 
 " You ! Fight with him ?" 
 
 " Man to man, breast to breast ; a fair fight, and no other man 
 *o come between." 
 
 " Psho ! Captain Molyneaux so I begs leave to call you 
 that s all in my eye and Betty Martin. Do n t be sich a Judy. 
 A man what s got sich a great business on his hands has noth- 
 in to do with honor and revenge. That ll do for boys. It s all 
 
CONSPIRACY. 297 
 
 gammon. If you say, now, you re for slitting his windpipe, at 
 the first good chance, takin care that you keep your own safe all 
 the time, I do n t say nothin ag in it. It s all right, and a sensi 
 ble way to sarve out an enemy to the fishes ; but to talk of a fair 
 fight, riskin everything after we ve got the stakes in our own 
 hands, I 11 never agree to that." 
 
 " It must be so, Sam," answered the other, doggedly. " I m 
 sworn to it. My honor demands it. He shall give me satisfac 
 tion." 
 
 " Why, so he shall ; and what better satisfaction than takin his 
 ship, and leaving him, on a sort of maroon here, where they 11 
 give five hundred pounds for his head, and where there s so many 
 who are on the watch for him, day and night, to get the prize- 
 money ? Ef that ain t takin satisfaction out of him, then I ve no 
 ixperience in sich a consarn." 
 
 "Not enough for me. I must crush him have him under 
 foot see him at my mercy. My sword must drink his blood !" 
 
 " And you mean to give him a fair chance, in a reg lar hand- 
 to-hand fight ?" 
 
 " He shall have nothing less !" 
 
 " Then, ef that s your resolution, hear to mine. We part com 
 pany. I thought I was dealin with a man of sense. I don t 
 risk my neck under the Jolly Roger, with any captain that talks 
 about his honor, and fair play, and all that sort of stuff and non 
 sense. I m sorry, lieutenant, for I think ef t wan t for this redick- 
 lous notion, you d be the very man for us." 
 
 " What ! you abandon me, because I m bold enough to take our 
 old captain by the throat ?" 
 
 " No, by your leave no sich thing ! But because you re for 
 lettin him take you by the throat at the same time. And don t 
 I know what 11 happen ef he once does get you in his gripe ? 
 Why, he 11 slit your oozen as easy as he d slice an orange. Look 
 you, Lieutenant Molyneaux I d like to call you captain, all the 
 time it s a mighty redick lous bull that won t see the shortness 
 of his own horns. Once hitched with Harry Calvert, you d soon 
 enough 1 arn the difference twixt your n and his n. As for a fight 
 with him, man to man, it s not in you." 
 
 Molyneaux was about to protest his skill and valor with all the 
 indignant vanity of a Milesian. 
 
 13* 
 
298 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Do n t be a fool, lieutenant ! You re as brave a lad as I 
 know, and you can use a broadsword as well as most men ; bat 
 Harry Calvert ! do n t be foolish ! That s not the way ! Hear 
 to me. We 11 cut and run, soon as the wind sarves, and we can 
 get off these ceroons of indigo. We 11 be off while Calvert s 
 ashore, no matter where. We ll leave him maroon him, and 
 in good quarters, I reckon. And ef we can t do that, there s but 
 one way and that s to send him down-stream, swimming like a 
 pig in a gale of wind, with a gapin throat. Ef we manage that 
 sensibly, we can do it easily ; and the rest we can settle at New 
 Providence." 
 
 <k I would rather fight him, man to man. It s a point of honor, 
 Sam. Besides " 
 
 " P int of h 1 ! What have we got to do with sich redick lous 
 matters ? Look you, lieutenant if you talk so, I give you up ; 
 for all this is jest downright nonsense. It s business we v re on, 
 now ; not honor ! It s part of the business that we leave Captain 
 Calvert to take care of himself, on a coast where he knows all the 
 bearings as well as we do ; or, if he comes in our way, and only 
 when he comes in our way, when the word is * Cut and run, then 
 we cut him out of it. If you say 4 No, then there s an end to the 
 trade. We 11 stand off, jest where we was before, and no harm 
 done !" 
 
 " You re hard on me, Sam Fowler. I Ve let you have your 
 own way in the management of the affair so far." 
 
 " Exactly ! and who do you think could manage it a better 
 way?" 
 
 "I don t deny that. You were as good as born to the busi 
 ness ; but here, the very first thing I want to do for myself, you 
 oppose it. It s true, I propose to fight: but the fight is mine 
 the risk all mine. I do n t ask any man to peril his life for me !" 
 
 " And that s the redick lous part of the notion. Ef you d say, 
 * I must have the captain s heart s-blood, and call upon the help 
 of half a dozen to make the thing sart in sure, and without any 
 danger to your own throat, there would be some sense in it. But 
 the other way is no better than a sort of madness. I won t hear 
 to it." 
 
 " But, Sam, there s another reason for putting Calvert out of 
 the way." 
 
CONSPIRACY. 299 
 
 "Well, out with it!" 
 
 " Zulierae Calvert must be mine. I love her !" 
 
 " Does she love you ?" 
 
 " I ve every reason to think so." 
 
 " And I Ve no reason to think so at all. The woman s half a 
 fool, I m thinkin , and has no love for anything but plays and toys, 
 singin and jiggin . But that s nothin to the purpose. Ef you 
 want the woman, it don t need any love between the parties. 
 Take her, ef you can as you can, and where you can." 
 
 " But she 11 never consent, so long as Calvert is a living 
 man." 
 
 " Then butcher him when you find him ; nobody says f no to 
 that ; it s only against the nonsense of a fight with him, yard-arm 
 to yard-arm; for in sich a fight he ll sink you to Davy Jones s 
 locker, jest so sure as you come to the grapple ! But who says 
 that she won t take up with you, when you can get her clear of 
 him? It s strange, lieutenant, that a man that s got sich a good 
 conceit of himself in some things, should be so bashful in others. 
 Now, you re a fine fellow to look at few quite so handsome; 
 and you re young and strong, and can talk that sort of gammon 
 that women likes : and what s to hinder her preference, if you 
 come turtle over her, when t other s out of the way? She ll do 
 it!" 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" 
 
 "Why not? There s reason enough for it. I don t mean to 
 say that she 11 have any love in the business any more than 
 you" 
 
 " But I do love her, Sam." 
 
 " As a fish-hawk loves a mullet ! Well, as you please. I do n t 
 say one word against your cuttin the captain s throat, ef it conies 
 easy and in your way, and carryin off" his woman." 
 
 " You will lend a hand at both, Sam ?" 
 
 " My hand on it ! But remember, we re not to go out of our 
 way, or take any risks for it." 
 " I understand." 
 
 " You promise, then, there s to be no more nonsense about a 
 fair fight, and all that ?" 
 
 " I promise you. You shall approve all that I do in the mat 
 ter." 
 
300 THE CASSIQUK OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Well, that s spoken like a man of sense. And now to more 
 plain business. It s mighty strange I could n t get on the track 
 of Captain Calvert anywhere in town. He s either under the 
 governor s hatches, or he s off somewhere. He s got some se 
 cret business on some of the plantations. What if he should 
 think to turn the ship into a slaver? He s scrup lous, I know, 
 about privateerin any more ag inst the dons, now that the king 
 calls it piracy. What s left for him, but the slave-trade ?" 
 
 " Oh, he d never think to dirt his fingers with that business !" 
 
 " What else can he do? T would be a poor business for him ; 
 and what with crammin the hold with cargo, and starvin the 
 negroes, these eastern* people would beat him clean out of sight. 
 He d be for givin them niggers room enough, and air enough, 
 and food enough, and good food too, and that would ruin him. 
 His niggers would cost him quite too much before they could 
 reach the market. Besides, it s quite too slow a business for 
 us." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! I 11 none of it." 
 
 "Nor I. We ll make shorter cruises in chase of fortune. 
 And I can hardly think, ef Calvert knows anything about the 
 business, that t would suit him. Still, it s curious where he hides 
 himself. I got a squint of Franks, though " 
 
 " You did n t suffer him to see you ?" 
 
 " Catch me at that ! Belcher I could n t hear of any more than 
 Calvert. They re either stowed away in the governor s locker, 
 or they re at some secret business which we re not to know 
 about." 
 
 " May not Calvert be with his wife ?" 
 
 " Well, he warn t over fond of her company when he had the 
 freedom of it ; and it s not likely he 11 run his neck into a halter 
 for it now, when he s got so much reason to keep from any sort 
 of a noose. I should only care to know where she is to steer clear 
 of him. I m more anxious to find Jack Belcher than his mas 
 ter." 
 
 "Why him? 
 
 "He knows the hiding-place of all his money; and that s 
 enough to pay for a voyage round the world. We must have the 
 fingerin of that, lieutenant ; and, look you now, that s betwixt 
 ourselves. There s no sharin that among the crew. It s not 
 
CONSPIRACY. 301 
 
 prize-money ; it s our own right, twixt us, before the cruise. Be 
 sides, twould be mighty foolish to put em in flush, at the very 
 start : they d be desarting, half of em. And then, they ve got 
 quite enough in the ixpectations, you know ; the ixpectations of a 
 Jolly Roger are his best argyments. In course, it s understood 
 at ween us that we goes shares, half-and-half, in the captain s 
 treasure." 
 
 " That was our agreement." 
 
 " Hands on it, lieutenant !" 
 
 And they clasped hands. 
 
 " There can be no mistake now," continued the old pirate. 
 " We shall both have enough and to spare. All that we want 
 now is to get Jack Belcher under the screw." 
 
 " And where can he keep when not here ? He was here three 
 days ago." 
 
 " He s in town, I reckon, though I could n t find him. The 
 captain keeps him busy, perhaps, watchin over his harum-scarum 
 wife." 
 
 " What ! he watch her ? He never watched her here." 
 
 " Did n t he, then ? He watched her as close as cat watches 
 mouse. But Calvert did n t fear for her. It was you he was 
 afraid of. He s too proud to think that she would play him false ; 
 but he s too wise not to know what hot blood, in the veins of a 
 young Irishman, might not attempt. Did n t he surprise you to 
 gether in the cabin ? Do you suppose he did n t keep eyes on 
 you elsewhere ? ! T was easy for her to get out of the scrape, but 
 not so easy for you." 
 
 But I did get out of it." 
 
 " You did ? You re not out of it yet ! Do you think he for 
 gets or forgives so easily ? No, lieutenant ; if I know man, and 
 this man in particular, you ve got to pay for your impudence yet 
 He ? s only waitin his time, till he can take you unawares ; and 
 you do n t know how soon he 11 be upon you ! Nothin can save 
 you from his vengeance, but this plan of ours ! Do you take the 
 ship, and let him find his satisfaction, after that, any way he can." 
 
 " What ! do you think I m afraid of anything he can do ? 
 Hark you, Sam ; I promised not to seek, or challenge him to sin 
 gle combat, but I didn t promise that I would shirk the fight if 
 he should challenge me. No, by Heaven ! I would never subinu 
 
302 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAW &.H. 
 
 to that dishonor. I should face him, though I knew that he would 
 slay me at the first passage." 
 
 " And hark you, Lieutenant Molyneaux, I say to you that ef I 
 should be at hand, and I saw any sich affair goin on, I should 
 calculate to put in between you with half a dozen good fellows 
 besides, and save you from any consequences that might do up 
 our present business." 
 
 " No, Sam ! do not, I entreat you. Should the captain chal 
 lenge me, the point of honor " 
 
 " Oh, d n and blast that p int of honor ! I thought we had 
 settled that matter already ; and ef we have n t, the sooner we do 
 come to the right sense of our agreement the better. You re to 
 kill him, ef you can ; but not to fight him at all ! That s th 
 reason ! We want you ; we ve need of you ; we can t do with 
 out you ; we like you ; and blast my eyes, lieutenant, we 11 save 
 you as long as we can !" 
 
 " Why, you talk, Sam, as if t were a certain thing that I must 
 fall, fighting Calvert." 
 
 " To be sure you will ! Oh, I know, lieutenant, you ve got 
 face and heart to fight the devil ; and that s the reason why I 
 made up to you, as the man to put us all right, in a bold naviga 
 tion. But, ef you mean that you can stand a fair, up-and-down 
 fight, with smallsword or broadsword, ag in Harry Calvert, then 
 you ve more of Irish conceit in you than I m willin you should 
 nurse to spoilin . You can t do it ; and the best thing for you 
 and us is, to slip cable, and get the wind of him while we have a 
 chance. I m not willin to lose more time than we can help, or 
 any valuable life. A few days more, I reckon, will give us a 
 chance at Jack Belcher. Ef he comes here, we must muzzle him 
 somewhere in the woods, and have his secret out of him, though 
 we pull out his tongue with it ! And ef his master comes, then 
 we must sarve him in the same fashion. We ve got nineteen 
 strong fellows sart in, and can get more ; and what we can t get, 
 we can shut hatches down upon, and starve em into sense, on 
 bread and water." 
 
 " What s to be done with Eccles ?" 
 
 " He ! We don t want him, anyhow. He s a born simpleton. 
 But he s so easy, that, once out to sea, I reckon we can bring 
 him to anything." 
 
CONSPIRACY. 303 
 
 " Did you see anything of her the captain s wife when you 
 were in town ?" 
 
 " See ! Did n t I ? She was ridin out in a grand coach, with 
 another woman, all in flyin colors, all the flags of all the nations ; 
 four horses in silver harness, and two outriders in green and gold 
 uniforms. She s the town beauty. I heard more of her than I 
 can tell of her : she s at all the balls and dances ; and they talk 
 of her as a Spanish lady, with a mint of money. Sproulls had a 
 great deal to say about her. There was a dozen young rakes, 
 most of em noblemen s sons, at her skairts all the time. What a 
 the best fun of all, she passes for a young, unmarried innocent 
 a senorita somebody Mountainair, I think fresh from Florida ! 
 Young Cavendish a lord, they say is in turtle-fits all the time 
 on her account ; and there s more young lords besides, that she 
 keeps in a sort of gander-heaven." 
 
 Molyneaux stirred his whiskers fiercely as he heard this ac 
 count. The other continued having his motive in it, no 
 doubt : 
 
 " Sproulls p inted out to me where she lived with one Mother 
 Anderson, or Parkins, twas one or both and told me all about 
 her ! There s to be a grand, smashin party at her house on 
 Thursday night next, when everybody s got to go in masks and 
 disguise-dresses, after the French or Spanish fancy. In town, 
 they talks of nothin else ; and I reckon they 11 use up, for the 
 occasion, all the fine silks, and satins, and velvets, that we ve sold 
 em. Calvert got to the right market this time, and helped to 
 make it when he carried his frisky wife down there, under a false 
 name." 
 
 The effect of this communication upon Molyneaux was instanta 
 neous. He started to his feet, struck his forehead sharply, and 
 strode a few paces, right and left, under the trees. Sam Fowler 
 seemed somewhat surprised by the effect he had produced. 
 
 "Why, what s the matter, lieutenant?" 
 
 " When is that party to take place, did you say, Sam ?" 
 
 " Thursday next." 
 
 " Almost a week off. I must be at that party, Sam." 
 
 " How can you, when we may have to weigh anchor at a mo 
 ment s warnin ?" 
 
 " I care not for that : I must be at that party. I must see Zu- 
 
o04 THE CASSIQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 liemc ; I must see and speak with her. Everything depends 
 upon it." 
 
 Sam expostulated. He had overshot his mark. Whatever 
 his real object, he had not calculated on such an effect from his 
 communication. He now, earnestly enough, endeavored to dis 
 suade his hot-headed ally from his purpose ; but in vain. Never 
 was Celt more doggedly determined. 
 
 "I will go, if all the devils in h 1 stand against me ! Don t 
 think to dissuade me, Sam. I have submitted to you in every 
 thing ; but I 11 be d d if I submit in this ! I will see her." 
 
 " But how will you get there ? At these parties, they ax you 
 for your tickets. There s an invitation and a ticket ; and where 
 are you to get one ?" 
 
 " Ticket ! as if any of their nigger-servants could stop me eu 
 tering a lady s parlor ! They won t try it. They re not very 
 strict at these parties ; and when they see a fellow well dressed, 
 presenting himself boldly, they take some things for granted." 
 
 " Yes ; but when supper-time comes, you ve got to unmask." 
 
 " Well, suppose I do n t stay for supper ! Do n t you be afraid, 
 Sam : I ve the he-ad for any situation." 
 
 " Ef you do n t get your head into sich a sitiation as will make 
 it hard to get it out ag in !" 
 
 " I 11 take the risk." 
 
 " I 11 go with you, down to the city at least, and have the boat 
 ready for anything that happens," was the conclusion of Sam, 
 finally giving up the contest. Molyneaux was no longer to be 
 reasoned with, and the old sea-dog was disposed to make the most 
 of a difficult customer. 
 
 " I 11 go with you ; but a week of waitin ! And how if Cal- 
 vert comes up in the meantime, and orders us to weigh anchor ?" 
 
 " Then muzzle him, as you propose ! Once in the hold of the 
 vessel, hatches close, what s to prevent us doing what we please ? 
 
 " It may be done must be done, if it comes to the worst j but 
 we may have to fight for it. Remember, we ve got only nine 
 teen of the fellows dead sure. 
 
 " We must do what s needful. If he forces us to the worst, 
 his blood be upon his own head ! And Zulieme I will see ! I 
 will know from herself what she feels." 
 
 " And ef she grins at you, like a monkey on a high tree ?" 
 
CONSPIRACY. 305 
 
 " Then I seize if I can, and plead no longer ! It will be easy 
 enough to carry her off." 
 
 " Ef you can get at her ! and that s easy, ef you do n t give 
 her a scare beforehand. T won t be hard to get her out in the 
 dusk, with some message from Calvert." 
 
 " True, true ! we must arrange all that. I will have her, by 
 all the devils !" 
 
 The conference pretty much closed here for the night. The 
 two conspirators returned severally to the vessel, Molyneaux 
 being last. 
 
30() THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WOODS HAVE EARS. 
 
 "There s a destiny in life, 
 
 That still denies all certainty to Crime, 
 
 And makes its nature mortal ! Be as sure 
 
 As Cunning that base wisdom of the snake 
 
 Can make thy infidelity and falsehood, 
 
 And still the Ithuriel spear of Truth will pierce 
 
 Thy meshes, and the crevice in thy armor, 
 
 When least thou thinkest of Fate !" Old Play. 
 
 THE forest was once more silent, still as death a solemn 
 silence which seems to overawe Nature, and check her most cour 
 ageous breathings. The conspirators were gone, and by this time 
 probably were all housed safely, and in their several hammocks, 
 in the Happy-go-Lucky, that smart rover, over which they de 
 signed to spread the ominous standard of the "Jolly Roger." 
 
 But the silence was for a few moments only The thicket 
 which they had so recently occupied, was anon conscious of new 
 parties upon the scene, in the persons of two other men who came 
 out from yet deeper hiding-places in the rear. There they had 
 evidently lain perdu, and in a situation which enabled them to 
 take in all the particulars which we have related. One of the 
 last-comers now spoke, in low but deep accents, the tones of 
 which were significant of greatly-aroused and very painful emo 
 tions : 
 
 " Great God of heaven I is it possible that I have heard all 
 this ?" 
 
 The voice was that of our rover himself, Captain Calvert. The 
 voice which answered him was that of one who has hitherto been 
 unknown to us. 
 
WOODS HAVE EARS. 307 
 
 " I reckon, captain, you are now satisfied that I told you no 
 more than the truth/ 
 
 " Would to Heaven I could believe otherwise, Bill Hazard ! 
 I would give a thousand pounds could I convict you of false 
 hood." 
 
 " That you will never do, captain. Your own ears are the very 
 witnesses I wanted. I knew it must reach you at last, for this is 
 the place they meet in nightly. You have heard all I have been 
 telling you for more than two weeks, and something more I reck 
 on ; and I m glad you Ve heard for yourself; for it *s not easy to 
 believe in such villany, in men we ve been trusting so long, upon 
 any evidence short of one s own senses." 
 
 " Verily, it is not ! Yet do me justice, Hazard, and remember 
 that I have always held you faithful and honest in what you said. 
 It was rather a hope with me that you had been deceived, than a 
 doubt that you were honest. I am now satisfied, however pain 
 fully, that you have spoken nothing but the truth. Belcher en 
 tertained his suspicions, not to the same degree with you, but I 
 would not hear him. Yours is evidence ; and it is now mine. 
 All his suspicions., and your statements, have been confirmed by 
 my own senses." 
 
 " You know all the parties, captain ?" 
 
 " No ! I am not sure of some two or three of the common sea 
 men. Of course, I know the voices of Molyneaux and Fowler, 
 and I have my guesses at some of the rest. Some of the names 
 were also spoken. There were Fowler, Stoddart, Jordan, Rol 
 lins, and " 
 
 "Pearson and Gibbes," answered the other, concluding the 
 sentence. 
 
 " But all these were not present. They were only named by 
 the others, as sure." 
 
 " And they are sure, sir ! These are the very rascals of the 
 ship." 
 
 " It may be ! Yet the best of men may be involved by a mis 
 representation." 
 
 " That is true, sir ; and we might doubt, if we had reason to 
 suppose that Molyneaux and Fowler could fancy that they were 
 overheard. But they did not, that is certain ; and these fellows 
 are jusl as guilty as the rest." 
 
308 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Not exactly. Some men are rogues through feebleness. A 
 strong will, in one villain, subdues to villany the feebler nature, in 
 the absence of any better authority. We may hang a miserable 
 wretch for crime to-day, whom a few hours of time, under a good 
 master, would make a worthy citizen. At all events, Hazard, 
 there must be no doubt of the persons in the movement, when 
 they are required to pay the penalty of their crimes. We must 
 have all that right, and even then, there will be cases, in respect 
 to whom Justice must take some hints from Mercy." 
 
 " That s for you to say, captain. Yet, it s just as well to have 
 your rope round about the man you mean to pardon, the same as 
 him you mean to hang ; you ve got the first list I gave you, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but there are additions to be made to it. These you 
 can furnish me to-morrow night." 
 
 "You don t forget, captain, as I told you, that I had to mix a 
 little in this business myself, before I could get to see so far." 
 
 " I remember all, Hazard." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. I needn t say, captain, after what you ve 
 heard yourself, that what s to be done you ll have to do quickly. 
 You see they re pretty hot on the scent. You ve got to make 
 quick preparations as well as strong ones." 
 
 " It will need little time. I am already in part prepared for 
 the emergency ; for, though unwilling to believe in all that Bel 
 cher and yourself told me, I yet felt that every precaution was 
 necessary, and I have not neglected the affair. We shall be ready 
 for these wretches." 
 
 " I m glad, captain, for I was beginning to get quite scary." 
 
 " Have you found out where Eccles is ?" 
 
 "No, sir. I don t think there s anything against him, excep* 
 he s too blind to many things that he ought to see. He s thick 
 headed, sir." 
 
 " He s weak. And you note that Fowler and Molyneaux both 
 count upon his weakness, to render him willing, when once they ve 
 played their game ; and perhaps they are right." 
 
 " I think so. So far, I think him only easy and blind, and no* 
 criminal." 
 
 " We shall interpose in time for his safety." 
 
 " But that visit of Lieutenant Molyneaux and Fowler to tha 
 town, sir? Won t that be apt to give you some trouble?" 
 
WOODS HAVE EARS. 809 
 
 " I think not. On the contrary, I see in it a new opportunity 
 for effecting my objects with more certainty, and perhaps safety. 
 These details do not make me anxious, Hazard. The mere dan 
 ger and difficulty to myself constitute the least part of my anxiety. 
 But, great God ! to think that I have trained so many of these 
 wretches for such a life as they deliberately propose to lead ! 
 that the flag of Britain, through my agency, has prepared them 
 for running up the black and bloody ensign of piracy ! Have I, 
 in truth, under the roving commission which has seemed to me 
 hitherto a sufficient guaranty, been tutoring these miserable crea 
 tures for a life of license ; for the flinging off all law, social and 
 divine ; loosening the ties of morals, with the bonds of nations, 
 and making the transition easy from the privateer to the pi 
 rate !" 
 
 " Don t trouble your mind with such a notion, captain ! You ve 
 done nothing of the kind. This fellow, Sam Fowler, is an old 
 buccaneer. He has twice accepted the king s mercy, and escaped 
 the penalties of former crime only by doing so at the last mo 
 ment. But the black blood hasn t been, and couldn t be, purged 
 out by a king s pardon. He s so thoroughly a pirate by habit, 
 that, put him wherever you please in the regular service even 
 and he d be at his bloody tricks again in no time, and with the 
 first easy opportunity. And there are two others of these chaps 
 who are just like him old pirates regular scape-gallowses 
 sworn brothers of the coast, and most unredeemable villains." 
 
 " Who are they ?" 
 
 " Pearson and Gibbes." 
 
 " I will remember them. We must try and discriminate be 
 tween the ringleaders and the miserable wretches whom they 
 beguile. Of this be sure, William Hazard : the flag of Britain, 
 while I breathe, shall never give place, on that vessel, to the Jolly 
 Roger! No; there shall be one head low one heart shall be 
 cold for ever ere your eyes shall see that spectacle !" 
 
 " God be with you and help you, captain !" exclaimed the other, 
 fervently. 
 
 "And that vain young Irish blockhead! to be so easily won, 
 so readily deluded, in spite of my warnings, my painstaking and 
 forbearance, and by that evil-eyed, miserable, hoary-headed old 
 ruffian ! And through what snare ? Not gold ; he has enough 
 
310 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 of that: but through lust, and hate, and envy all these the chil 
 dren of a mere vanity! that bubble passion, the first-born with 
 us, the last to die out of our bosoms, which absorbs and uses all 
 other passions !" 
 
 "It s mighty strong in his bosom, sir." 
 
 " Light head, vaporous brain, vain, vicious heart. And he 
 would cross weapons with me ! The * point of honor ! Honor ! 
 honor ! What a word to be used upon a dog s tongue ! Fool ! 
 fool ! But he shall have the privilege he craves. His wish shall 
 be indulged, and let the fatal sisters watch the issue from the 
 clouds." 
 
 "You don t mean, sir, that you will fight with such as he?" 
 
 " Will I not ! Yes, boy, in such a case I waive pride, charac 
 ter, authority, all things upon which, in ordinary cases, I should 
 insist. I mean to fight with him, point to point, though he bring 
 a score of bloodhounds at his back. I will make him feel that I 
 am his master. I rejoice that he broods with this desire. It 
 somewhat accords with my own. He has been an offender in 
 other respects, boy, than those which you report. But of this I 
 shall say naught. Enough that he shall have his wish ; and let 
 his skill and spirit maintain his vanity, if they can !" 
 
 Calvert almost forgot the presence of his follower, in the utter 
 ance of his passionate speech ; but he soon recalled his thoughts, 
 bringing them, by a strong effort of will, from vehemence to sub 
 jection : 
 
 "And now, Will Hazard, my good boy, keep up your watch, 
 as well and faithfully as you have done thus far. Note the de 
 parture of the boat, with Molyneaux and Fowler ; and, just so 
 soon as they are out of sight, get off with five fellows whom you 
 can trust. Let the men be well armed with cutlasses and pistols. 
 Cross the river to the other shore, and creep down in the shad 
 ows till you reach the five old oaks, at the bend of Accabee. 
 Belcher, or Franks, will meet you there. Should I arrange any 
 thing better in the meantime, you shall hear from me, at this 
 place. Fortunately, you have time enough. There are five days 
 before this masquerade. Masquerade ! More fools ! It is per 
 haps fortunate that there are more fools that we have this mas 
 querade. It gives us time. The rogues will not attempt any 
 thing till this folly s over. So, watch, my good boy, and be in 
 
WOODS HAVE EARS. 311 
 
 readiness. You know what I require, Away, now, to the ship ! 
 You can enter it in safety ?" 
 
 " With the next change of watch, sir." 
 
 " Do so, then. Fear nothing ; I shall neither fail you nor these 
 people. Something I have to digest before I decide upon the 
 game to play. But I will not leave you uninformed. Be sure, 
 at all events, that I shall be ready for them. Neither head nor 
 hand can fail me now. Be patient, and steer prudently, as be 
 fore. You shall have my signal in proper season. Go, now, 
 boy; you have done well worthily as few older men could 
 do. I shall remember you as you deserve." 
 
 And the other, Will Hazard, went away as bidden. And the 
 outlawed rover stood alone in the depth and midnight shadow of 
 that Indian forest, his eyes straining through the solid thickness 
 of the woods, and the almost solid density of the night, in the 
 direction of the ship, which he could not see. 
 
 " What a man s soul is in that boy !" was his exclamation. 
 
 And well, indeed, might he make it. Will Hazard was but 
 eighteen, a slim English lad, with fair face and bright blue eyes 
 and a cheery, laughing spirit, whom no one would suspect of hero 
 ism or conspiracy. Yet, had he been tempted by the latter, and, 
 in a simple, almost unconscious matter, was proving himself capa 
 ble of the former. Such is the modest material of which Nature 
 makes proper men. 
 
 But the thought of the boy gave place, in the mind of the ro 
 ver, to the stronger impression made by the conspirators ; and he 
 again spoke, though now in soliloquy, of the vexing trouble which 
 was most his care : 
 
 " O fools ! blind fools !" he muttered, shaking his hand still in 
 the direction of the ship "0 fools ! as monstrous in stupidity 
 as in crime ! Do you think me a dullard, an imbecile? Ye shall, 
 feel me. I forebore ye, and hoped nay, might have prayed for 
 ye, but that I had as little faith in my prayers as in your virtue ! 
 But ye have reached the length of your tether the term of 
 your insolence and my forbearance. Ye shall soon know me as 
 your judge !" 
 
 And again he waved his hand in air, slowly and solemnly, as 
 denouncing judgment. 
 
 (< Ye tan not persuade me now ! Ye are doomed!" 
 
312 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 So speaking, lie turned his back upon the scene, and strode to 
 the spot where his steed was fastened ; and while he tightened 
 the girth about the beast, he murmured unconsciously : 
 
 " It has come upon me sooner than I thought, but not wholly 
 unexpected. It has spread farther than I feared, but not too far 
 for arrest. I have been too confident of this people, too heedless 
 of my own duty. But this shall be done. Alas ! look which way 
 I will, I see that I have lived in vain ! 
 
 "And this painful watch by day and night it profits me 
 nothing. How should it profit ? What can it bring, but the con 
 firmation of a great agony, and the certainty of all its stings ? 
 
 " And yet I have not the courage to forbear the watch whose 
 discoveries must still be wo ! Would to God that the struggle 
 were all over ! every struggle all at once in one mighty 
 convulsion one hurricane rage in which the good ship goes 
 down in the overwhelming shock, and the waves settle over her 
 in placid supremacy. I have spread sail, surely, only for such a 
 fate !" 
 
 And a bitter groan escaped him at the close. And, with a sort 
 of desperation, he threw himself upon his steed ; and it was only 
 after several irregular bounds, under the fierce pricking of his 
 spur, which bore him into deeper thickets, that he was taught the 
 wiser policy to prick his way rather than the beast. His own 
 impatience gave him no succor, in the effort to dissipate his griefs 
 in the headlong violence of his pace. 
 
PETTY REVENGES, 318 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 PETTY REVENGES. 
 
 "Methinks I wander in an atmosphere 
 All rank with treachery. There is in the air 
 A wooing, silent mischief, which prevails 
 O er the too languid nature, and will glide 
 Subtly, to feeble and too gentle natures, 
 Until they seize upon the citadel, 
 And blight the soul with death !" Old Play. 
 
 WE are apt to speak of reason as the distinguishing attribute 
 of man, and to prattle, with wondrous self-complacency, upon its 
 dignity and grandeur. Yet how do we use it? Not one in a 
 hundred of those who thus pride themselves, and prattle, ever 
 employ it with any due regard to the superior interests of im 
 mortality, or even of a considerate and becoming humanity. 
 We use it rather as a drudge a dog, with which we hunt down 
 the game that is started by our fancies or our passions and in 
 this we exhibit ourselves as children only ; our toys and sports 
 being scarcely a whit more dignified than those of children, and 
 only more imposing, in our sight, as involving the exercise of in- 
 tenser passions, which are far less innocent than those which be 
 guile the boy. 
 
 Here, for example, in this our true story of real life, we are 
 made acquainted with no small variety of persons scarcely one 
 of whom, in the ordinary estimates of society, would be called a 
 blockhead. For that matter, a pioneer people never can be block 
 heads. Here is Molyneaux, who considers himself a monstrous 
 clever fellow, exceedingly smart and well-appointed in his wits. 
 Ask him, and, if he answers honestly, and without allowing his 
 habitual modesty to interfere in the delivery of his response, he 
 will tell you that no man was ever more adequately endowed, of 
 
 14 
 
?H THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 trained, than himself, for the greater variety of human and social 
 achievements. 
 
 Ask those about him, and they will so far confirm his opinion 
 of himself, as to assure you that there never was a better seaman ; 
 that he is bold, vigorous, well-skilled in his weapon ; a good leaper, 
 runner, boxer ; as able to lift a clever boat out of shoal water as 
 any officer on the coast; and, when he talks, that he says deuied 
 smart things in a smart manner of his own. 
 
 He is evidently regarded by all about him as a person much 
 above the ordinary standard of human intellect ; and hence we 
 find him * second officer of the ship; and, further, that a certain 
 number of the ship s company are resolved to make him first offi 
 cer, regarding his claims as superior to his present position. 
 
 Yet, with all this, we see that the fellow is a blockhead ; that 
 he is using his wits, much or little, in such a fashion as will prob 
 ably get him knocked on the head, with a reasonable prospect 
 that the brains will be so scattered, after such an event, as to be 
 of little future service to their present owner or to anybody else. 
 And yet he uses his reason daily ; and prides himself upon the 
 wonderful sagacity with which he shapes his course, so that his 
 aims shall be duly seconded quite as much by his prudence as by 
 enterprise and thought. 
 
 But the abuse of his reason lies first in his aims. You see that 
 his reasoning faculties are under bond wholly to his vanity; and, 
 let him reason however cunningly, the first step which he has 
 taken is fatal to the integrity of that very reason which he sup 
 poses to be eminently employed all the time. 
 
 The reason which we employ to make the wrong appear the 
 right, or to enable us to do wrong, is no longer a faculty to be 
 relied on. Commencing with a lie, all its argument, thus basely 
 founded, must be false, though it may be logical in the last degree, 
 if its first assumption of policy be recognised. We have but to 
 slur over the premise, and we shall see no flaw in the logical 
 progress, step by step, to the inevitable conclusion : but the 
 fraud with which we begin, and with which we subject reason to 
 the uses of a passion, corrupts the entire case ; and we have no 
 more real benefit from this most precious human faculty than if 
 we were so many brute beasts, to whom all such endowment is 
 supposed to be denied. 
 
PETTY REVENGES. 315 
 
 And so with all those whose wilful, wicked, or frivolous pas 
 sions, coerce the Reason into a mere slave, carrying out the be 
 hests of a master ; the Kislar Aga of the seraglio ; the hound 
 that hunts for us the game which our lusts and appetites, our vani 
 ties and ridiculous ambitions, are perpetually starting. Moly- 
 neaux, but for his absurd vanity, would be no fool would have 
 a very fair share of the reasoning faculty and would probably 
 escape the summary processes which now threaten the health and 
 safety, the integrity and soundness, of a moderately-developed 
 cranium, with a very decent filling up of brains. 
 
 You may argue out the case, under the suggestions above given, 
 with respect to the greater number of our dramatis personce ; and 
 you need not confine the application to the persons of our drama. 
 Take the great farce of Society tragedy or farce they but too 
 frequently mean the same thing and, of all the performing char 
 acters, you find only here and there a single person who uses hia 
 reason with respectful deference, and does not tax its exercise in 
 the service of a mere passion, having its premises arbitrarily re 
 solved upon, and looking only to foregone desires for its conclu 
 sions. One s vanity, as in the case of Molyneaux, is the grand 
 passion ; another s, avarice ; another s, lust ; another s, gluttony ; 
 and so on, through the whole census. The passions, using reason 
 as a tool, cut the throat of human wisdom. 
 
 So our Harry Calvert ; so our cassique, his brother ; so the 
 courtly Robert Quarry, governor of the colony ; and so the piou? 
 Master Sylvester, alias Stillwater : all of these, running as deep a? 
 their waters may, and exercising whatever amount you please of 
 the reasoning faculty, have somehow, through some fraudful or 
 debilitating passion, denuded the cogitating faculty of its best vir 
 tues at the very outset ; and now keep it busy, wandering in a 
 circle, and in movements not half the time so graceful, though 
 quite as erratic, as those of your tabby, who will suddenly dart 
 away from her comfortable couch upon the hearth-rug, and put 
 herself into fever-heat, in the very intellectual chase after her 
 own tail ! 
 
 And we must not forget the tender sex, in. their assertion of the 
 right to abuse the virtues of this faculty. They, too, strange as it 
 may seem, have a reason for all their follies. Take, for example, 
 the case of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. We have shown you that 
 
316 THE OASSIQUE OF KIAW4H. 
 
 she is a smart woman as well as a fine one. She is clever, quick 
 has wit, sentiment, and a sort of philosophy which serves, al 
 least, to disguise a passion of very doubtful quality so dextrously, 
 that it passes current as a virtue among half of the fashionable 
 circle in which she moves and has her being. Ask herself, or her 
 neighbors, who is the cleverest woman in town, and you are told, 
 " Mrs. Perkins Anderson, undoubtedly !" She lives well, talks 
 well, dresses well, dances well, and so lives as never to tax offen 
 sively or in any way inconveniently the community in which she 
 resides. This is a great virtue in society. There is not a mem 
 ber of her circle, not one of those persons who claim to be " in 
 society," who has the slightest apprehension that Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson will ever need their assistance in anything. If they 
 could fancy, for a moment, that she was in straits for money, they 
 would not consider her half so intellectual. Of course, were sha 
 to ask for succor, they would instinctively regard her as a person 
 who had lost her senses. Having no such dreadful apprehensions 
 of danger in this respect, either to her or to themselves, they 
 gladly attend her parties ; they vote her a trump among court 
 cards and courtly circles ; admire the magnificence with which 
 she provides, the taste with which she presides, and the fine judg 
 ment which enables her to select her guests with such discrimina 
 tion as to prompt each individual thus honored to recognise the 
 propriety of her preference in his own case, at least! 
 
 But we have seen, as well as Harry Calvert, that Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson is still veritably a fool of the first water. Let us not 
 be too particular in describing the passion or passions for there 
 are several busy in her case which keep her reason (excellent 
 as the world esteems it) in bondage to a lie ! Enough that we 
 say she has not common sense sufficient to let her prosperity be 
 sure. She is in excellent worldly condition ; has an accommoda 
 ting husband, who provides for her magnificently, yet never trou 
 bles her to entertain him ; yet she will not let herself alone ! She 
 desires to make a conquest of Harry Calvert. You, perhaps, 
 fancy that she loves him. Don t make yourself ridiculous by 
 such a notion. She has not a bit more love for him than for 
 Perkins Anderson, though he may better please her tastes. But 
 she is wealthy and idle-minded ; and all persons in this condition 
 must exercise their brains in some way, and in the provocations 
 
PETTY REVENGES. 317 
 
 of some petty passion. She fancies that she loves him, possibly; 
 but the truth is, that, she desires to make a conquest. The desire 
 is stimulated by her vanity. This is one of the weak points of 
 the sex, and of Mrs. Perkins Anderson in particular. Even as 
 the young damsel, just rising into seventeen, fancies that she is 
 an outcast and desolate, unless there be some youth, with newly- 
 budding mustache, bobbing about her, as a cork, with a feather in 
 it, bobs along a trout-stream ; so these old girls, with nothing to 
 do, continue to long for similar bobs : though the period may have 
 long since passed away when the tenderness of the trout makes it 
 acceptable on the table of the epicure. With idle women this 
 becomes the whole passion of life a passion of blended vanity 
 and appetite ; and this is precisely the case with Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson. She will waste her smiles and sighs nay, her cares 
 ses on Harry Calvert; but if Harry will not suffer himself to 
 be caressed, she will condescend to Dick or Peter. She must 
 restlessly wriggle on, in the hope of being precious to somebody. 
 It is a part of her capital, in the society which she prefers, to be 
 recognised as an object still of a most passionate attachment. 
 This is so much food for that vanity which lacks all pretence of 
 honest passion ; and, for such persons, a mere flirtation will suf 
 fice flirtation being a sort of moral prostitution which only lacks 
 sufficient courage to be criminal. Not that Mrs. Anderson will 
 not fall, and sufficiently low too, if properly seconded. But she 
 does not contemplate extreme cases. She is not too moral for sur 
 render, if vigorously assailed ; but she will content herself, if suf 
 fered to do so, with the small excitements of the flirtation. 
 
 Enough ! a flirting fool at forty is sufficiently ridiculous, with 
 out needing comment. Harry Calvert knew her thoroughly, and 
 was not to be deluded by her sentimentality. He, however, com 
 mitted one error that of piquing her vanity by his disregard of 
 her blandishments. Women do not readily forgive such an of 
 fence. It equally mortifies vanity and self-esteem. The one is 
 stung, the other humbled. 
 
 No doubt Calvert felt that this was his danger. He knew the 
 sex ; few men better. He knew her ; and he felt that to yield, 
 but a single hair, and he must have laid his head in her lap an 
 other Samson in the embrace of a new Delilah. He was too ear- 
 nest a man to trifle in a flirtation. He was one of those persons 
 
318 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 who, in affaires de coeur, are apt to proceed as the lion is said to 
 do when he woos his bride ! He knew very well that the lady had 
 no passion at work more profound than her vanity, and he was 
 not willing to engage in a traffic of the passions at too much cost 
 to his own. His passions were all terribly intense ones ; he knew 
 not how to trifle with them. Besides, they were all absorbed in 
 one, and that was hallowed ! Over its fortunes there hung the 
 gloom of defeat, disappointment, death perhaps ; the storm ; the 
 wreck ; the convulsion ; and an agony such as would have been 
 only mocked by such a feeble sort of passion as worked in the 
 bosom of Mrs. Perkins Anderson ! He knew that she could sigh, 
 and sigh, and yet feel no pain. Sighing with her was only a 
 pleasant accomplishment ; and, when she spoke of her heart s dis 
 appointments, he had only to look at her and smile. Certainly 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson was in most excellent physique. Well 
 preserved, she had reached that condition of embonpoint which 
 converts a wrinkle into a ridge, and maintains such an adequate 
 degree of red upon the cheeks as to render quite unnecessary any 
 resort to Parisian chemicals. He felt that she would survive any 
 defeat of hope and heart ; that her affections were scarcely skin- 
 deep ; and, though he scrupulously forebore to exhibit his fullest 
 consciousness of her case forebore to wound and mortify unne 
 cessarily by tone, word, or look he yet did not hesitate to fling 
 her off and deny. He fancied that he had done this too gently 
 to offend ; but he did not the less pique and disappoint. That she 
 felt the pique we shall see hereafter. 
 
 She felt it, and her vanity brought another passion into activity. 
 It was, however, rather an instinct, than a thought or passion, 
 which led her to conceive a purpose of revenge. The agent to be 
 used for this purpose was no other than our poor little giddy-pated 
 Zulieme Calvert, otherwise known (but only while in Charleston) 
 as the Senorita Montana, a belle of the neighboring Spanish prov- 
 nce of Florida ; an heiress in her own right ; having certain sil 
 ver-mines and mountains in Mexico ; coffee and sugar plantations 
 in Cuba ; and a princely hacienda, whither she had resort in spring 
 and winter, in the life-giving and life-preserving region of Espiritu 
 Santo (or Tampa bay). These inventions mostly owed their 
 birth and circulation to the fertile genius of Mrs. Perkins Ander 
 son, who contrived, within twenty-four hours after her <?uest had 
 
PETTY REVENGES. SIS 
 
 reached her domicil, to set these golden bubbles of fancy afloat on 
 the wings of rumor. She had her policy in multiplying the at 
 tractions of her house ; for the fine lady, though in her own set 
 supreme, had yet certain competitors in society. There were 
 other coarse, fat, vulgar, and ridiculous women about town of a 
 certain age whose ambition it was to usurp dominion over all the 
 local exclusives. The Senorita de Montano was admirably 
 designed to provoke the envy and jealousy of all these people. 
 
 Poor child ! Little did she fancy the uses she was to be put 
 to. Frankly admitting herself to be a fool, and ignoring reason 
 utterly in her own case, Zulieme can not well be brought before 
 our court for judgment, in respect to those absurdities of moral 
 which we undertook to canvass passingly at the opening of this 
 chapter. She was willing to be a child, and to profess nothing 
 beyond. Her humility affords her ample refuge from our judg 
 ment. But, by way of caveat to the judgment of others, we take 
 /eave to say that, if we take the operations of her feminine in 
 stincts into the account, Zulieme is perhaps not half the fool which 
 she appears not half the fool, compared with some of her most 
 self-assured neighbors ; for, entre nous, an honest instinct is not 
 only a safer, but, in all respects, a wiser guide for humanity than a 
 corrupt or perverted reason ; and, where there is any feebleness 
 of intellect, it is no small proof of real wisdom to trust nothing to 
 this blind sort of guide, but modestly to content one s self with a 
 lamblike deference to tracks, as prescribed by the good old mater 
 nal bell-wether, which we call Nature. 
 
 Of course, we can all conceive, very readily, that Miss Monta 
 no the Senorita de Montano is to be the great feature, the 
 lioness, at the receptions of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. But, as we 
 have hinted, the pique of that lady toward Harry Calvert suggest 
 ed certain other objects which may not be so obvious to the un 
 suspecting wits of our readers. Let us make them wiser, if we 
 can ; and we can scarcely do this so well as by retracing our steps 
 for a brief space, to the period of that interview, already reported 
 between Calvert and Mrs. Anderson, in which the former arranged 
 for the visit of his wife to a town in which he dared not show 
 himself. 
 
 We all remember with what savage coolness Calvert received 
 the revelations of tenderness which Mrs. Anderson made on that oc- 
 
320 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 casion. When he was gone, and the lady had sufficiently exam 
 ined the presents of shawl and jewels he had brought her, she put 
 them away, with a sigh of satisfaction, and subsided pensively into 
 her cushions her thoughts divided between the sensation which 
 these ornaments would produce among her envious friends, and 
 the disappointment which she felt at Calvert s cavalier indiffer 
 ence to her charms, which, as she fondly conceived, would net 
 have been so slighted by any other cavalier. 
 
 " Cold and insensible !" exclaimed the lady, after some ten min 
 utes of moody meditation. 
 
 " He sees how I feel. He knows how much I think of him. 
 Yet he mocks my affections. In his heart he mocks at mine ! 
 His smooth and courtly compliments do not deceive me. Is it 
 possible that he thinks lightly of me despises me? Ha!" 
 
 And she rose quickly, and stood before the great circular mir 
 ror. The survey consoled her. When did it fail to do so, in the 
 case of vanity that self-deceiving passion which drinks in ali 
 ment from so many thousand deceptive sources ? Her eyes bright 
 ened : 
 
 " No ! it can not be that he despises my affection. Is he dull, 
 then ? Can he not see, for himself, how much more precious 
 would be his sympathies than the most fervid passion of the man 
 to whom I am fettered ? Ah ! he would say, the man to whom I 
 have sold myself ! Was not that his own sarcasm ? Did he not 
 imply, even if he did not express it? And does he not admit that 
 he, too, had sold himself? He talks of gratitude as prompting 
 him to marry this Zulieme ; but would he have married this Span 
 ish woman, of whom he speaks as a child which is almost say 
 ing she is a fool if she had not brought him a golden dowry? 
 He admits that he loved another, even while he married her ! In 
 what, then, does his conduct differ from mine, and how should he 
 dare rebuke me for a weakness of which he was just as guilty 
 himself ? He loves another: he avows it, and to me ; ay, at the 
 cry moment when I am showing my affection for himself! Cruel, 
 scornful, insolent! He might have spared me that. And she 
 lives this other, this preferred one but where ? Not here, cer 
 tainly. She is lost to him for ever : that he admits. Living, yet 
 lost ! Then she must be the wife of another. Ah ! it is not his 
 virtues, then, that make him cold to me. He would no doubt 
 
PETTY REVENGES. 321 
 
 bear her off from the more fortunate husband, if she would suffer 
 it ay, if she but showed him, as I have done, how much he 
 was preferred. Who can she be ? I must worm the secret from 
 him !" 
 
 She again resumed her place upon the cushions. She lay with 
 languid air, at length. But her cheeks were flushed, and her 
 eyes brightened, with the heightening fever in her veins, as, step 
 by step, she reconsidered the details of her interview with the 
 reluctant rover. 
 
 " But what a man he is ! How noble in form and presence ! 
 What an air he carries ! what a haughty yet subdued aspect ! 
 what sweet but powerful tones in his voice ! what authority in all 
 his words ! I could be that man s slave sooner than the honored 
 wife that I am ! I could share his poverty with pride, brave his 
 dangers without fear : while now, blest, as he tells me, with wealth, 
 and safe in society, I have no satisfaction in either. That he 
 should taunt me so ! 
 
 " Ay !" she murmured, with increase of bitterness in her ac 
 cents 
 
 " Ay ! he could refer me to my wealth and position, as sufficient 
 to console me for this wretched life ; lacking all sympathy ; in 
 which the heart broods over its own loneliness, while the passions 
 gnaw upon it, keeping it for ever bleeding ! Wealth, to a want 
 ing heart ! Society and fashion, to one who asks only for love s 
 precious aliment ! O Harry Calvert ! how can you, with your 
 own heart denied, commend such wretched food to mine ? It is 
 in very mockery that you have spoken, and I will never for 
 give it !" 
 
 She wept at the self-drawn picture of her own wretchedness. 
 For the moment, she persuaded herself that it was true to the 
 life. The quality of reason, warped by the master-passion to its 
 purposes, had rendered her conclusions sufficiently logical to sat- 
 sfy her thought. She really wept at her own fancied sorrows. 
 
 " And this Spanish woman ? this child, as he calls her ! She 
 is pretty, even in his eyes pretty and gentle ; a child, and de 
 pendent on him : yet he loves her not ! She is not capable of his 
 affections ; she can not understand him ; does not suffice for his 
 heart does not know her own ! And they have no children 
 no children, no more than I ! Yet he is sure of her ; he can trust 
 
 14* 
 
322 THE CASSTQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 her ! He relies upon her instincts for her fidelity ; upon her sim 
 plicity, forsooth, to protect her passions ! Indeed ! and he thinks 
 he knows the nature of the woman-heart ! We shall see we 
 shall see !" 
 
 And now she laughed, as certain other thoughts rose mischiev 
 ously in her brain. She laughed merrily. 
 
 " We shall try her. He braves the trial. I gave him proper 
 warning. He can not blame me ! It is he that exposes her to 
 the peril, not I ! /do not throw it in her way. / use no arts, 
 no arguments, to persuade her. There is the fruit upon the tree : 
 let her pluck and eat if she will ! He himself is willing to con 
 duct her to the garden ; he himself shows her the tree ; and he 
 turns to me, with cool exultation, and says : 
 
 " I can trust her safely. Her instincts are too childish to b 
 vicious. She will only dance under the tree ; she will only look 
 on, while others eat, without any desire herself. 
 
 " And he knows that there will be others to persuade others 
 of his own treacherous and artful sex who will help raise her 
 to the branches, so that she may help herself nay, will brave 
 any danger rather than she should forego the temptation ! Well, 
 I will take care that there shall be a tempter : and we shall see 
 if her boasted simplicity of heart will afford her any better shield 
 than mine ! 
 
 " There is that young Cavendish, a most courtly gallant ; as 
 handsome and eloquent as Belial ; as impudent as the devil ; as 
 licentious as any in tlie court of Charles ; who has been caressed 
 by maids of honor precious maids of honor ! and he has come 
 hither to escape the consequences of this very free caressing ! I 
 have but to whisper a word in his ear, and he will show her 
 where grow the beautiful fruits of perdition ! He will conduct 
 ber to the tree ! Ha ! ha ! Harry Calvert. 
 
 " He shall have opportunity enough. Yea, Harry Calvert, 
 since her simplicity of heart is so perfect a security, she shall rely 
 on that wholly. I shall use no watch, no restraint. And what 
 should I care if she falls ? what is it to me ? 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it may be something to me ! who knows ? Now 
 that he holds her to be so perfect in virtue, her childishness of 
 character becomes a virtue in itself. Infantile simplicity redeems 
 all other defects ; and it is by this ane quality that she maintains 
 
PET lY REVENGES. 3 23 
 
 her ascendency over him. This lost, he flings her off with scorn. 
 He will do it. He is then justified in her abandonment. The 
 debt of gratitude is obliterated by the stain upon his honor ; and 
 she is one, at least, out of my way ! His faith in her fidelity 
 makes against my passions, even when they show themselves sub 
 ject to his own. Well, we shall cure his blindness. She shall 
 be tried, at least. Let her go through the trial as she can ! Cav 
 endish shall be the tempter ; and he is just the man to make his 
 way with such a creature such a simpleton. He is cunning as 
 a serpent ; playful as a kitten ; handsome ; fashionable ; a famous 
 dancer and singer ; will carol love like a nightingale, yet mock 
 all the while ; and with a mouth always full of the sweetest, fan 
 tastical speeches, he is audacious enough for anything. 
 
 " If she withstands him, she is a miracle of women. We shall 
 see ; and when the fruit is eaten, Harry Calvert shall also see ! 
 He is not a man whom you can blind through any self-conceit. 
 He can be made to see without needing that I should lift a finger. 
 And see he shall, or I am not Charlotte Anderson ! 
 
 Such were the meditations, such the purposes, of Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson. Do you set her down, accordingly, as a monster ? 
 Oh, no ! she is only a clever woman, " in society ;" having a rage 
 for personal appreciation ; ambitious of notoriety to the last de 
 gree ; seeking it from no matter what sources ; easily piqued by 
 disappointment; and aiming at nothing more than petty re 
 venges ! 
 
 But in your simplicity, dear reader, you cry out : 
 
 " Petty revenges ! Do you call such a crime as she meditates 
 a petty one ?" 
 
 Yes, indeed ! According to the conventional standards to 
 which the good lady is accustomed, it may be held a very petty 
 sort of revenge ; really, a very moderate way of resenting a dis 
 appointment ! For you must remember that people of this de 
 scription do not regard virtue with any such sublime sentiment of 
 veneration as possesses your unsophisticated bosom. They hardly 
 regard its loss as a matter of evil or regret. It is only the expo 
 sure of its loss which they have need to fear. They are only too 
 happy to expose each other s sins, while indulging in their own. 
 For themselves, they are not at all solicitous for its safety. The 
 quality has some repute, and must be assumed to be in their pos- 
 
324 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 session. What they really and only dread is, the scandal of the 
 loss ; not the absence of the thing itself. They may think as the 
 lady in the Proverbs 
 
 " Who eats the fruit without alarm, 
 Then wipes her mouth, and where the harm ?" 
 
 They have only to wipe the mouth carefully after the eating, and 
 all s right with the consumer; for the simple reason that all seems 
 right with the world ! 
 
 With such an appreciation as Mrs. Perkins Anderson had of 
 virtue in the abstract, you may hold her to be quite moderate in 
 the sort of revenge which she proposed to take, at once of Harry 
 Calvert and his wife the one, for the indifference which he had 
 shown to her charms ; the other, for that most impertinent simpli 
 city of heart by which she was assumed to be less assailable than 
 wiser people. 
 
 And to the fall of Zulieme from the grace of innocence, Mrs. 
 Perkins Anderson pledged all her faculties. All that her intel 
 lect could do her arts, her reason must be done, to realize 
 that result which was required to bring consolation to her own 
 mortified vanity her own unsatisfied desires. But we must 
 reserve the process of her working for yet other pages. 
 
 Shall the tempter succeed ? Shall the innocent one succumb ? 
 These are the questions. They hang over a thousand fortunes 
 daily. We rise at morning, and the bird sings joyously in the 
 roof-tree, and the flowers smile without stain, all odorous, in the 
 garden beneath our eyes ; and they beguile us to unconsciousness 
 as we walk forth. We forget the caprices of Fortune ; we think 
 nothing of the Fates j We, too, sing and smile, not dreaming 
 what the hour shall bring forth ; especially as, with too many of 
 us, there lies a serpent among our flowers sleek, smooth who, 
 even if we see it, looks not so much like a serpent, but rather like 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson : and her we take to be a friend ! She is 
 so sweet, so smiling, so very loving ! 
 
INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 
 
 " From silks to scandals ; from the deep-laid plan 
 To win free passage to the heart of man ; 
 Subdue that rugged despot to the will 
 Of one whose sweetness hides a despot still ; 
 To that small play of fancies on the wing, 
 The motes of summer and the birds of spring ; 
 The chase of butterflies through garden-flowers, 
 Or artful games of love in secret bowers 
 Capricious games, where all too conscious grown, 
 The woman seeks a province not her own ; 
 And now in play and now in passion tost, 
 Wins all she seeks, and, winning, still is lost I" The Town. 
 
 LITTLE did our poor little Zulieme, in all her anticipations, 
 fancy the sort of welcome which awaited her iii Charleston. Lit 
 tle did she suspect that she was already marked out as a victim 
 by the cunning of the serpent. She had no more thought of the 
 gravity of the future than a young girl has of her first ball. Of 
 course, her head swam with excitement. She thought of dances 
 and dresses, and gay people, and a constant whirl of pleasurable 
 performances, in which she was to be the happiest actor. But 
 beyond this she had no single thought, feeling, or desire. She 
 was a creature of society, who had no relish for solitude* Hers 
 was an external world wholly, the interior of which she had no 
 care to penetrate. To pass the hours gayly, and to snatch pauses 
 of rest under green trees and rosy enclosures, gently waving in 
 the sweet breezes of the southwest ; to awaken to new strains of 
 mandolin and guitar, and to the gay prattle of new companions, all 
 as eager after sport, in sunshine or shade, as herself; to fill her 
 little mouth with sun-purpled fruits, plucking them as she desired ; 
 
326 THE CASRIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and to feel herself a favorite of favorite people, though she taxed 
 them with no greater care than that of providing her amusements : 
 this was the all of life she knew, or cared to know. She designed 
 no conquests, and never troubled herself with a solitary feeling 
 of jealousy toward those who made them. But she loved homage 
 nevertheless, though never seeking to secure it ; simply, perhaps, 
 because accustomed to it from her earliest consciousness, it had 
 become a sort of necessity with her nature, rather than any cra 
 ving of her heart. She no more anticipated the purposes and 
 policies of the lady of fashion, accustomed in town-life to a per 
 petual struggle, with equally active rivals, after the means and 
 objects of social display, than she conceived any idea of coquetry, 
 conquest, or flirtation. She had only a child-fancy, which is sat 
 isfied to chase a butterfly, and many butterflies ! 
 
 Still less could she apprehend that she was to be specially cho 
 sen as a victim, the better to afford a rival the means of victimi 
 zing another. Little did she dream the subtle mazes with which 
 social cunning was prepared to invest her heart and person ; little 
 fancy the means which were meant to corrupt the one, and possi 
 bly degrade the other. Had it been possible for her infantile and 
 unsophisticated mind to conceive the wicked purposes which were 
 already at work for her reception the deep, sinister passions 
 which were to be put in play against her peace and purity she 
 would, childlike and silly as she was, have recoiled with horror, 
 rather than have rushed with delight into the specious and pleas 
 ing circle which opened its arms wide for her reception. 
 
 But, as Calvert very well knew, she was not a person to con 
 ceive of such dangers ; and there was no mode which reason might 
 choose, which could enlighten her understanding upon the subject. 
 She could be taught only through her instincts and sensibilities ; 
 and she must live the experience by which alone she could learn. 
 She has entered upon the experience already; but her very sim 
 plicity is, in some degree, her security as much against suspicion 
 as against real danger. 
 
 We have seen what was her reception by the interesting Mrs. 
 Perkins Anderson. That very clever woman was solicitous to 
 make the most favorable impression upon her guest. Of course, 
 Zulieme expected kindness, and a friendly welcome. But even 
 her Spanish mode of exalted and superb compliment, which puts 
 
INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 327 
 
 houae, home, horses, and servants, all at the disposal of the new 
 comer, was surpassed in the lavish warmth of Mrs. Anderson s 
 embrace and caresses. No care was foreborne, no consideration 
 spared, to make the guest feel that she had only to will or wish, 
 and be gratified. She was stifled with kisses ; she was over 
 whelmed with compliments ; and the extravagant raptures of the 
 hostess naturally enkindled all her own. The former could not 
 sufficiently satiate her eyes, gazing upon the charms of her guest. 
 She was so sweet, so delicate, so exquisite, a little thing ; such a 
 fairy; with such eyes, such hair such a wilderness of hair! 
 With her own hands, Mrs. Perkins Anderson, with the prettiest 
 playfulness, undid the masses of glossy, raven richness, from the 
 tiara of jewels which bound them up, and let them fall to the very 
 floor. And she made Zulieme stand upon the hair, that she might 
 be able to boast that she had seen it with her own eyes. 
 
 And what hands what feet ! How tiny, and how beautifully 
 formed ! 
 
 She measured the hands with her own. She persisted in pulling 
 off the slippers of Zulieme, and her stockings, that she might see 
 the feet ! Such tiny feet ! She half suspected that the girl had 
 been subjected to some Chinese process, and that the feet had 
 been made small at the expense of their symmetry. But, no ! 
 they were perfect the very feet of the fairy Nymphalina ! 
 
 " What a sylph !" she cried. " Oh, how Harry Calvert must 
 love you, dear Zulieme !" 
 
 " He love me? No ! He don t care about pretty hair, or little 
 feet, or little women !" said Zulieme, poutingly. 
 
 "Oh! my dear, you must be mistaken. Harry Cal vert s a 
 person of good taste. He could never be so stupid as to look with 
 indifference upon such charms as yours !" 
 
 " But he does ! He do n t love me at all." And the pout grew 
 more positive. 
 
 " Indeed ! who does he love, then ?" curiously. 
 
 " Nobody. He s one of your fierce, fighting, English brutes, 
 as I constantly call him, who takes pleasure in nothing but the 
 Bulks. He s a savage ; and so cross, sometimes, that I m afraid 
 he ll eat me up! Oh, no! he has no love in him for any 
 body." 
 
 " I know better ! He must love you. " 
 
328 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 " No, I tell you ! He does not. Everybody loves me better 
 than Harry. 9 
 
 "Ah! you don t you can not think so! But in truth, my. 
 dear, one s husband is not expected to be one s lover, you know." 
 
 "But why not? Why shouldn t Harry love me as other peo 
 ple love me ?" 
 
 " Perhaps he loves you much better ?" 
 
 "Why can t he show it, then, as other people do?" 
 
 " Oh ! husbands, my dear child, are not expected to do so. 
 They, at least, seem to think so. For they have ways of their 
 own for showing affection, and I suppose these ways may be the 
 better ones." 
 
 " I do n t think so. I would like Harry to show me as much 
 love as anybody else, and more ! But, look you, Charlotte, don t 
 you be calling me child. I begged you once before. Don t you 
 do it again ; I do n t like it. I m not a child I m a young 
 woman." 
 
 "But where s the harm, dear Zulieme?" 
 
 "I don t know that there s any harm. But I m afraid child 
 means * fool, or something like it, in your hard English language ; 
 for whenever Harry s vexed with me, he always calls me child 
 a mere child ; and I know that must mean fool, or something 
 quite as ugly." 
 
 " Well, dear, I won t call you so again. But why should Harry 
 ever be vexed with you ? What do you do, or say, to make him 
 vexed with you ? It does seem to me that it would be monstrous 
 to be angry with so sweet a creature as you are." 
 
 " And why not ? Do you think, because I m small and young, 
 I can t make people angry ? I make Harry angry every day ; 
 and he does look so grand when he s angry ! but he frightens 
 me too." 
 
 And the pretty child for child she was, and perhaps would 
 remain so a thousand years gave a lively narration of some of 
 her most startling freaks, such as had, frequently enough, driven 
 the stern Harry Calvert from his propriety. Charlotte Anderson 
 laughed merrily at the recital, clapped her hands, and appeared 
 wondrously deb ghted. Of course, she understood the whole mys 
 tery, from the simple revelation. 
 
 " Excellent, my dear, excellent ! How you must have worried 
 
INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 329 
 
 the formidable captain ! I can fancy the whole scene : you laugh 
 ing at the mischief done, and he storming. Comedy and tragedy 
 on the same boards. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Admirable !" 
 
 " It was no laughing matter, I can tell you ; though I did laugh 
 all the time ! But I trembled, I can assure you, even though I 
 laughed. I knew he could only kill me, at the most " 
 
 "Kill you! What an idea!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed! Harry s anger kills sometimes. He s one of 
 your terrible English brutes, I tell you ; but I know, if I can 
 only get behind him, and throw my arms round his neck, it s all 
 over. And then he pushes me off so gently ; and I sometimes 
 think, he looks so sorrowful, that he s going to cry! Bui don t 
 you believe he cries : he never sheds a tear ! I sometimes think, 
 if he would cry a little, he d laugh more ! But he won t laugh, 
 and he won t cry, and I do n t know what to make of him except 
 that he don t love me." 
 
 " That s the way, I fancy, with all husbands. They expend 
 all their passion in winning our young affections, and think, per 
 haps, they have done enough for us. Some of them seek other 
 women, and give them the love that is the right only of their 
 wives. You don t suppose, do you, that Harry Calvert loves any 
 other woman ?" 
 
 " He love ! No, I tell you ! He loves nobody. It s ridicu 
 lous to think of such as he loving anybody." 
 
 "Not even himself?" 
 
 " Not even himself ! He fights, so Lieutenant Eccles told me, 
 just as if he wanted some bullet to kill him. He runs his head 
 just where the danger is worst. And he fears no danger. I ve 
 seen him myself, more than once, where I thought he was trying 
 to be killed. But he don t feel or fear, and nothing hurts him." 
 
 " Is he, then, so desperate ? Poor Harry ! But I must not 
 pity him, if he does not pity you. Still, I can t do him the injus 
 tice to think that he does not love you. I m sure he loves you 
 much more than you imagine. But he is like thousands who have 
 the feelings they know not how to show." 
 
 " Oh ! Harry could show them if he pleased. There s no per 
 son so quick to feel. He can change in a moment, like lightning ; 
 and he shows you, very soon, that he feels every change. He 
 sees, too, every change in your feelings. But, Charlotte dear> 
 
330 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 something s wrong with Harry. His heart has had some sad 
 hurts. He used to speak of a person " 
 
 " Ah ! a lady ?" 
 
 " Yes. Her name was Olive." 
 
 " Olive ? ah ! indeed Olive !" 
 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson had advanced one step in her knowl 
 edge. 
 
 "Olive who?" 
 
 " He never told me any more ; and that he told me when he 
 was out of his head with fever, and when I nursed him." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard of your nursing. He owes you much, 
 Zulieme." 
 
 " Well, he loved this Lady Olive very much. He told it all 
 when he was raving." 
 
 " Lady Olive ? Ah ! and what then ? What became of 
 
 In a whisper, drawing close to the eager listener : 
 
 " She was false to him ! She ran away with another man, and 
 Harry never could hear of her again ; and since then he s been 
 the same cold, passionless Harry that you see him now and he 
 loves nobody, I tell you !" 
 
 " Not even you ?" with a smile. 
 
 " Not even me !" with a sigh. 
 
 " But why did he marry ycm, then, or why did you marry him, 
 if you knew all this ?" 
 
 " I do n t know, really ! Somehow, I thought it would be pleas 
 ant to be Harry s wife ; and he asked me one day, and I said 
 * Yes. We were playing in the orange-grove." 
 
 " He playing ! I should as soon think of an elephant or lion 
 dancing to the castanets." 
 
 * Oh, but he can dance, I tell you ! When I said playing, I 
 should rather say that I was playing with him, and he suffered 
 it. Now I think of it, it could be no humor of play that he was 
 in, for he spoke most wofully all the time. He was very sad, and 
 very changeful ; and his man, Jack Belcher, said he was afraid 
 his master would go mad ! And so I said I would marry him, 
 and so it was." 
 
 " And there was no love in the matter ? You only married 
 him that he should n t go mad ?" 
 
INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 331 
 
 " Oh ! yes, indeed, there was love. I love Harry ; and is n t 
 he a noble-looking fellow to love? I like to look at him, even 
 though he scares me ; and even when he looks at me with a growl, 
 like the great English brute that he is ! But what I mean to say 
 is, that he do n t love me as I love him and, indeed, do n t love 
 me at all ! And sometimes I feel as if I could run away from 
 him, and go back to the old hacienda at Panama, and never see 
 him any more ! Everybody there loves me." 
 
 " And they will love you here, Zulieme. You will find many 
 to love you as you never were loved before. Nay, you will have 
 to be quite watchful of your little heart ; for there are some cava 
 liers here, who are the very handsomest and pleasantest persons 
 in the world who dress divinely, and are at the very head of 
 fashion. They come of the best English families ; they are fa 
 miliar with the royal court ; have danced with princesses and 
 duchesses ; and, no doubt, enjoyed many a stolen kiss from lips 
 that claimed royal blood in every vein, and perhaps had their 
 brute husbands besides. I warn you, you will have to take care 
 of your little heart, or they will teach you how to love as you 
 never knew before ; and how to cheat love with the sweetest sort 
 of vengeance ! You may lind some of these young cavaliers irre 
 sistible." 
 
 " Oh ! I do n t think so. I Ve seen many fine cavaliers in my 
 time. I ve danced with hundreds." 
 
 " Mexicans ?" 
 
 There may have been something of a sneer in the tone of Mrs. 
 Anderson, as she uttered the single word. The other seemed to 
 fancy it, for she replied quickly, sharply, and proudly 
 
 " Spaniards ! Castilians, Charlotte ; and the most beautiful 
 dressers and dancers." 
 
 " Ah ! but the cavaliers of the court of the gallant King Charles 
 are, I tell you, irresistible. They Ve seen the world of France 
 and the world of Spain, and they ve made the court of England 
 the most gallant of all the courts of Christendom. You ll see 
 some of them here. And such fine fellows ! Why, dear Zulieme, 
 they have no other business than making love and winning hearts. 
 Their days and nights are spent in this employment entirely ; and 
 practice should make perfect, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson, whom we do not care to repeat in do- 
 
332 THE OASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 tail, dilated upon her present theme to the utmost. Her purpose 
 was to excite the wonder of her auditor, and to familiarize her 
 mind with those pretty and pleasant freedoms of the sexes with 
 which the court of Charles had made the whole world familiar. 
 In this progress she gave an entirely new notion of the privileges 
 of the sexes, to any which Zulieme had hitherto known. She 
 laughed at the authority of husbands as legitimate ; denounced 
 their tyrannies, as at war with all natural rights ; and the tyran 
 nies of law, which sought to degrade the sex into an inferior con 
 dition ; sneered at the marriage-bond as a mere superstition, which 
 the despotism of the man alone sought to sustain, and in behalf of 
 which he had subsidized the priesthood, who. as she said, were 
 themselves sufficiently men to desire all the privileges of the 
 sterner gender. She described the delights of that easier sort of 
 virtue which suffers to both sexes those freedoms which the pas 
 sions naturally desire. She insisted upon the legitimacy of the 
 Passions, as asserting Nature, in opposition to the mere arbitrary 
 laws of society. She referred to all the animal tribes, which ac 
 knowledged no other law, and were happy accordingly ; and she 
 found the human race sufficiently analogous with the animal to 
 justify for it the assertion of a like liberty. In short, she antici 
 pated a very great deal of the popular argument, now freely in 
 use, upon these subjects. The topic is no new one now-a-days; 
 nor are the arguments a discovery, on the part of those wise wo 
 men of the East, who are for setting up for themselves, to the 
 subjugation of the homelier sex. The doctrines and the logic 
 employed are as old as humanity itself, and are the natural doc 
 trines and arguments of the passions, the lusts, and the vanities, 
 of a people. Suffer them to decide in their own case, and the 
 same result is reached in all periods of time namely, prostitu 
 tion ! 
 
 " Marriage," quoth Mrs. Perkins Anderson, " where there is no 
 love, is only a legal prostitution." 
 
 Suppose we admit the fact with the lady what then ? The 
 act of marriage is in most cases a purely voluntary one. It was 
 so in her case. Reject, if you please, the religious aspect of the 
 rite, and regard it only as a civil contract, with all its understood 
 conditions ; and she is as much bound by it as if the deed were 
 registered in heaven ! 
 
INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 333 
 
 But she was not questioned by Zulieme on this head, or upon 
 Any head. Zulieme was no logician. The simple girl listened, 
 but with some degree of weariness. She did not much compre 
 hend the matter, and did not care to do so. It was enough if she 
 could sport and play. Beyond this she had no strong passion or 
 appetite, so working in her blood or bosom as to persuade her 
 into any interest in the mental abstractions by which its exercise 
 was to be justified. It was there ; she had it ; and it justified its 
 right to be there by its simple exercise, irrespective of all other 
 motive or consideration. She herself needed no argument which, 
 justifying the passion, sought really to legitimate its excesses ; 
 and, the truth told, she listened, or only appeared to listen, to her 
 experienced Mentor with some degree of impatience. She thought 
 to herself : 
 
 " All this is very fine, very well said ; Mrs. Anderson is a very 
 smart woman certainly knows a great many things; but, is she 
 not rather tedious in her eloquence ?" 
 
 She had to endure a good deal of it. When people like Mrs. 
 Anderson fancy they can be eloquent, and are apt at saying clever 
 things, they are very prone to grow wearisome. The hourly iter 
 ation distressed the more capricious mind of Zulieme ; and her 
 hostess soon learned to discover when the little Spaniard 
 caught up her jewels and began playing with them, or began to 
 open her trunks and display her dresses, that the period was 
 reached when her homilies should cease. She was wise enough 
 to stop on such occasions, and begin to play the child herself, 
 rather than the Mentor. 
 
 But she contrived, in these repeated talks, to make the ears if 
 not the understanding of Zulieme familiar with the loose social 
 principles which she sought to inculcate as preparatory to her 
 objects. Her themes were, the wrongs of married women ; the 
 brutality and selfishness of husbands ; the unreasonableness of the 
 marriage rite and bond, as inconsistent with the freedom of the 
 heart. She taught that love implied perfect liberty, and lost its 
 qualities and character unless this liberty was enjoyed; that wo 
 men had a perfect right to correct their mistakes of choice in 
 marriage, and that society required nothing more from them than 
 a modest reserve, which avoided all publicity, in the correction of 
 such mistakes. And, in these lessons, many others were taught, 
 
334 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the details of which might have startled even so obtuse a mind as 
 that of Zulieme Calvert, had they been delivered in less oracular 
 and circumspect phraseology. Mrs. Anderson was a little too 
 metaphysical, in her forms of speech and thought, to descend to 
 the mere instincts of the girl, through which alone could her un 
 derstanding be reached. The lessons were too frequently thrown 
 away. 
 
 But they were given, nevertheless, and enforced too, by the 
 freedoms which the guest witnessed in the household. Of these 
 we shall say nothing at present, unless by an example which oc 
 curred during the second week after Zulieme s arrival in town. 
 It was after a long talk, as usual, meant to enlighten the young 
 lady on the privileges which the sex might safely enjoy, if sought 
 on conditions of proper secresy, that Zulieme showed her weari 
 ness, as on previous occasions, by opening her trunks and jewel- 
 cases, and getting out her toys. The two were in her chamber. 
 The weather was growing hot. Zulieme was in her simplest 
 deshabille, and had thrown herself upon the floor, the better to 
 assort and arrange her wardrobe. Mrs. Anderson was not well 
 pleased that her eloquence should be thrown away, and she was 
 even then in one of her best passages ; but, making a merit of the 
 necessity, she accommodated herself to the temper of her guest, 
 threw herself on the floor beside her, and began to examine the 
 dresses with as eager an air of childhood as the other. 
 
 But suddenly a thought seized her. A flash of memory opened 
 a new plan of strategics. She started up. 
 
 " I long to look at your pretty things, Zulieme. You have so 
 many, and they are so beautiful ! But not here ; it is so hot ic 
 this chamber at this hour. Let us go below to the parlor. It is 
 the coolest room in the house. Guy can bring down your trunks, 
 and we will go over them below. And we must be doing some 
 thing, by-the-way, toward the masquerade, you know." 
 
 She began gathering up the dresses as she spoke, and huddled 
 them back into the trunks ; and, seizing upon the case of jewels, 
 she led the way, Zulieme following without apprehension. Guy, 
 an able-bodied negro, was sent up to bring down the luggage. 
 This was brought into the front parlor, a very prettily-furnished 
 room for the time and country, and one of fair dimensions even 
 in modern periods, though the house, like all others in Charleston 
 
INITIATION OF THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 335 
 
 at that day, was of wood, and by no means imposing in its size 
 or architecture. 
 
 Very soon, the contents of trunks and jewel-cases were scat 
 tered over the whitely-matted floor, and the two ladies stretched 
 beside them, buried in that study which, to a certain few of the 
 sex, is supposed to be so very attractive. There was a great 
 deal in Zulieme s wardrobe to attract Mrs. Anderson. Never was 
 city belle, even in the days of " Nothing to Wear," so well pro 
 vided with a wholesome variety. Silks and satins, of the riches* 
 hues and most delicate textures, were in abundance. There were 
 dresses not made up ; shawls and scarfs, kerchiefs, lawns, and 
 laces, at every moment caught the eye and provoked the admira 
 tion of the fashionable lady. 
 
 " Bless my soul, Zulieme, what lots and loves of things you 
 have! You can never wear them all. Here s enough for a dozen 
 women, and to last them a dozen years. And it s well that so 
 much remain untouched. Plow could you have kept these silks 
 without making them up? I m sure I never should have been 
 satisfied till I had tried myself in every color. That is a great 
 secret of beauty, my dear. One never knows what will suit a 
 complexion till she tries. That green will be most becoming to 
 you. You would be a queen in it ; and we must devise some 
 thing, out of that very silk, for your bal costume. You should be 
 a queen of fairies, and shall be. Dear me, there s no end to 
 them! Don t tell me that Calvert doesn t love you, when he 
 furnishes your wardrobe with such extravagance." 
 
 " He does n t furnish me. I just take what I want." 
 
 " Take ! How ? Where do you get them ?" 
 
 " Out of the stores." 
 
 " As we do here : you mean the shops ?" 
 
 " Shops ? no ! I mean the ship." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! I understand. What a grand thing it must be to 
 get your dresses in that way ! No wonder you have so many. 
 The only wonder is, that you did not take more. If twere me, 
 now, I should hardly leave the ship without taking off half her 
 cargo. But isn t it still a loving husband who lets you take as 
 you please V 
 
 Oh ! Harry don t care. He don t value these things." 
 
 " Or any things : even so nice a little thing as yourself, Zulierae." 
 
336 THE CABSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Not a bit ! Harry s a strange sort of English brute, you 
 know ; but he lets me do as I please with myself." 
 
 " But not with him ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! Sometimes I do." 
 
 " Now, if he would let you do as you please with him as well 
 
 as yourself, one might think that he had some love for you 
 
 Dear me, what a glorious scarf ! I never saw anything so rich. 
 I should look like a queen myself in that scarf." 
 
 " Do !" and Zulieme threw it over her neck ; and the portly 
 beauty rose and strode before the mirror with delight. She came 
 back after a few moments, and laid it down with a sigh. 
 
 " Hide it from my sight, Zulieme. It is too beautiful too 
 tempting." 
 
 " No ! I mean it for you." And she restored it. " Wear it. 
 Charlotte, you do look so fine in it." 
 
 " And you mean it for me, Zulieme ?" cried the other. " You 
 are so good !" 
 
 And the heart of the vain woman half revolted at the role she 
 had resolved to play, in her relations with the simple creature. 
 
 " Yes," said Zulieme. " And here is more, Charlotte, that will 
 better suit you than me. There is a silk : it will make a beauti 
 ful dress, and match the scarf. But, somehow, I don t like the 
 shade; it don t suit me now. I wonder why I took it. And 
 here s a maroon. Do you like maroon ? I don t. Take that 
 and that, too, Charlotte." 
 
 " No, I won t ! You are too generous, child. I won t rob you 
 BO!" 
 
 " Rob me ! Why, I meant several of these things for you, 
 when I came. Harry bade me choose them for you." 
 
 " Then they are his presents, not yours !" 
 
 " Yes ! I never would have thought of it, Charlotte. But 
 Harry, he thinks of everything." 
 
 " A strange husband, that your Harry and not so bad after 
 all." 
 
 " Bad ! Harry bad ? No, indeed ! Harry s as good a man as 
 ever wore a hat. It s only that he s such a monster, that I quar 
 rel with him. He s such a great English brute, and so grand !" 
 
 Charlotte laughed at the child s contradictions of speech, but 
 did not seek to reconcile them. And so, for awhile, the chat con- 
 
INITIATION OP THE YOUNG BEGINNER. 337 
 
 tinned ; passing very soon into a discussion of the several charac 
 ters from which they might successfully choose for the approach 
 ing masquerade, and how the dresses were to be made up. 
 
 Into these details, Heaven forefend that we should enter ! We 
 half forget, indeed, whether we have said enough, in previous 
 pages, to apprize the reader of that great event with which the 
 fashionable Mrs. Perkins Anderson was preparing to confound 
 the simple natives of Charleston. 
 
 It was to be the first affair of the kind on Ashley river. Let 
 this fact be remembered. Of course, it was to be a sensational 
 affair; Mrs. Anderson being resolved, by this one superlative 
 effort, to take the wind out of all other fashionable sails, and estab 
 lish her own superior going, as a vessel of the greatest fow-nage ! 
 Calvert s jewels, and Zulieme s silks and satins, were calculated, 
 in great degree, to render the affair successful. 
 
 It was while the two were prostrate on the floor, immersed in 
 these rainbow varieties of silk and splendor the matting liter 
 ally overstrewn with colors, and the pair of tongues eager in their 
 discussion that the door was opened wide, and, simultaneously 
 with the announcement of his name, the Honorable Keppel Craven 
 abruptly made his appearance in the room ! 
 
 15 
 
888 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 HEADS OR TAILS. 
 
 " We 11 take the cast of Fortune on our fate, 
 And he who wins shall pledge himself to bide 
 In friendship with the loser ; he who fails, 
 Do service to the conqueror. So shall both 
 Profit, through loss ; and gain itself become 
 Joint capital for those who, paired with love, 
 Know free division of the common gain." Old Play. 
 
 THE Honorable Keppel Craven was a younger son. He had 
 nothing beyond his airs, graces, and good looks, of which properly 
 to boast. He had no lands, no possessions, no funds, upon which 
 a creditor could lay hands. But he was a courtier ; not ill-look 
 ing, and with all that current change of conversation, about people 
 and society, which constitutes the sufficient capital for a man of 
 fashion. 
 
 He was not a wit, but he was chatty ; not wise, but he had 
 seen something of a certain sort of pretentious and self-satisfied 
 world ; with scarcely an accomplishment beyond fiddling and 
 dancing, but these things he could do with very considerable dex 
 terity. He was impudent as the devil, and almost as much a 
 gentleman, in the ordinary courtier sense of the term. He had a 
 smooth face, with slight yellow mustache, and fine, curling, amber- 
 colored hair, which he kept well oiled for conquest. He wore a 
 profusion of the love-locks of the period, of the tresses of which, 
 resting upon his shoulders, he was not a little vain. 
 
 Suppose him in the well-laced coat and purple and pantoufiled 
 small-clothes of the time ; with half-drowsy, half-smiling eyes, and 
 a fashionable lisp ; with long rapier and well-pointed shoes and 
 you have the whole of him. 
 
HEADS OR TAILS. 339 
 
 We may add that some irregularities at a gaming-table had 
 been the occult occasion for sending him off to the colonies ; and 
 that, as a nephew of one of the lords-proprietors, he had honored 
 Carolina with his choice, in preference to Barbadoes and a market. 
 
 The world was his market at the present moment ; and his 
 wits and beauties, airs and graces, were the all-sufficient capital 
 with which he had entered it for the nonce. 
 
 He had seen Zulieme, briefly, at the ballroom of Mrs. Calder 
 Carpenter, the night before. A whisper of Mrs. Perkins Ander 
 son had brought him, for the renewal of his acquaintance, the 
 next day. He was one of the irresistibles of that lady. She was 
 orerpowered with his fashionable claims, and conquered by his 
 pretension. It was in full expectation of his visit that she had 
 caused the trunks of her guest to be brought down to a reception- 
 room. She had already enjoyed such a glimpse of Zulieme s 
 wardrobe, that she was not unwilling it should be seen by others. 
 She well knew that it would confirm the hints she had thrown out 
 of the wealth and treasures of her guest, who, it must be remem 
 bered, was a damsel, unmarried, unencumbered (save by wealth), 
 and the heiress, in her own right, of half the silver-mines of 
 Mexico ! 
 
 The bait naturally took, and the Honorable Keppel Craven 
 was an early morning caller. 
 
 He was not the only one, we may add, par parenthese, to whom 
 Mrs. Anderson had indicated the same pleasant lures ; for she 
 was one of those ladies who always provide, if they can, extra 
 strings to their bows seeking to secure as many beaux in her 
 string as it can comfortably draw. 
 
 But of the full resources of Mrs. Anderson, on her own and the 
 account of Zulieme, we must suffer events and time to make their 
 own report at the proper season. Enough, here, to admit that 
 the Honorable Keppel Craven is not the person whom she espe 
 cially hopes to secure as an ally in her design upon the simple 
 Zulieme. The most formidable of King Charles s cavaliers, in the 
 sight of Mrs. Anderson, is the Honorable Mr. Cornwall Cavendish, 
 a scion of the noble English family of that name ; a gallant even 
 more comely and commanding than Craven ; not relying so much 
 on oil and scent, but not the less accomplished in beguiling a 
 young damsel out of the proprieties. 
 
340 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Cornwall Cavendish was, like Craven, a rake-helly and a black 
 guard, after the genteel school of English fashion ; cunning as a 
 serpent, winning as a dove, and capricious as a cock-sparrow. 
 They were birds of a feather ; and, though the plumage of Cav 
 endish was less showy than that of Craven, he was not a whit 
 more distinguished for sobriety. They were both birds of prey ; 
 not after the fashion of eagle and hawk, but of the type of those 
 garden-birds that tear up the seeds as you plant them, and wage 
 devouring war upon the insect tribes : to whom a glossy, wriggling 
 worm, if painted outside, is a bonne louche ; and who will resort 
 to a thousand circumventions for the conquest of a golden butterfly 
 or beetle ! They could be earnest enough in such a pursuit, 
 though, in all other matters, triflers ; but the worm, beetle, or but 
 terfly, must be golden ! 
 
 " Either will do !" was the murmured thought of Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson, after duly advising both of the prize in her keeping. 
 
 " Either will do ! Both have the proper arts for winning their 
 way with such a creature ; and, if they succeed, why, what pre 
 vents my conquest of Harry Calvert ? He loves her now. after a 
 fashion ; respects her, at all events, as he has faith in her fidelity. 
 She is his toy, no doubt the mere plaything of his fancy; but 
 the fancy of such a man requires that his playthings shall not be 
 common ! Their wheels must not be set in motion by the hands 
 of other men. Let him once see that she is frail, and he whistles 
 her off with scorn ; and then ! ay, then ? 
 
 " He must have refuge in some affections somewhere! Men 
 are so far dependent upon women, that, however stern or earnest 
 whatever their cares or sorrows the very proudest of them 
 must seek a refuge in our sex, whether for passion or play. And 
 he is not superior to the rest of his tribe. Pie will turn to me! 
 He has seen that I prefer him ; and, however he may disguise 
 the feeling from himself satisfied as he is, at present, with this 
 toy of a woman the discovery did not displease him. No ! his 
 vanity was interested, I am sure, in spite of his woes and virtues. 
 And that vanity, so soon as he finds out the weakness of the one 
 creature, whom he now values chiefly for her fidelity, will bring 
 him to me ! 
 
 "Ah! I know him know his sex thoroughly, and do not de 
 spair to conquer his stubbornness, so soon as this pretty child is 
 
HEADS OR TAILS. 341 
 
 out of liis thought and sight. Let them carry her off one or 
 t otli -v, it matters not which and I leave the rest to Fortune! 
 Harry will not fail me then ! He will not look with indifference 
 upon a person " 
 
 And the rest of the sentence was supplied mutely, by a gratified 
 reference to the mirror. 
 
 " Ay," she resumed. " I will have him to myself all ! He 
 if. not capricious. J can love him ! I feel that his earnestness 
 of soul is not a whit superior to mine. I can appreciate his man 
 hood ; can sympathize with his sorrows ; can forgive him that he 
 has ever loved another with so much devotion ; and gradually win 
 him to forget the ruined past, in a present in which he will find a 
 soul responsive to his own. 
 
 " Meanwhile, this struggle for the fair Zulieme binds these two 
 fashionable cavaliers to my circle. They have been shy hitherto. 
 They are now mine. How it will mortify that silly but insolent 
 Mrs. Calder Carpenter ! How it will vex and worry that stale 
 old graybeard, that looks like Hecate, just after getting in a new 
 set of teeth, Mrs. Andrew Beresford ! Anyhow, the affair must 
 be a success. I have shot the arrow home : let us hope soon for 
 all the sports of the chase !" 
 
 The hints of Mrs. Anderson to our two gallants were confirmed 
 by the impressions made by Zulieme herself. She had taken the 
 fashionables of Charleston by storm. Her infantile beauty ; her 
 picturesque costume for she wore her Spanish dresses, and 
 could not be persuaded to adopt the English ; the piquancy of 
 her simplicity ; the unqualified abandon of her manner ; her naiveti 
 of remark and reply, and the splendor of her jewels, had effectu 
 ally done the work : and there was quite a furore among all par 
 ties, in consequence. The gallants were wild with feverish hopes ; 
 the leaders of the ton coerced to conciliation by the overwhelm 
 ing advent of wealth and beauty ; and Zulieme was a foreigner 
 a rich foreigner a beautiful foreigner: her prestige was estab 
 lished in the first hour of her appearance upon the scene ! 
 
 " T is distance lends enchantment to the view." That nobody 
 could say exactly what she was, or who she was ; could refer to 
 no doubtful antecedents, no qualifying associations ; must receive 
 her just as she was, with the luminous halo of the remote and 
 vague about her beauty : this, itself, was a sufficient cause for the 
 
342 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 rapidity with which she produced her effects. And when the 
 beauty and the wealth seemed equally unquestionable, they natu 
 rally became exaggerated. 
 
 Mr. Keppel Craven was in ecstatics ; Mr. Cornwall Cavendish 
 in raptures ; both equally eager in expectation, and equally re 
 solved on her conquest. 
 
 They returned together from the party where they had encoun 
 tered this cynosure of love and beauty. They lodged together ; 
 and, though understood rivals at the first moment of their discov 
 ery of the treasure, they communed together of the prize, and of 
 the manner in which it was to be won. They were not suffi 
 ciently deep in passion to be angry with each other. They were 
 only deep in expectation and policy. 
 
 They reached their lodgings in a feverish state of excitement; 
 flushed with wine as well as fancy ; exhilarated, happy, unappre 
 hensive ; and each exulting in the degree of favor which had beer 
 shown him by the artless subject of their raptures. 
 
 " By Venus the victorious, a prize !" cried Mr. Keppel Craven, 
 as he flung himself, at length, along the cane settee of the cham 
 ber, and summoned his servant. Cavendish had entered the 
 room with him, and disposed of his person on a lounge opposite. 
 The servani entered ; and Craven kicked off his shoes, while the 
 lacquey cased his feet in gold-and-velvet slippers, and brought him 
 a loose robe de chambre, for which he exchanged his silken coat. 
 
 "And now, John, bring us a bowl of punch, dem d strong, and 
 devilish sweet, and piquantly sour! Nothing but punch, Corn 
 wall, after such a night : the sweet, the strong, and the sour - 
 the all of wedlock and the honeymoon !" 
 
 " Sits the wind in that quarter with you, Keppel ?" 
 
 " The moon, rather. I am moonstruck ! That Spaniard is my 
 Luna ! I will worship her after a witch-fashion, though I ride on 
 a broomstick for ever after !" 
 
 " Look you, John, put more of the sour than the sweet into 
 your master s punch ; he will have nausea else," said Cavendish, 
 with a leer. 
 
 John, by-the-way, is the prescriptive name for an Englishman s 
 body-servant. The fellow who waits on this occasion had been 
 christened Richard. One of his great-grandsons is now a member 
 of Congress, and looks to the presidency. 
 
HKADS OR TAILS. 343 
 
 John, alias Richard, grinned and disappeared. The punch was 
 prepared in a jiffy, and strong tumblers of the liquor were soon 
 in the hands of the two gallants. 
 
 " The Mexican gold-mine !" quoth Craven ; " and the diamonds 
 and diamond-eyes of the new jewel of Golconda, the beautiful 
 Zulieme de Montano !" 
 
 " Good ! and a fair wind and open sea to the brave fellow who 
 shall carry her off! replied his companion. 
 
 "Ecce homo!" responded Craven, as he threw himself back 
 upon the settee, and lifted his goblet in air. 
 " You, Keppel ? you ! 
 
 "Why not? That excellent Mrs. Perkins Anderson has al 
 ready felicitated me upon my progress to conquest." 
 
 " Egad ! she has been equally bountiful to me. She specially 
 complimented me upon the impression I had made." 
 
 " The devil she did ! The arch-serpent ! Why, Cornwall, had 
 you heard her, you would have sworn that the game was already 
 won." 
 
 " And, by Juno whom I suspect to be something of a widow 
 bewitched she gave me to understand, in the fullest number of 
 words, that I had proved myself irresistible; and, i faith, I am 
 free to say that the girl herself told me quite as much -r- with her 
 eyes, at least." 
 
 " With her eyes ? Oh, d n the eyes ! I must have it by word 
 of mouth. And I could almost swear that she gave me assu 
 rance " 
 
 " Oh, d n your assurance !" cried Cornwall ; " if it comes to 
 that, the evidence is absolutely worthless, however extravagant. 
 But your assurance will never do here. You have to win her 
 against a score of competitors ; and there are some, I fancy, Kep 
 pel, who will hold you to the full stretch of your tether in a love 
 as well as a steeple chase." 
 " You, for example eh ?" 
 
 " Yes, blister my fingers ! but I am man enough to do it. Look 
 you, Keppel, don t forget the affair of the lovely Jennings." 
 
 " P<haw ! will you never cease to harp upon that affair ? You 
 kissed her, you say : she boxed my ears, I know! But what fur 
 ther?" 
 
 u Deponent saith not !" 
 
844 THE CASSIQUE OF KIA\V i.H. 
 
 " For the marvellous reason that you have nothing more to 
 say ! But, even the kiss was only secured, I suspect, by Roches 
 ter s favor his contrivance, and her fright. He had been before 
 you, and wanted a cover." 
 
 " Suspect what you please, Keppel. Enough that I am satis 
 fied with the degree of happiness I have had with the Jennings." 
 
 " Well, that ought to content you, though I fancy you were 
 over-soon satisfied. Still, according to your own admission, you 
 have had enough of happiness for one life. Be content, and leave 
 this prize to me." 
 
 " In love, nothing contents while anything is to be won ! I 
 mean to yield the prize to nobody." 
 
 " Love ! what has love to do in the matter ?" demanded Cra 
 ven. 
 
 " Well, we use a certain word in the absence of any more ex 
 pressive. It is love, or it is lust, or it is matrimony which is 
 another name, I take it, for speculation in the funds." 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! are you there, Master Cornwall ? Have with you ! 
 You are, then, sufficiently satisfied wilh this Mexican damsel to 
 share the noose with her to marry, are you ?" 
 
 " There is no room for doubt. It seems to me that the proofs 
 are unquestionable. She is doubtless quite as rich as Mrs. An 
 derson reports her. Did you ever see such jewels ? They shone 
 upon her like the crown-jewels as I have seen them upon the 
 queen, and our own loving duchess." 
 
 " If not paste and crystal." 
 
 " They are not, I m sure ! I m rather a judge of what s good 
 water. 1 
 
 " Well, drink your punch, and refill. You linger over it as if 
 you thought it water only." 
 
 " I might have drunk more freely if I could think it less po 
 tent. But your fellow John has made it as strong as the devil !" 
 
 " So much the better, Master Cornwall. We are upon an ar 
 gument that requires strength. I agree with you thfit this beau 
 tiful Mexican wears jewels of the best water. I think it very 
 likely that the report of Mrs. Anderson is in great measure true, 
 and that she is an heiress not, perhaps, to the extent that she 
 reports, but she s rich enough, no doubt, for either of us ; and so 
 devilish pret/y, and so piquant, so peculiar, and so petite of evils 
 
HEADS OR TAILS. 345 
 
 choose the least, you know that, like you, sooner than not wear 
 such a treasure, I too am willing to take it with a noose." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! good ! It would almost compensate me for my own 
 defeat with the Mexican, to see you Benedict the married man. 
 "What a revolution what a transformation! You would never 
 show your face again in London." 
 
 "Would I not? Would you not? My dear Cornwall, mar 
 riage is a pill, the bitterness of which is soothed by the gilding ! 
 and who, in London, does not acknowledge that ? Why are we 
 here ?" 
 
 " True, true ! That is enough on that head ; but " 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, it has not come to marriage yet, with 
 either of us ; and may not, if we play our cards with proper dex 
 terity. This lovely Spanish creature seems a mere simpleton. 
 She wants love, and may think of matrimony ; but how if she is 
 satisfied with love alone ?" 
 
 " Precisely my thought. Women do not much care for matri 
 mony, anyhow, when they can get love. It is only in our d d 
 
 world of convention that too much love and too little matrimony 
 loses a woman position, while making the position of the man. 
 She evidently knows nothing of this. And these Spaniards of 
 Mexico are loose livers at the best. Money will satisfy the Church 
 at any time ; and where the Church shows herself unscrupulous, 
 the woman may well use all her liberty. She generally regulates 
 her moral when a simple creature like this by that of the 
 Church ; and we can surely find many good fathers in God, to 
 grant her absolution, when Love makes his plea with a money 
 bag in his fingers. I shall dodge matrimony, in this instance, if I 
 can and as long as I can !" 
 
 "But, if dodging will not suffice? if the simpleton should be 
 sagacious on this one score ?" 
 
 " Then, dem it ! swallow the physic as I may !" 
 
 " But you will swallow it ?" 
 
 " If I can do no better. I will have this Mexican lady of the 
 mines ! I will disembowel her Potosi ! I will revel in her charms 
 
 and ingots! I will end this d d long, degrading struggle in a 
 
 sphere, for maintenance in which I lack all the material essentials. 
 It is resolved that, par amours, or as a Benedict, I shall possess 
 
 15* 
 
346 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 this fair little prize, worth galleons and millions, the beautiful 
 Zulieme de Montano !" 
 
 " Good ! I like your spirit ; all the better, indeed, as I had just 
 come to the same resolution." 
 
 " You, Cornwall ? Impossible !" 
 
 "Yes, by Jupiter! Look you, Keppel, we are friends, and 
 must remain so; but friendship does not forbid honest rivalry. 
 I am without a guinea, more than will pay off absolute scores 
 from day to day. I can not afford to be generous ; but I am wil 
 ling to be just. Shall it be a fair contest between us ?" 
 
 " I had much rather there should be none at all !" 
 
 This was said somewhat sulkily. 
 
 " Ho ! there, John ! More punch !" as the fellow appeared 
 "and a cruetful, sharper and stronger than the last!" 
 
 For a few moments, the parties sank into a dubious fit of medi 
 tation ; but the punch was brought in, and John having disap 
 peared, the goblets were refilled, and the dialogue resumed 
 Keppel taking the parole : 
 
 " A contest between us, Cornwall, may defeat both parties ; and 
 I have as much need of the girl s gold as yourself, perhaps more. 
 We have neither of us anything to boast of in the way of surplus 
 funds. Besides, a contest is fatiguing; it exhausts me! You 
 have to be constantly on the watch, and constantly striving. I 
 confess to a preference for that fruit which does not require me to 
 climb the tree ; and, if I mistake not, you are not less averse to 
 useless effort than I am. Can we not avoid the struggle ?" 
 
 "I don t see how. My wits fail to conceive of any plan but 
 the one that of winning the Mexican if I can, and by any pro 
 cess ! I shall try to do this, by all the wits in my power. I am 
 not ill-looking, Keppel ; I have some wits ; I can be clever at an 
 answer ; and can do my impromptu as well as any man, with 
 twelve hours notice ! I dance, sing, play ; and, though I do not 
 relish fatiguing operations of any kind, yet, by Plutus, when a 
 silver-mine is the stake, I shall go through fire and water for it !" 
 
 " My resolution too, by Jove, rather than be defeated ! Well, 
 it comes to this : we are in each other s way. Now, there was an 
 old mode of removing an obstacle of this sort by resort to a short, 
 sharp cut-and-thrust. But, my dear Cornwall, we respect each 
 other s throats, do we not ?" 
 
HEADS OR TAILS. 847 
 
 " Most reverently, Keppel." 
 
 " If we both pursue this lady, one or other of us must be de 
 feated." 
 
 " Most logical conclusion !" 
 
 " You may console yourself with hope, as I do, that the unfor 
 tunate will be other than ourself; but, quien sale? as the Span 
 iard hath it. Who knows? I do not relish the idea of utter 
 defeat, nor do you. I dread, in the conflict between us, that both 
 will suffer. Now, 1 have a scheme to avoid this danger." 
 " Ah ! Deliver, my dear fellow !" 
 
 " Let us submit it to Fortune, beforehand, to decide which shall 
 woo the damsel first ; and he who wins, pays over to the other, 
 within three weeks after marriage, a round sum of ten thousand 
 pounds. Her estates can afford all of that ! With such a sum as 
 this, I should be reconciled to seeing the fair Zulieme de Mon 
 tana safely locked in your arms !" 
 
 " Admirably thought, and declared ! We are to throw the dice 
 for the lady or ten thousand pounds?" 
 " Precisely : that is the scheme." 
 
 " Good, Keppel ! and the losing party shall help the other, in 
 all possible ways, in the promotion of his object?" 
 
 " Granted, with one reservation : that his failure exonerates 
 the other, and leaves him free to the pursuit on his own account ?" 
 " A good proviso ! The dice ! the dice ! the dice ! Hither, 
 good John !" 
 
 " Do not be too impatient. You are challenging Fate, you 
 know ! Drink your punch ! Think, meanwhile, of your loss." 
 
 " My gains rather. The lady with the mines of Potosi, or ten 
 thousand pounds ! Any how, I shall be better off than now ! 
 Summon your man, and bid him bring forth the ivories !" 
 John, alias Richard, appeared at the summons. 
 " Pen, ink, and paper," said his master, the Honorable Keppel 
 Craven. 
 
 "What the devil do you want with pen, ink, and paper? 
 " To reduce the terms to writing." 
 
 " By Jupiter, you were born for a scrivener, rather than a 
 conqueror! But, be it so ! I accept the requisite n as a good 
 augury." 
 
 Craven wrote the other looked over the paper. 
 
348 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " You were not born for a scrivener, Keppel. I acquit you of 
 the imputation. As d d cramp a hand as that of a York 
 shire ploughman ! But men of noble blood are not to affect the 
 special virtues of a clerk." 
 
 " There : read sign !" 
 
 " All right !" said Cavendish, dashing his signature below the 
 writing. Craven followed him. 
 
 " A copy," said the former. 
 
 It was prepared and signed like the former, the order of the 
 signatures only being reversed. 
 
 " Will it need a witness ?" 
 
 " No ! pshaw ! no ! "We shall neither of us forswear the sig 
 nature. And now for the dice !" 
 
 John appeared as soon as he was summoned, bringing the dice- 
 box. 
 
 " Set it down. Avaunt, fellow ! begone ! We are at study on 
 the fate of nations." 
 
 John fled. 
 
 " Throw first, Corny," said Master Keppel Craven." 
 
 " What ! you begin to tremble, do you ? And well you may ! 
 I must throw first, you say ? Be it so ! There is no use in 
 hanging off, when one has agreed upon the play. And now, help 
 me, ye gods, who second bold hearts and gallant fortunes ! Help, 
 you especially who excel in the snares set for beauty Vulcan, 
 the net-flinger ! help me to victory !" 
 
 And, even as he spoke, he rolled forth the dice with a violence 
 and effort which were surely unnecessary after putting the affair 
 into the hands of Fate. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" roared Craven, not able to restrain his mirth. 
 " You are clearly no favorite with the gods. Three, four, one ! 
 No great shakes that, Corny !" 
 
 " No, indeed !" answered the other, sulkily. " But, better it if 
 you can, and don t stand grinning like a monkey !" 
 
 " Here s at you !" But the Honorable Keppel, striving to con 
 ceal his anxiety in a strained laughter, was slow to take up the 
 dice and box. The impatience of his companion, however, urged 
 him to the thr )w, which was nervously delivered. 
 
 " Venus the victorious !" he murmured, as he let the dice roll 
 gently from the box. He was the conqueror ! 
 
HEADS OR TAILS. 349 
 
 " Three, four, five ! Well, Keppel, you have the mine, and I 
 am to submit to ten thousand pounds !" 
 
 " Yes, my dear fellow, and be content. The lesson is your 
 own. For my part, I owe a pair of doves to Venus ! And now 
 sit down, swallow your punch, and let us proceed to the plan of 
 operations." 
 
 These we need not examine. The half-drunken rake-hellies 
 continued over the punch-bowl till dawn ; when John, alias Rich 
 ard, came to the relief of the parties, and, summoning the servant 
 of Cavendish, assisted Keppel Craven to his chamber, after hav 
 ing helped his brother-lacquey in a like service rejndered to Corn 
 wall. 
 
350 THE CASSIQUR OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " HIGH JINKS." 
 
 Puck. " Then will two at once woo one ; 
 That must needs be sport alone : 
 And these things do best please me 
 That befall preposterously." 
 
 Midsummer Night s Dream. 
 
 THE sudden entrance of the Honorable Mr. Craven was a com 
 plete surprise to the younger of the two ladies. The wily Mrs. 
 Anderson, who had fully expected her visiter, at that very hour, 
 put on, however, an admirable air of astonishment, which she did 
 not feel. 
 
 " Bless my soul, Mr. Craven, is it you ? Oh, what a sur 
 prise !" 
 
 " A not unpleasant one, I trust," answered the cavalier, gal 
 lantly kissing the extended hand of the lady. Zulieme looked 
 up, and laughed merrily. She never once changed her position 
 on the floor, or sought to change it. Her surprise was not one 
 of consternation or annoyance. It really did not concern her a 
 jot that she should be caught, by a gay courtier, lying at length 
 along the floor, immersed in silks, satins, and garments of peculiar 
 cut and fashion, for which gentlemen vainly conjecture the names 
 and uses. There were cases of jewels open, displaying their 
 brave contents thanks to the providence of Mrs. Anderson, 
 whose pretended curiosity had contrived to put on exhibition ev 
 ery article of magnificence and value which Zulieme s trunks con 
 tained : and she was rich. 
 
 As we have said, that ingenuous young creature never once 
 fancied any awkwardness in her situation ; never had the least 
 
"HIGH JINKS." 351 
 
 misgivings of its propriety. Nor need we, at present, entertain 
 any misgivings about her. 
 
 Of the mere grace of her attitude we can confidently speak. 
 She lay like another Titania the Titania of the opera-house, 
 perhaps, but still a Titania. She was grace itself, reclining on 
 luxury and ease ; that is, on one elbow, amid a pile of silks., her 
 head lifted, her eyes looking up merrily at the sudden visiter ; 
 while an enormous string of pearls, a yard or two in length, dou 
 bled over her right hand, fell around her half-naked arm, beauti 
 fully harmonizing with the exquisite skin, which was not too dark 
 to be left unenlivened by a warm current of healthy blood. 
 
 It must be admitted that, whether she was conscious of it or 
 not, the position of Zulieme was such as to leave exposed some 
 thing more of her ankles than is usually allowed to entreat the gaze 
 of discreet young gentlemen ; and, still further to confess, the dear 
 little Mexican, taking advantage of the growing heat of the season 
 had thrown off her stockings ! Think of that, ladies ! It was 
 the natural ankle that shone, white and bare as the arm, upon the 
 eager sight of our gallant, and fixed his eyes irresistibly, as if with 
 fascination. And it was not an ankle to be ashamed of. It was 
 still that of a Titania exquisite, fairy-like, and worthy to win 
 the smiles of Oberon, even after the third month of wedlock. 
 
 Even thus, as natural and unsophisticated, did the Fairy Queen 
 rest, with naked feet and tolerably short petticoat of green silk, 
 perhaps beside that type of the universal genius, Master Nicho 
 las Bottom! Even thus did she expose to vulgar eyes those 
 charms which she could only learn to value properly herself when 
 Oberon had found a rival ! 
 
 For a moment, the Honorable Keppel Craven was at fault. 
 Convention, at least in the simple world of Ashley river, was set 
 at defiance. Was it indifference that kept Zulieme from all show 
 of disquiet or concern caught in such an attitude, and by a 
 stranger caught in such a deshabille, and by a bold gallant of 
 the court of Charles II.? and so caught, when Mrs. Perkins 
 Anderson well knew that ne was to De there, and must have ap 
 prized her guest of his coming? Thus did Craven query with 
 himself. And, if indifference, what did this indifference signify? 
 Either she regarded him too lightly to care what he saw or 
 thought and that was provocation to his self-esteem, which 
 
852 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 made him feel excessively wicked or she was a damsel of con 
 siderable experience a very knowing and accommodating one 
 and had grown rather obtuse in non-essentials ! 
 
 This thought rendered him a few degrees more wicked in his 
 fancies. 
 
 Or the lady was willing to allure him, after an easy Mexican 
 fashion, to a conquest, in which she was prepared to yield, without 
 making the labor of victory a very exhausting one ? 
 
 At that moment, he had no other theories of the situation than 
 these ; and these were all huddled together in his thoughts ; each 
 sufficiently provocative, and all encouraging his impudence 
 which, as Mrs. Perkins Anderson had familiarly phrased it, was 
 that of the devil ! 
 
 The result was that, even while addressing the senorita, in terms 
 of lavish and courtly compliment, he threw himself gallantly down 
 beside her on the floor, with a grace becoming the best stage Lo 
 thario; his rapier so judiciously disposed as not to get between 
 his legs, and his descent made with such admirable balance as not 
 to derange his doublet. 
 
 The Honorable Mr. Craven had evidently practised in a school 
 which rendered much flexibility of body a highly-necessary ac 
 complishment. 
 
 As he lay upon the floor, beside and fronting the fair beauty 
 of Panama, the picture was a fine one. Titania had her Oberon ! 
 His figure was by no means too large for the Fairy King, who, 
 as a Saxon elf, had necessarily a good physique, even for a fairy. 
 And his costume was not inappropriate to the situation : a rich 
 doublet of purple satin, frilled with lace ; gay small-clothes of a 
 light texture, purffled and flowered ; with silk stockings of a deli 
 cate flesh-color ; a laced collar ; and a steeple-crowned hat, with 
 feather he was the macaroni of the era, and realized the object 
 of English satire, as found in the nursery-ballads of that very 
 time : 
 
 " Yankee Doodle s come to town, 
 
 Upon a Kentish pony ; 
 Stick a feather in. his cap, 
 And call him Macaroni !"# 
 
 * Our author here gives us, no doubt, the original source of our national 
 air; the verse and its music being twinned together and harmonizing natu- 
 
353 
 
 As if taking his lesson from the stereotyped stage- Hamlet, our 
 cavalier adroitly struck off his hat while falling ; so that his long 
 locks floated free, and filled the chamber with the fine oleaginous 
 fragrance, then famous, as the "Delice de la Vallicre." 
 
 The performance was so cleverly done, that Mrs. Perkins An 
 derson clapped her hands. Zulieme, too was delighted. It was 
 just such a feat as amused her childish fancy, and made her for 
 get everything else. 
 
 " Oh, the funny fellow !" she exclaimed, laughing immoderately, 
 and nowise discomfited. 
 
 " Funny fellow !" thought Keppel Craven ; and he fancied there 
 was something irreverent in the speech, and ridiculous in the idea, 
 at a moment when he was practising the graces. But he smiled 
 through all his doubts. 
 
 " Really, Mr. Craven, you should have been an actor. It is 
 very certain that you are a gallant ! Ah ! I can fancy that you 
 have practised this action a thousand times, at the feet of duch 
 esses and ladies of honor." 
 
 So the gracious Mrs. Perkins Anderson. She proceeded : 
 " So much for your not rising, Zulieme. But I thank you. It 
 has enabled us to see what admirable courtiers England can send 
 forth." 
 
 The laughter of Zulieme again answered her an irrepressible 
 burst, which she did not seek to suppress. When she recovered 
 from the fit, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh ! do, Mr. Craven, do it over again ! It was so very, very 
 funny !" 
 
 " Do it over !" he cried, aghast at the mere idea of the mon 
 strous effort involved in the exercise ; and looked vacantly at the 
 speaker. Was she laughing at the absurdity of the thing? An 
 Englishman is peculiarly sensitive to ridicule. But his self-esteem 
 as quickly reassured him. The Honorable Keppel Craven could 
 not surely, by any possibility, do anything absurd ! And, if he 
 doubted, the pleased, bright eyes, frank and joyous, of Zulieme, 
 
 rally. When the Boston militia first began to parade as patriots, awkwardly 
 enough, and with cornstalk muskets, the English army-bands, on station in 
 Boston, ridiculed their military display, by playing the old English nursery- 
 air of " Yankee Doodle," to their marching. PRINTER S DEVIL. 
 
854 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 satisfied him in a moment after. They had no irony in their 
 glance. 
 
 Suddenly, however, she discovered that he had taken his full 
 length upon some of her gayest silks. Her tone immediately 
 changed : 
 
 " Get up, you great English elephant, before you ruin my 
 dresses! He is on my brocade and satin, Charlotte my most 
 beautiful gown ! Get up, you great, awkward monster, before I 
 beat you !" 
 
 "Beat me! Your gown!" he exclaimed, looking about him, 
 but not stirring, and curious in a survey of the treasures he en 
 dangered. 
 
 His movements were quite too slow for the impatient senorita, 
 who first threw her great Panama fan at his head, and then, dart 
 ing up, proceeded to heap on him a pile of the clothing so copi 
 ously accumulated around her. 
 
 His head was, in a jiffy, enveloped in a monstrous shawl ; and, 
 we are constrained to report, that one of the equivocal garments, 
 of white linen, was adroitly enough thrust over his neck. 
 
 This was too much, even for a younger son. He began now to 
 feel the ridiculous in his situation ; and, with much more quick 
 ness and dexterity than his usual languid address and manner 
 would warrant us to expect, he contrived to scramble to his feet, 
 and fling off his encumbrances, all of which he threw right and 
 left, with no scrupulous hand ; his face emerging finally from the 
 envelopes, deeply empurpled by his desperate efforts, and by his 
 growing feeling of the ridiculous in the affair. 
 
 The laughter of the ladies was immoderate. Even Mrs. Per 
 kins Anderson, though perfectly conscious of what was due to the 
 dignity of a cavalier of the court of Charles, could not resist the 
 cachinating impulse ; while Zulieme clapped her hands, held her 
 sides, danced, and made the echoes ring with her clear, free, child 
 like outburst of delight. 
 
 But, as she stood confronting our cavalier, looking the very 
 imp of mischief, with her bright eyes flashing, though watery, and 
 her lips parted with her frantic merriment, she looked so provo 
 king, that the Plonorable Keppel darted at her. 
 
 We must not venture on a metaphysical or psychological sub 
 ject so profound as to ask what were his purposes in the on- 
 
"HIGH JINKS." 355 
 
 slaught. Something of pique, no doubt ; something of humor ; 
 for the silly fellow was not a mauvais sujet. He was lively and 
 ridiculous, no doubt, but not a savage. But, whatever his pur 
 poses, they failed. He shot, like a rocket, to the place where she 
 stood, but she was gone ; vaulting, like a gazelle, at a single bound, 
 over a cane settee, and ensconcing herself behind it. Craven 
 eyed the leap, but did not dare to attempt it. She leered at and 
 defied him. 
 
 Then commenced a regular chase round settee, chairs, and ta 
 bles, until at length the honorable gentleman was compelled to 
 confess himself conquered ; he yielded the victory, collapsing, like 
 an exhausted butterfly, upon the sofa. 
 
 But where was Mrs. Perkins Anderson ? That amiable lady, 
 so soon as she beheld the game of " High Jinks" in full operation, 
 vanished. She felt herself de trop, and fled with a purpose and a 
 hope. She was, at all events, willing to afford the cavalier a suf- 
 cient opportunity for play or mischief. 
 
 But Keppel Craven did not catch and kiss the Mexican, as she 
 fancied he would ; and the excellent hostess came back in season 
 to behold the issue : the cavalier exhausted with his unusual ex 
 ertions, and no doubt feeling very ridiculous ; and Zulieme, neither 
 fatigued nor frightened, and as full of laugh as ever, standing 
 coolly apart, contemplating the exhausted swain, and quietly fan 
 ning herself with the great leaves of the fan of Panama. 
 
 " I m done for, demme !" gasped the cavalier. " O thou nim 
 blest of all the elves, lend ne thy palm-leaves ere I suffocate I" 
 
 " What is it you call me ?" asked Zulieme. 
 
 " Elf, witch ! " 
 
 t( Witch ! That means something abominable, I know 1" re 
 sponded our Mexican, while the fire flashed from her eyes. 
 
 " Abominable ? no ! It means something divine, delicious, and 
 most killing ! A witch is a beautiful woman that wins hearts, and 
 laughs at her winnings ; a tricksy creature that plays with poor 
 mortal affections that conquers only to fling away; an angel 
 that comes to fill our brains with dreams of delightful promise, 
 only to mock them with denial ! Ah ! indeed, thou art a witch, 
 more potent than she of Endor. Thou knowest not what a spirit 
 thou hast called up from my soul." 
 
 " Now, I know that you are insulting me, in spite of all your 
 
356 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 fine speeches. For do n t I know that the witch of Enilor was as 
 ugly old hag ; and do n t I know that the witches were all to be 
 killed ; and do n t I know that you Englishmen burnt em up ? 
 And, after that, do you pretend that you are not calling me by 
 bad names ? I have half a mind to knock you with the broom 
 stick !" 
 
 " A regular witch-weapon, dear senorita. But, in sooth, let 
 me teach thee, most beautiful of all Mexican beauties, that, in the 
 divine language of poesy, witchcraft means the magical power of 
 beauty, the spell of an angelic excellence, throned in the eyes and 
 on the lips of a lovely woman, making her potent over devoted 
 hearts. And such is the power which, almost at a glance, the 
 divine charms of thy beauty hath exercised upon mine. I believe 
 thou art guilty of witchcraft ; else it could never be that the eyes 
 which have never faltered before all the beauties of the royal 
 court of Charles, should be so humbled before thine. I am lost 
 in amaze at my own feebleness of soul ! Once I was a conqueror. 
 I won the worship which I am now compelled to offer. O love 
 liest Zulieme, beautiful Turk, let me make of thee a Christian, 
 indeed, by persuading thee to bestow mercy upon the poor captive 
 whom the fate of love hath delivered into thy hands !" 
 
 " There, again ! you are calling me a Turk, as if I did n t know 
 that all the Turks are Jews and idolaters ; and, besides, you say 
 you want to make me a Christian, as if I were not already a pure 
 Castilian Christian, while you English are nothing but heathens. 
 I tell you, if you talk so, I will have to knock you! I won t suf 
 fer it." 
 
 " O perversest of all Christian beauties ! O most wilful of all 
 Castilian witches ! didst thou know enough of the divine speech 
 of the poetry of Albion, thou wouldst know that the epithets I 
 give thee are all loving ones, most considerate of thy charms, thy 
 spells, thy divine loveliness, which lacks only in the Christian vir 
 tue of mercy for him thou hast taken captive with thy bow and 
 spear !" 
 
 " Now, what nonsense are you talking, as if you had ever seen 
 me using bow and spear !" 
 
 " Alas ! what mischief is in thy hands, when thou usest thy 
 weapons so ignorantly, not knowing that they are in thy very 
 grasp ; for dost thou not know that the bow is the very beautiful 
 
i: HIGH JINKS/ 
 
 black arch above thine eyes, and that from the eyes the spear 
 issues "which has pierced my heart to the core ? and dost thou not 
 see that I am thy captive, since here 1 lie at thy feet, entreating 
 thee to take me to thy mercy ?" 
 
 Here the speaker rather slided than descended from the settee, 
 taking an attitude for the occasion, and appearing the graceful 
 suppliant, making such tender eyes at the lady as to disarm any 
 hostility which her doubts of his language might have occasioned. 
 
 " Get up, you foolish fellow," she answered, laughingly not 
 at all displeased at the action " get up, and do n t be so foolish. 
 You only fall down there because you think you do it so prettily. 
 But I can tell you I have seen other men who did it much better. * 
 
 " Cruel, that you should tell me this ! So, you have had othe 
 men at your feet !" 
 
 " Hundreds ; and some quite as pretty little fellows as you." 
 
 " Pretty ! little !" cried the cavalier, starting to his feet with 
 sudden indignation. " Do you call me little, senorita ?" 
 
 And he rose to his fullest proportions, a graceful, rather slen 
 der person, of some five feet five. Not above the average of that 
 day in America, certainly perhaps somewhat below it. In fact, 
 while no one could recognise the Honorable Mr. Craven as a 
 large person, still no one, without prejudice, would describe him 
 as a small one. He did not know, nor did Zulieme herself con 
 jecture, that she had tacitly adopted her own husband as the 
 becoming model for stature as well as manhood ; and that such a 
 standard would distress the ambitious efforts of most of the cour 
 tiers of the Charles II. circle. 
 
 " Do you call me little, senorita ?" he repeated, approaching the 
 lady, and towering above her, arms a-kimbo, and head superbly 
 lifted. 
 
 " No, indeed ; not when you come so close. You are big enough 
 to eat me up, and look as if you wanted to do it." 
 
 She receded from him as he spoke, as if apprehending a re 
 newal of his pursuit. But he had not quite recovered from th 
 previous chase. He was content to use his tongue rather than 
 his feet. 
 
 " Devour you ? Yes ! I feel that I could. I have the appe 
 tite for it !" 
 
 " O monster !" 
 
858 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 " Yes : but it is with love that I would devour." 
 
 " That would n t make it any more pleasant to me, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " Hear me, beautiful Castilian, while I ask a single question." 
 
 "Well, what s it?" 
 
 " Have you, amid all your rich possessions, by possibility, sue! 
 a thing as men call a heart ?" 
 
 He advanced, and she again retreated, with the question. 
 
 " A heart, I say ! You beauties are not so apt to believe in 
 the necessity of such a possession, even while you insist upon it. 
 Are you an exception to the common rule? Have you, beautiful 
 senorita, that vulgar essential of humanity a human heart?" 
 
 " Me ! a heart ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! What a stupid question ! No, 
 indeed, no. Why, what do I want with a heart? What shou d 
 I do with it or you ? I do n t think it s for either of us." 
 
 " But, beautiful senorita, you mock, surely. A heart to a wc,- 
 man a young woman, especially a beautiful woman, particu 
 larly an angel, a sylph, a fairy " 
 
 He was approaching while he spoke, and she began to retreat, 
 especially as his hands were stretching toward her under the im 
 pulse of his eloquence. 
 
 " Farther off !" said she. " Talk away, but do n t come a bit 
 closer. I do n t want another run, in this hot weather. And I m 
 sure you can t stand it. You d faint, and then I might get 
 scared ; and, anyhow, I do n t want to have the worry of fanning 
 you." 
 
 " Faint ! most probable !" muttered the cavalier, sotto voce , 
 the very thought making him begin to fan himself with his hands. 
 But he said, aloud : 
 
 "But you would fan me, should I faint? You have heart 
 enough for that, surely." 
 
 " I do n t know : I d be more like to run. Men have no right 
 to faint before women ; they make such ugly faces." 
 
 " Ugly faces !" he exclaimed, and again he made a show of 
 darting at h(T ; but she was gone, with a single bound, over the 
 settee, which stood as an impassable wall between them. There 
 she laughed at him, and clapped her hands, and defied him. He 
 had looked with wonder at her display of muscle and, we may 
 add, ankle of which she had not thought. 
 
"HIGH JINKS." 359 
 
 " Really, senorita, you have wonderful powers of endurance 
 rustic powers, it is true, but not the less wonderful. Pon my soul, 
 it is well sometimes to pass out of the customary world, if it be 
 only to observe what muscle is to be found in other regions. Ah, 
 Senorita Zulieme, were you as loving as you are light ; as tender 
 as you are touching ; with as much feeling as activity ; as suscep 
 tible as provocative I could eh ! yes, I could " 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 " Demme ! I don t know what ; but ah ! I have it, beautiful 
 senorita I could die for you." 
 
 " And what good would that do me, I want to know?" 
 
 <k Well, I could live for you, if you d suffer me." 
 
 " Ah ! that s something more sensible. But, would you really 
 die, if I would n t suffer you to live for me ?" 
 
 " Heaven only knows ! It might be that Nature, which is sin 
 gularly tenacious of vitality, would enable me to struggle on, in a 
 seeming existence ; but that would not be life. The bloom would 
 be gone from the rose, the glory from the sky ; and one, you know, 
 might very well be dead after that." 
 
 " Well, you talk very foolishly, I think ; as if you had been all 
 your life in a house where the people had all agreed to say noth 
 ing that needed any answer. I don t think that your feelings 
 will ever be the death of you ; and I do n t care at all for such 
 talk. What do you say, now you have rested long enough 
 what do you say for a bolero ?" 
 
 " A bolero ! Heavens ! was ever such muscle in a woman ? 
 After that chase f Senorita, I see you have a design upon my 
 life. You would, indeed, be the death of me. Dance a bolero ! 
 For Heaven s sake, lend me your fan !" 
 
 She handed it to him, with a merry laughter. As she did so, 
 he caught desperately at her arm. But she was too quick for 
 him ; and, in the merriment which she felt at his defeat, she for 
 got the offence in his attempt. 
 
 " Ah, cruelest of all the Castilians !" he murmured, affectedly 
 " There might be some hopes were you a Morescan, of browner 
 tinge." 
 
 "What s that you say?" sharply. "A Morescan? Jews, 
 again !" 
 
 "Oh, nothing! The Morescans were the houris of Granada; 
 
<360 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 beautiful creatures that came down from the stars, and brought 
 wine and odors for suffering mortals like myself." 
 
 "Oh! you want something to drink, and something to smell? 
 Charlotte ! Charlotte !" calling pretty loudly " here s Mr. Cra 
 ven going to faint, and he wants some wine !" 
 
 " Great Heavens !" cried the cavalier, aghast, and now almost 
 ready to faint in earnest. 
 
 " Why, do n t you want some wine ? do n t you feel like fainting ?" 
 
 11 Was ever such a creature ? So provokingly dull and 
 
 literal !" 
 
 This was all sotto voce. 
 
 Here, the accommodating Mrs. Perkins Anderson, hearing the 
 outcry, and taking for granted that she had afforded the parties 
 opportunity enough, timelily made her appearance ; the servant 
 following soon after, with lunch and punch on an enormous 
 silver waiter. 
 
 It was with a sincere sense of relief that the Honorable Mr. 
 Craven welcomed the lady and the liquor. He ejaculated 
 
 " Ah ! thank you. I was quite thirsty. I was overcome ! 
 This most piquant sciiorita has a a " 
 
 And he quaffed a goblet of punch, as if to cool a fever, and 
 finish a period which lacked all natural terminus. 
 
 The scene was over ; but not the interview. The excellent 
 Mrs. Anderson, when she reappeared, did so in full morning cos 
 tume. She had taken advantage of her temporary absence to 
 adjust her own toilet. Zulieme was only apprized of her desha 
 bille by beholding the fair Charlotte in all u her fine effects." 
 
 Why, holy Mother ! Charlotte, here have I been playing 
 with this foolish little fellow, and look at me!" 
 
 And she absolutely thrust out her naked feet, in the slippers, 
 while holding her skirts sufficiently high to let the white ankles 
 assert themselves. 
 
 " O Zulieme !" exclaimed the modest matron. " What a child 
 of Nature !" 
 
 " Child ! muttered Zulieme ; " do n t you call me so, Charlotte." 
 
 And, with finger shaking at the lady, and a familiar nod to the 
 Honorable Keppel, she disappeared. 
 
 " Did you ever see so unsophisticated a creature ?" exclaimed 
 the hostess. 
 
"HIGH JINKS." 301 
 
 " With face of brass and muscles of steel !" answered Mr. Oar 
 ven. " She did me up, in a chase of fifteen minutes." 
 
 "What did you chase her for?" asked Mrs. Anderson, with a 
 significant and somewhat knowing smile. 
 
 " Eh ! why, only to see her ankles !" 
 
 " Oh, you wicked creature ! I should not have left her to such 
 an able courtier." 
 
 " Faith, she was safe enough. She has the legs of an antelope ! 
 But, dear Mrs. Anderson, do you really think her so ignorant as 
 she seems ?" 
 
 " She is a perfect child of Nature. There is no art about her. 
 But she can be taught ! and lucky the man who can succerd in 
 winning her young affections. But he must be bold ; and the 
 usual courtier-like process will not answer here. She has no ro 
 mance in her. Sentiment is thrown away upon her: but play, 
 fun, merriment, dancing ; a gay humor ; great vivacity ; perpetual 
 restlessness; and a ready adoption of her humors thf.se are the 
 arts by which to win her heart. Methinks she has given you a 
 chance at hers." 
 
 " Eh ! heart ? Hark ye, my dear Mrs. Anderson : this winning 
 of hearts may be pleasant enough, while the game is doubtful , 
 but the question is, do they pay for the trouble, the exertion?" 
 Here he fanned himself. "Mere hearts " ho continued. 
 
 "Ah! true are of little count at court But Zulieme s dia 
 monds are something, Sir Keppel." 
 
 "If not paste! yes!" 
 
 " Paste ! See for yourself. There is not an English duchess 
 who can wear such jewels as these !" 
 
 She displayed the glittering treasures to the gloating eyes of 
 the cavalier, who thought of the ankles and the gems together. 
 
 "And see how she lenses them about. She values them just 
 as little as I do mine ! So much for having them as mere play 
 things from her childhood. She has played with diamonds as you 
 courtiers with hearts, and values them as little." 
 
 Enough, perhaps, was said and shown by the hostess. She was 
 probably not wholly unaware of the game at " High Jinks" which 
 hr.d been played in her absence. She saw that the vanity of the 
 cavalier had been piqued, his cupidity excited ; his passions 
 warmed, and his purpose determined. She was now satisfied to 
 
 16 
 
362 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 let events take their own course, assured that Mr. Craven, at 
 least, would engage in the pursuit as hotly as was possible to his 
 languid nature. 
 
 Here, then, for the present, let us stop. Our purpose was sim 
 ply to show under what circumstances the Honorable Mr. Craven 
 began that acquaintance with Zulieme which was rapidly to ripen 
 into intimacy. And this was destined to have some peculiar con 
 sequences. 
 
 But we must not anticipate. Enough that the intimacy was 
 very fairly begun ; strangely enough, but not in a way to startle 
 the Mexican senora senorita for the nonce. We may add that 
 it was continued as begun, until our cavalier was regarded as her 
 special attendant. Had it been suspected, by any of those outside 
 the mystery, that the lady was senora, and not senorita, he would 
 have been dubbed her cavaliers servente. He rode with her, 
 walked with her, danced with her, and talked with her ; but, as 
 Zulieme was rather pert than fluent, Mr. Craven was better 
 pleased to flirt with her, and only dance occasionally. She usu 
 ally broke him down ; when such is true friendship and a proper 
 holy alliance Cornwall Cavendish would come to his aid, and 
 take the lady off his hands. 
 
 We must do her the justice to say that, in respect to these two 
 gallants, she truly gave neither any proper right to suppose that 
 he was held in highest favor. But never was innocent lady more 
 civil ! And both gallants, we may add, began soon to entertain 
 equal hopes, especially as the bal masque was in progress. 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 863 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE DEAD ALIVE. 
 
 " I dreamt my lady came and found me dead ! 
 (Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to think), 
 And breathed such life, with kisses, on my lips, 
 
 That I revived ! 
 
 Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possessed, 
 
 When but Love s shadows are so rich in joy !" Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 "Why look you so upon me? 
 
 I am but sorry ; not afraid." Winter s Tale. 
 
 THIS life with all its ridiculous contrasts ! Farce and tragedy ; 
 melodrame and pantomime ; Melpomene and Punchinello ! 
 
 Here, in one dwelling, you see the chamber of death the pall 
 and the bier. Before the entrance stands the hearse, that melan 
 choly coach of state. From the chamber ascends the wail of one 
 who will not be comforted. Rachel weeping for her first-born ; 
 David, in the mixed agonies of remorse and wo, lamenting the 
 son torn from him as the punishment of his crime. The cloud, 
 black with penal thunders, hangs over the dwelling; and from the 
 midst of it issues a mighty hand, shaking out fiery bolts ! 
 
 Next door, they have a dinner and a guest to-day, and all the 
 young ladies are agog with expectation. The coming visiter is a 
 millionaire ; and each one studies, in the pages of the siren, how 
 best to fascinate and fix ! 
 
 Or, there is a ball to-night, and the fiddles are already in requi 
 sition ; or, Darby and Joan, no longer placid, are at odds touching 
 the roast ; or, the alderman dreams, after a monstrous surfeit, that 
 he is engaged in the labors of Sisyphus. What you will the 
 contrast is sufficiently ludicrous. 
 
 These atrocious truisms ! we can not escape them, though we try. 
 
364 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Now, while the amiable Mrs. Perkins Anderson, and the lovely 
 simpleton, Spanish wife, and the Honorable Keppel Craven, are 
 each eager in the chase of their several butterflies, rollicking at 
 " High Jinks" in the parlor, you see the cassique of Accabee, 
 with heavy head resting in his palms ; heavier heart, with noth 
 ing upon which to rest ; moody with a grief for which there is no 
 comforter ; his whole life and hope resolved into a settled compact 
 with wo and desolation ; disappointment that dries up the sources 
 of hope ; defeat that hangs like a millstone around the neck of 
 the spent swimmer ! 
 
 He strikes out wildly, like the blind wrestler, in the air ; and 
 the blows, though they fall upon vacancy, exhaust his vigor. He 
 works, madly enough, when thought becomes too terrible for en 
 durance. But the spectre clings to his side like a shadow. He 
 builds ; would improve ; has tastes that still plead for gratifica 
 tion ; energies that will not suffer themselves to be denied: but 
 these no longer minister to his satisfaction ; no longer offer refuge 
 to thought ; no longer resupply the fountains of pride, and hope, 
 and pleasure, to his soul. 
 
 It is amazing to see how he works, physically as well as with 
 thought ; amazing to see what his own head and hands have done, 
 in very few days, in that new baronial domain which he has 
 planted for other generations in the wilderness. His workmen, 
 used to labor, are confounded. He keeps their muscles on the 
 stretch, but with no such tension as his own must endure. And 
 they know nothing of that agony of brain and soul which is goad 
 ing his limbs to their incessant exercise. He does not groan or 
 murmur declares no suffering in speech ! He is not only build 
 ing houses, and laying off routes and fences doing after a merely 
 necessary plan and fashion he does more: he plans terraces of 
 beauty ; is opening artificial fishponds ; he will have Art confront 
 N~ature in her own empire, and challenge the supremacy. There 
 are gardeners from Holland which, about that time, was furnish 
 ing the general models for landscape-gardening for Europe but 
 he too will design, at least to such a degree as to mcdify the for 
 malities of the Dutch taste, and, in bringing Nature to a better 
 knowledge of Art, not suffering the latter to subvert any of those 
 charms of the former which we should only injure in the effort t$ 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 365 
 
 And m all these labors, though in everything he exhibits marked 
 intelligence and taste, he performs mechanically. His heart is no 
 longer in his work. His eyes wander from it wander off per 
 petually in contemplation of that gloomy thundercloud that over 
 hangs his house and heart. Ho is looking momently to see it 
 part to see this hand of Judgment shaking free the bolt which is 
 to strike down work and workman in one common ruin ! 
 
 Ah ! this is very terrible this picture of the strong man using 
 his strength after a wonted habit, but with no longer love for his 
 work ; still fighting bravely with the adverse hosts of Fate, though 
 he well knows that he fights under a doom that, however long 
 delayed, the bolt must fall, and the ruin be complete ! 
 
 It is already complete. He has lost all all that he holds pre 
 cious. He can lose no more. His grand hope of heart and life 
 has proved a grand defeat ; and the defeat is irreparable ! 
 
 What remains? The battle is over so he himself thinks: 
 but it is for him now to bury his dead ; to cleanse the field of its 
 bloody trophies ; to hide the horrid proofs from sight ; and, this 
 done whither for him ? Whither shall he fly ? Why fly ? He 
 can not escape his own memories his own consciousness of what 
 has been his hope what has been the agony in its being and 
 that it is no more a hope ! He can neither fly from Memory nor 
 fly to Hope. The dead Past, with all its horrors, is bound irrev 
 ocably to his still living soul ! 
 
 He broods, even while at work ; and if he leaves his work, in 
 the very exhaustion of his physical nature, it is again to brood. 
 
 But not over his own griefs and disappointments. No, no ! 
 Do the brave man no injustice. His cares are not selfish. He 
 broods over another s fate. Unseen, he watches the victim ah ! 
 mockery to speak it the victim of his own very love! His 
 strong passion and her weak will have, together, bound her to the 
 rock, and fastened the vulture on her dovelike bosom! 
 
 He broods with the vainest question, evermore recurring, what 
 may be done, that she be saved? How save her? not simply 
 from death and pain, but from that torture which momently threat 
 ens her with madness L He has again had the physician to her aid ; 
 but art has failed in such a case. He has brought with him neither 
 hope nor comforter ; and the brave but anguished man looks on 
 her with eyes of stony fixedness, yet of lightning-like avidity, as 
 
3G6 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH 
 
 if he strove to penetrate the shut avenues of her woman-soul, to 
 see v aere lay the particular hurt to which Love, denied itself, 
 might yet bring balm, if not healing. 
 
 And never was scrutiny more circumspect, as well as keen. 
 She was suffered to see nothing of his eager watch to suspect 
 nothing of his intense interest and scrutiny ; though, perhaps, it 
 does not much matter what she sees, or what she may suspect. In 
 the state of mental extasie which prevails with her, she hardly 
 seems to be conscious of external things, or any objects of the 
 mere outer sense. She, too, is looking through a fate-cloud ; not 
 for the bolt, but for the receiving angel the soothing, saving, 
 lifting who is to bear her to the joy of heaven, or its peace ! 
 
 If she showed any solicitude and this was the keenest pang 
 that he was required to endure it was how to escape his eyes, 
 his presence, his companionship, the consciousness of his exist 
 ence, the recollection of his rights in herself ! She taught him 
 this in every movement. He had become, in the acuteness of his 
 own griefs, as sensitive to every mood of her soul as to the keen 
 agonies that strove within his own. He shivered, with a sort of 
 horror, at the mournful conviction, which he could not repel, that 
 his simple presence had grown to be a terror to her imagination. 
 
 And, though dying, absolutely dying though this fact was 
 scarcely conceived by any but himself Olive yet walked about 
 life, apparently unhurt. She could sing she was now for ever 
 singing, however unconsciously, to herself and oh, with what a 
 touching, tearful sweetness, bringing involuntary moisture to other 
 eyes ! She sang over, one by one, all the sweet love-songs of her 
 girlhood her childhood even whenever she felt herself alone. 
 And sometimes she did not seem to heed the presence of others, 
 but sang on, apparently never beholding them, and looking, speak 
 ing, singing, just as if she were alone. She sang the gayest dit 
 ties, which, as you saw the singer, melted you to sorrow ; and 
 sometimes the merest lullabies, which made you smile through 
 your tears, though you wept afterward. And, even as she sang, 
 she walked the house like a spectre ; sought commerce with none ; 
 walked incessantly, with the strangest restlessness ; wandered into 
 the neighboring woods, all alone ; strnngely satisfied with nay 
 feeding upon their solitude and silence ! 
 
 The workmen beheld her pass, and shook their heads. Sbe 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 367 
 
 saw them not that strange woman yet hurried by them with 
 a fitful chant or murmured ballad. They knew not that she was 
 dying ; yet they felt, by instinct, that she had been struck, heart- 
 deep, by some invisible arrow. They saw it in her dazed and 
 wandering eyes, that seemed looking out, gazing, yet seeing noth 
 ing ; in the wonderfully white transparency of her skin, the deli 
 cacy of which was marvellous in any mortal creature. She ate 
 little, but she had ceased to moan. She did not sigh. Her 
 mother heard nothing but her singing, and the burden of that 
 seemed to say simply : 
 
 " Let me be alone let me be alone ! Do you not see that I 
 am at peace ? Do n t you hear that I can sing ? I am happy 
 now !" 
 
 And the mother began to fancy now that she was doing well- - 
 that she would soon be better that the song implied health and 
 increasing strength ; and she began to renew her prattle of world- 
 wise maxims and dull commonplaces, you may be sure. And 
 then the poor child smiled ; but such smiling ! There was no sat 
 ire in the smile ; but it was of such ghastly simplicity and vague 
 ness, that the other was usually silenced by it. There was some 
 thing in it which terrified her ; and she would stop in her speech, 
 bewildered. It was enough for her victim that she would thus 
 stop. The commonplaces of her mother, and her worldly coun 
 sels, had grown to an eldritch and ominous sort of voicing in the 
 ears of the child. She dreaded them ; they somehow usually 
 checked her song ; and it was only when the mother ceased to 
 speak, that she resumed her chanting chanting it was, a sort of 
 blended sobbing and murmur and then the silly mother would 
 say to herself: 
 
 " As long as she can sing, she will do. She is evidently grow 
 ing better and stronger ; she will be better soon. Hearts do n t 
 break so easily. And what is there in her case to make the heart 
 break ? No ! she will recover soon. I am glad always when I 
 hear her sing." 
 
 The silly old woman ! It was the death-song of the swan ! 
 
 And the cassique watched her all the while saw everything 
 understood all. He knew, spite of the song and the smile, that 
 his wife was dying ! 
 
 His instincts were all alive with this consciousness. But he< 
 
368 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the strong man who felt himself so strong who had hitherto 
 been strong enough for everything he groaned in spirit as he 
 now felt himself powerless. He said to himself: 
 
 " She will die ! Nothing can save her !" 
 
 And the next thought was : 
 
 " And I have brought her to this ! However innocent of evil, 
 or selfish purpose, I have brought her to this. And I can not 
 save ; I can not repair. The bolt is inevitable !" 
 
 And, so thinking, he watched and toiled : watched in agony and 
 gloom ; toiled in the sunshine without feeling it ; toiled to create 
 a home of art, and taste, and beauty ; while he yet well knew 
 that she for whom chiefly he had dreamed and designed the whole, 
 would see, feel, taste, enjoy, none of the delights of life or home 
 would appreciate none of these loving cares, which appealed 
 to no other sympathies than hers. 
 
 Ah ! dear brethren, ye who struggle on gallantly in this mortal 
 conflict, so trying to so meant to try our human heroism, this 
 is the saddest of all our soul-disappointments. To love, and toil, 
 and think, and struggle, all equally in vain : the beloved one will 
 not see or feel how great has been our care to prove the merit 
 and the beauty in our love ! 
 
 You have made your Eden the best that you could make 
 fitting for the best angel that you know. You are in possession ; 
 you would put her in possession. Yet, somehow, the serpent of 
 Fate has crept in, and keeps out the dove of Peace, if not of In 
 nocence. It is the old experience. The shaft of Ahrimanes has 
 pierced the egg of Ormusd ! 
 
 And, while the eyes of the cassique were thus mournfully at 
 watch over the progress of that cruel Fate which was thus busy 
 in the destruction of all his architectural felicities, he wot not of 
 those other, those kindred eyes, which were quite as keen though 
 not so well informed as his own, in a like watch over the same 
 precincts. There were other eyes that studied and watched as 
 intensely, though with less freedom, over the fate of that beloved 
 object, who seemed so indifferent to every care eyes full of a 
 like anxiety, perhaps of even superior agony, to his. How like, 
 yet how unlike, but not less intense with passion than his own ! 
 
 And those were the eyes of a brother the brother he had 
 once loved, but so greatly yet unwittingly wronged ; whose hear 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 369 
 
 of hearts lie had so lately understood, but whose wounds, he still 
 fancied, had all been healed by Death. That, alone, was the con 
 soling thought of Edward Berkeley, when he reflected upon the 
 defeat of heart and hope in the case of his brother Harry. A saa 
 sort of consolation, but not to be rejected in such a case, and 
 where the living wo was of so keen a character. 
 
 How little did he dream of that brother s watch, unless from 
 the clouds ! As a spirit, he thought, Harry Berkeley will know 
 that, wittingly, his brother had never done him wrong. Suppo 
 sing him still to be an inhabitant of earth, and thus watching, 
 what would be his emotions ! How could he explain how re 
 pair ? He would do both, were this possible ; for never, in truth, 
 did brother love more fondly than our cassique. 
 
 The deep love, the heart-instincts of Olive, had made her more 
 conscious, if not wiser. Her fancies, now wholly spiritual, had 
 conjured Harry Berkeley from his imagined grave beneath the 
 seas. She felt that he lived. He had brought an atmosphere 
 with him, into which, though in dreams of the midnight only, her 
 soul could penetrate. Her thought, though a madness to all oth 
 ers, was with her a conviction. She felt that Harry Berkeley 
 was beside her ! In her mind s eye he was ever present. She 
 heard his voice in the silence of the night. Her soul grew more 
 seeing as she approached the time when it should cast off ?11 its 
 impediments of clay. Ah ! this divine soul, what an all-seeing 
 thing it is, if we only suffer it to use its wing ! 
 
 She was right, even in her sense of the experience that kept her 
 conscious. The living Harry Berkeley, even now, in yonder primi 
 tive, forest, keeps watch for her a loving watch ; looks terribly out 
 011 the cassique mournfully enough, as so terrible : even as the 
 three melancholy sisters, who are appointed to carry fate in their 
 foreheads, and to send the shaft at every glance, look over all ! 
 
 You see them, perhaps, in the de -p shadow upon the cassique s 
 brow; in the wild glare that sometimes gleams out from the eyes 
 of Harry Berkeley ; in the beautiful death, which flickers, like a 
 star, lily-like and pale, in every feature of the sweetly-spiritualized 
 face of Olive. 
 
 Which shall perish first? They all glide along the precipice, 
 and below them the gulf is ready ! Which shall first succumb 
 beneath the stroke ? They are all, possibly, in equal peril ; for 
 
 16* 
 
370 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 there are deadly passions, busy in the hearts of these strong men, 
 which, with but a change of the moon, a caprice of the winds, or 
 perchance the stars, shall help to do the work of Fate ! 
 
 Our rover, toiling hourly like the cassique, his brother, with like 
 earnestness of character and energy toiling, too,more in the behalf 
 of others than his own suffers from a like sense of isolation and 
 wo ; but there is no pang of remorse in his passion ; and he has 
 one solace, which gives him succor in the sense of indignation! 
 
 He has been wronged. He errs, it is true, in the belief that 
 the wrong is done him by his brother. But this makes no differ 
 ence in the character of the strength which he derives from the 
 conviction. It is certain that he has been wronged ; but, whether 
 by him, by her, or by the mother, matters not. There is an equal 
 solace in the double fact that he can reproach himself with no 
 wrong in the history, and that his own wrongs are certain. They 
 demand a victim ! 
 
 We must not conceal from ourselves the truth that the demon 
 has entered his soul along with the iron ; that the gaunt, famish 
 ing passion for vengeance, is muttering within his bosom, goading 
 him on in search after the victim, and with an eagerness which he 
 himself does not conjecture. 
 
 But, as now we see him, with ready weapon by his side, the 
 hilt of which he sometimes clutches convulsively, we know that 
 his blood will work upon his brain, to terrible results of action, 
 the moment that the occasion shall occur which shall bid him 
 strike. 
 
 He has been busied, with all that calm, methodical will and 
 judgment, which men of action and character attain through habit. 
 He has gone to the hollow tree, where the sheaf of Indian arrows, 
 betokening the gradual progress of an evil purpose to the bloody 
 event, has been hidden away. He has counted the remaining 
 shafts with deliberate care, and knows that the hour of savage 
 outbreak rapidly approaches. He has duly made his preparations 
 for it. He has warned Gowdey, at the block-house, to keep his 
 rangers in readiness ; he has given his last instructions to Belcher, 
 who is still in town, as to the course which he is to pursue at a 
 certain hour ; and he now calmly reviews the necessities of the 
 whole event, having prepared for it, as well as he might, with his 
 own unassisted resources of mind and money. His warnings 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 371 
 
 have fallen, with Hide effect, upon the ears of Governor Quarry. 
 And lie is in no situation to warn his brother. He will save his 
 household, if he can, without taxing its own resources. He can 
 not do otherwise. Though lost to himself for ever nay, dying, 
 though he knows not that Olive Berkeley must be saved 
 Olive Berkeley and her child ! 
 
 But we have no need here to review his relations, or anticipate 
 his further purposes. Enough that, with his vigilant mind, nothing 
 has been forgotten : and he thinks of ship and crew ; the con 
 spirators who would run up the "Jolly Roger;" the simple Span 
 ish wife, who is playing at " High Jinks" with the-Honorable 
 Keppel Craven ; all the parties dear to his regards or to his re 
 venges with the stern resolve and the calm judgment with which 
 one, seated on a mount of power, looks down upon the plains, and 
 regulates, without an emotion, the fortunes of the blind multitudes 
 who toil or sport below ! 
 
 So Harry Calvert, otherwise Berkeley, watched the manor of 
 Kiawah. Great had been the progress of the cassique, since our 
 rover had first begun his watch. Houses had been run np ; 
 grounds laid out ; pickets and fences erected ; order had taken 
 place of confusion ; Civilization was asserting itself over Nature ; 
 comfort had succeeded to the crude and wild ; and, though still 
 rough and rude, the scene already began to exhibit many of the 
 attractions of beauty. 
 
 Harry Calvert watched the progress with mingled emotions of 
 sweet and bitter, and with increasing interest. When his brother 
 came upon the scene, or the mother of Olive, then he writhed 
 with a restless feeling of indignation and revolting ; then he felt 
 like strife and curses ! 
 
 But there was an atmosphere over all that tended, in some de 
 gree, to soothe this bitterness. The very spectacle of Art laboring 
 to subdue the wild and uncouth in Nature, was itself a spell upon 
 the savage mood. And when manhood was striving in his sight 
 and the energetic woodman was busy everywhere, laying the ax 
 to the root of the mightiest forms ; Labor, like a giant, grappling 
 with the gnarled oak, and the tough, resinous pine, and the tow 
 ering, gray cypress admiration naturally got the better of smaller, 
 selfish emotions : and the spectator, not forgetting his own cares, 
 was yet compelled to admit the ennobling influence of a moral 
 
372 THK CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 power in the objects of his survey ; and this consciousness ever 
 appeals gratefully to the like sense of power in our own souls, 
 subduing in some degree their own consciousness of self. 
 
 As yet, he had looked in vain for the one presence whom over 
 all he sought. Once, he had got a glimpse of Olive, as he fan 
 cied ; and she seemed bending her way from the dwelling to the 
 very covert in which he harbored : but it was almost dusk, and, 
 just then, several of the workmen, with the cassique at their head, 
 approached the skirts of the wood, and proceeded to lay off the 
 grounds in that quarter, previous to the overthrow of certain ob 
 jectionable trees. ,At this sight, the figure of Olive if, indeed, 
 twere hers disappeared again within the shadows of the house. 
 
 He frequently caught a sight of her younger sister, Grace, whom 
 he well remembered ; a lovely child of twelve years, tall and fair, 
 and promising to become almost as great a beauty as Olive. And 
 when he saw Grace, she was usually accompanied by the young 
 Indian hunter, whom she tasked to teach her the use of bow and 
 arrow, and how to set snares for squirrels, and traps for birds ; 
 and who promised neglected as she seemed to be by the whole 
 household, in consequence of the superior cares from which all 
 other parties suffered to become almost as wild as the red-bo^ 
 of the wilderness. He had snared for her a yearling doe, and 
 was teaching her how best to tame it. It was surprising how 
 completely he himself had already brought the wild creature to 
 docility. It licked from his hand, but could not yet be persuaded 
 to lick from hers ; and it thrust its nose into the boy s face, but 
 shrank back when the girl would have kissed and hugged it. 
 
 And thus were these two children exercised in the grounds, 
 while Harry Berkeley kept his watch over them on this very oc 
 casion. The scene helped, in some degree, to soothe his more 
 savage humors. 
 
 He had thus watched through a part of the day, with but few 
 intervals. That melancholy watch ! from day to day, profitlessly 
 pursued ; to the increase of his unhappy moods ; to the wasting 
 of his frame, for he was growing wan and thin ; and to the satis 
 faction, thus far, of no single hope or fancy ! 
 
 The day was waning. The evening sun was purpling tenderly 
 the great waving pine-tops, and shooting slanting streaks of rosy 
 light over the openings in the forest ; and the heart of the strong 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 873 
 
 man sickened sadly as he felt the rapid approach of another night 
 of exhausting meditation and disappointment. At a distance, on 
 the opposite quarter of the opening, he sees the workmen busy 
 with beams and timbers. His brother is not visible. The girl 
 and the Indian boy have also strayed away to a field which is 
 waving in rye one of the few grains, aside from maize, the cul 
 ture of which had yet been attempted at the barony. The mur 
 murs of life and toil, removed from the immediate precinct, had 
 almost ceased to sound in the ears of our rover. The squirrels 
 were leaping about him, suddenly appearing to feed at sunset, 
 and no longer disturbed by the workmen. And he, too, depressed 
 by the scene by its silence, by his own weariness of watch, by 
 the disappointment which had hitherto attended it was about to 
 turn away, take his horse, and canter off to the ship, which he 
 needed that night to visit ; when he suddenly felt his whole frame 
 thrill with a strange and mixed emotion, as a sound, half song. 
 half murmur, touched his senses. 
 
 Looking up, he beheld Olive moving slowly through the grove 
 toward hhn. Her hands were clasped and lifted up, and swayed 
 aloft in air ; while her eyes were raised also, her head resting 
 slightly on one side, as if she were gazing through the tree-tops. 
 And thus, with glances that sought nothing below, she came tow 
 ard him, her lips still parting, unconsciously, in song and murmur. 
 
 She was clad in white, a loose, simple dress, as unstudied as 
 that of the Grecian damsel, going to the spring for water, in the 
 days of Iphigenia and Andromache. And how wondrously beau 
 tiful she looked in that simple, white costume ! Her pale, trans 
 parent skin ; the ecstatic elevation of her dark-blue eyes ; the ex 
 quisite purity and delicacy of air, carriage, manner, all betoken 
 ing a perfect grace ; arid so spiritualized so utterly free from 
 earthly taint that, without seeking to define thought or con 
 sciousness to ask, "What is this that approaches me?" Harrj 
 Berkeley felt awed, subdued, hallowed ; every human emotion 
 schooled, in sudden subjection, and even shame, as if, indeed, a 
 spirit stood before him. 
 
 He moved not. He was spell-bound by the long-desired but 
 unexpected sight ! 
 
 She came on, meanwhile, unseeing ; her eyes still looking up 
 ward ; her lips still murmuring, in song; no, not song some- 
 
374 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 thing like the dreamy chant of revery, when the lips part and we 
 know not, and there is a speech that rather reveals an emotion 
 than a thought, or sentiment, or wish, or care. 
 
 It did not occur to him nay, -he had not the power to stand 
 aside, and let her pass. He stood, frozen as it were, beneath a 
 wondrous presence ; and her course was arrested only when she 
 was actually in contact with his outstretched arms, which he lifted 
 involuntarily as she drew nigh. 
 
 Then, her lips ceased to murmur. Then, her eyes were let 
 down ; and, as she saw him, she cried out, and threw herself upon 
 his bosom, with a faint, short sobbing, intermingled with the bro 
 ken words 
 
 "It is no dream no dreamr- I know tis he! my Harry! 
 my Harry !" 
 
 He wrapped her instinctively in his close embrace close 
 close even as the dying man grasps convulsively, and with ago 
 nizing tenacity, the dear form which he feels he is about to lose 
 for ever. He had but a single word 
 
 " Olive !" 
 
 And this was spoken in such low, murmured tones, that it is 
 doubtful if she heard him. But her lips answered to him still : 
 
 "I knew twas you ! I knew that you would come !" 
 
 " Death should not keep me from you, Olive." 
 
 " No, no ! I knew that, Harry ! I believed you when you told 
 me so before. But I did not feel you then, as now. And you 
 left me so soon ! You would go ! Why did you go ? I have 
 been looking for you the last three nights ; and oh, how I have 
 kissed the pillow where your head had lain !" 
 
 He was bewildered at these words. He would have gazed 
 into her face for explanation, but that was buried in his bosom. 
 She never once looked up ; and, as she continued to murmur, with 
 a sort of sobbing joy, brokenly and with such sweet pathos, he 
 felt that her mind wandered that she labored under some strange 
 illusions ; while her evident frailness of form, as she clung to him 
 the thin, wan fingers, as she grasped his neck too plainly de 
 clared her physical decline. 
 
 " Did you think that I would desert you, Olive ?" 
 
 " Desert me ? You ! never ! Oh, no ! I knew better. But 
 you were dead ! Ah ! that was the dreadful thing. Drowned in 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 375 
 
 the deep sea in the great ocean ! The big, black billows tum 
 bling over you, until you sunk, sunk, sunk down, down, down 
 so that I might never see you more !" 
 
 " And you believed this, Olive ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I knew, at first, it was all true. But, afterward, 
 Harry, I could not feel you dead ! And when I heard you call 
 ing to me from the waters, and when you came and took me in 
 your arms by night, then I knew that they had told me false ! I 
 knew it was no dream. I had you again ; had you in my arm.; 
 close to me, and your warm kisses were upon my lips and they 
 had no taste of death. But, O Harry, you did stay away so long !" 
 
 " I am come now, Olive I am come at last ; and we shall 
 never part again !" 
 
 " No, no ! never part again ! Beware of that, Harry. Don t 
 leave me again, Harry ; for you know not what they say to me 
 when you are gone. And sometimes they make me believe it all, 
 it is so like the truth. But I have you now, and you will never 
 again leave me, Harry ? No more partings ! We shall have 
 everything safe now, and happy! No horrid drowning no 
 death no storms no seas; only the sweet willows at dear old 
 Feltham." 
 
 " My poor, poor Olive !" was the exclamation, groaned rathei 
 than spoken, by Harry Berkeley 
 
 " My poor, poor Olive, you have suffered sadly, but I am come 
 I am here, Olive ; and I am a man ! You are mine I yours 
 and let me see the man, or woman, who shall torture you again 
 O God, would I had come sooner !" 
 
 By this time, Harry Berkeley was wiser in respect to the con 
 dition of Olive Berkeley. He saw that she was doomed: ha 
 knew not that she was dying! Yet he somehow fait that a great 
 thundercloud overhung her life and his own. He bared his bo 
 som to the bolt; he defied it. There was a proud, imperious, if 
 not triumphant spirit, that seized him strange to say, almost as 
 the natural consequence of his discovery of her leal condition. 
 It was a sacred madness. She was doomed; and he reckless 
 as despairing ! He lifted her from his bosom held her off 
 gazed with a long, passionate vehemence in her eyes, and cried 
 
 " Yes, by the God who sees, you are mine mine only, Olive 
 Masterton !" 
 
376 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Berkeley Berkeley. You forget, Harry." 
 
 " Olive Berkeley, you are mine only ! From this moment you 
 are mine for ever ! They have lied to you. But they shall lie 
 to you no longer. The woods of Feltham the sweet old wil 
 lows ! Come come, Olive ! It is Harry that says, Come ! " 
 
 Dear Harry !" 
 
 He shared her frenzy. The one look which he had taken of 
 her wan face seemed to madden him. Again he clasped her to 
 his bosom, and she sank upon it unresistingly. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! to the Feltham willows, Olive. We shall be happy 
 now." 
 
 " O Harry, yes so happy !" 
 
 " Come come !" 
 
 And he bore her away, not heeding that she lifted no limb that 
 she hung heavily upon him by this time, seemingly, as wholly 
 unconscious of his grasp as he was of the burden which he bore. 
 He seemed to be governed by a wild and desperate impulse. It 
 was as if, suddenly put in possession of his treasure, and dreading 
 that it should be torn away from him, he was resolved to bear 
 her away to lose no moment of precious time in doing so ; and, 
 thus feeling, if not thinking, he put forth all the gigantic strength 
 of his frame, and, lifting her wholly from the ground, strode at 
 once for the deeper thickets where his horse had been tethered. 
 
 He did not think ; he had no deliberate purpose. The impulse 
 was one of a wild and headlong frenzy, the creature of long-pent- 
 up passions, now working with ungovernable sway, and rejecting 
 wholly the mastery of reason. 
 
 " Yes, you are mine now, Olive mine for ever ! Let me see 
 who shall cross our path ! They have wronged us long enough ; 
 we shall baffle them now. We will go free, to a new life, to hope 
 and happiness, my love. You do not doubt me, Olive ? do not 
 fear me ? Are you not mine, mine only, my beloved ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear Harry you know ! you ought to know ! We 
 shall go back to the Feltham willows, dear Harry, and then there 
 shall be no more death no more drowning. Ah ! they can not 
 cheat me now." 
 
 And, even as she spoke, she moaned feebly. The painful sound 
 seemed to move him with a fearful rage. He said, bitterly : 
 
 " They shall atone for this ! He shall atone ! My poor Olive, 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 377 
 
 how they have crushed you among them ! The dove among 
 hawks and vultures ! But let me find them. You are safe now, 
 I will carry you far. You shall have peace, my beloved peace 
 at last and love !" 
 
 " Yes, peace love !" she murmured ; and then, as he hurried 
 on through the grove, he felt her head, which had been lifted as 
 she spoke, fall heavily upon his shoulder, and her moaning and 
 speech ceased together. 
 
 " She faints. God ! if she should die now !" 
 
 And he gnashed his teeth, and increased his speed. She was 
 apparently insensible. He feared this; but it only made him 
 hasten onward with his burden, as if he could find no help for her 
 anywhere short of the refuge, with himself only, to which his im 
 pulse would have borne her. Never were wits and impulse more 
 unreasoning. 
 
 " If I can get her on horseback !" he muttered, between his 
 teeth. This was the one idea. " It is but a moment s weakness. 
 She will recover with the motion, and in a single hour ! " 
 
 And his pace was accelerated. He was already at the end of 
 the grove, and she still insensible, when suddenly the faint crying 
 of a child was heard, on the verge of the thicket, and near the 
 very point which he was approaching. 
 
 The maternal instincts became immediately conscious. In the 
 same moment, at the first sound of that cry, Olive started into in 
 stant life and animation started to her feet shook herself free 
 from the grasp of our rover pushed him from her exclaim 
 ing, as she did so 
 
 " My child, my child ! It is my child !" Then, giving him a 
 look of reproach 
 
 " O Harry, how could you do me thus ?" 
 
 For the first time she stood up, boldly confronting him, her 
 eyes now looking fearlessly into his. His arms no longer sus 
 tained her ; his hands had dropped by his side ; and as his glance 
 rested fairly upon her, he saw in a moment what a cruel mockery 
 it had been, of hope and heart, to think of any mere mortal pas 
 sion m connection with such a creature. She was no longer a 
 thing of earth. All the spiritual aspect of death shone out in hei 
 eyes in the wan, transparent visage so sadly wan, so entirely 
 sublimed by sorrow by a Fate which lifted her above earthly 
 
378 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 sentiments, if not above mortal griefs, and trampled all mortal 
 passion under foot. And when she so mournfully exclaimed, with 
 such a full return of reason and consciousness 
 
 " How could you do me thus, Harry?" 
 
 He was stricken with self-reproach, humbled and ashamed. He 
 might just as properly have borne her to the bier for the bed of 
 bridal, as to think any more of a merely mortal love, in the case 
 of one already consecrated by the stroke of Fate. The kiss of a 
 mortal passion upon lips thus hallowed for Death, would be profa 
 nation. 
 
 His excuse to his own conscience was, in his momentary blind 
 ness. He had been goaded by a temporary insanity ; hurried 
 away, without thought, by long-suppressed passion, which forbade 
 for awhile the control of reason. But, now, the first ferocity of 
 passion had gone over : reason was restored by a tenderer feeling, 
 a more generous instinct. The revulsion left him for the instant 
 paralyzed. Great drops gathered in his eyes ; his lips quivered ; 
 he was speechless, save in the sadness, the contrition, the remorse 
 and agony, in his countenance, as their mutual eyes met and dwelt 
 upon each other. 
 
 " Forgive me, Olive forgive ! It was madness !" 
 
 So, at length, he spoke, in broken murmurs. 
 
 And she, too, spoke again very slowly, and in the most sub 
 dued tones her eyes still resting steadily upon his face. 
 
 " And it is it is you, Harry !" 
 
 To this he could only answer by a moan, clasping his head 
 with his hands, as if to control the bursting violence with which 
 his brain was throbbing in all its chambers. 
 
 " And you do live ! O my God, I thank thee for this this, 
 at least ! You are I know it now you are still in life still 
 a strong man ! You will live !" 
 
 " Alas ! Olive, I do live. The more the pity !" 
 
 " Say not so, Harry, You must live ; and be not sad " 
 
 " Another plaint ive <;ry of the child, now evidently approach 
 ing, half drowned the feeble accents of her voice, and stifled the 
 half-spoken sentence. She would have turned about to the cry, 
 as she heard it ; but her limbs failed her. The momentary strength 
 was gone ; she staggered, and would have fallen, but that he caugh* 
 her in his arms. 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 379 
 
 " Carry me to my child, Harry !" was all she could utter. 
 
 She sank heavily in his embrace, with these broken words. 
 She had ceased to be conscious, in the momentary recurring of 
 her consciousness. His arm alone sustained her. As he felt this, 
 he exclaimed aloud, in his agony : 
 
 " Olive ! Olive ! God, she is dying ! she is dead !" 
 
 At this moment, and while he still clasped her to his bosom, in 
 the spasmodic embrace of one who feels that a long-lost treasure 
 has been suddenly restored to him, and fears again to lose it, a 
 voice at his elbow abruptly aroused him to the consciousness of 
 another party to the scene. The voice was subdued, measured 
 though quivering with emotion ; but there was also a compressive 
 sternness in its tones. Harry knew, with the first intonation, from 
 whose lips the accents came. It was the voice of his brother 
 of Edward Berkeley, the husband of Olive the cassique of 
 Kiawah ! 
 
 He turned abruptly, firmly, with set teeth, and confronted the 
 speaker. 
 
 The cassique met his gaze with strange apparent calmness. 
 There was no hostility in his looks. Nay, could Harry have ex 
 ercised sufficient calm of mood to note the expression in his eyes, 
 he would have seen that they were full of sorrow, and not of strife. 
 
 But he had heard the tones ; and now, as he turned, he saw 
 that the cassique carried a drawn rapier in his hand. 
 
 Harry, supporting Olive with one arm, instantly extricated hi? 
 own rapier from its sheath. In this action, Olive began to recovei 
 her consciousness. Her eyes opened slowly, and, staring for a 
 moment wildly upon her husband, she started suddenly to her 
 feet started forward, and, though staggering, stood up, alone 
 and unsupported, between the brothers, who had each, as by a 
 mutual instinct, recoiled a pace. She beheld the drawn sword in 
 the hands of each. She extended her own hands between them. 
 
 " Oh, shame !" she cried ; " oh, shame ! "Weapons drawn, in th 
 eyes of a dying woman !" 
 
 And both swords were dropped to the ground. And the cheeks 
 of the two strong men were flushed ; and they felt, in whatevet 
 degree either of them had meditated violence, all the terrible re- 
 buke contained in that single pregnant speech from the wan, spir 
 itual, shadowy form before them. 
 
380 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 It was a scene for the bold dramatic painter. Both men were 
 nobly- formed creations, framed in the very prodigality of Nature 
 tall, erect, with well-developed limbs and muscles; graceful 
 and commanding ; full of courage ; and, without even meditating 
 the conflict, naturally taking their positions for it with the atti 
 tudes of the most accomplished gladiators of the days of chivalry. 
 Nor was the costume of either wanting in the requisitions of grace. 
 While Edward Berkeley and his brother, our rover, both adhered 
 to the small-clothes of the day, which showed fully the perfection 
 of the lower limbs, the upper garments had been chosen rather 
 with regard to the ease and freedom of the hunter-life than to the 
 demands of a formal European court. The cassique wore a loose 
 sort of blouse, which, wide open in front, hung loosely from his 
 shoulders, in his present attitude, like the light cloak of the Span 
 ish cavalier. Harry, on the other hand, was garbed in the manly 
 and picturesque costume of the forest-ranger the hunting-shirt 
 of light-blue homespun, with its falling capes and fringes a gar 
 ment which, for grace of drapery, and the freedom of movement 
 which it allows, merits preference over all others, as properest for 
 the American costume. 
 
 And between the two, thus posed, thus habited and confronted, 
 stood the slight, frail, shadowy woman, whose wan visage, trans 
 parent skin, and eyes of dazzling, spiritual brightness, seemed to 
 declare her the denizen of a superior world, suddenly descended 
 between the combatants, to arrest their conflict. 
 
 We have seen the effect of her first words. She had power for 
 a few more only. 
 
 " O Harry ! Sir Edward ! Let me die ; but do not you 
 brothers brothers ! " 
 
 And she again sank, and again into the arms of our rover. 
 
 " Give her to me, Harry Berkeley," said the cassique, as he 
 took her from the unresisting arms of the other. " Give her to 
 ae ; but await me here !" 
 
 One might almost suppose, from the tones, that the speaker 
 were emotionless. But he had trained himself to this ; he had 
 been schooled to suffer, too long, to yield even at such a moment. 
 His voice was that of a will which embodied authority. He had 
 shown no surprise when, in the person of the stranger, he had 
 recognised his long-lost brother ; he had shown no jealous conflict 
 
THE DEAD ALIVE. 881 
 
 in his soul at the relation in which he had seen him with his wife ; 
 yet the inference is natural that he had witnessed much if not all 
 of the scene between them, though he might not have heard the 
 language : and unless we suppose, from the circumstance that he 
 approached with rapier drawn, that he meditated violence, there 
 was nothing in his demeanor to argue any such purpose on his 
 part. We may add, from what we know, that, when he first drew 
 nigh, he knew not that the audacious stranger was a brother. 
 Long persuaded of his death, he had no reason to suppose Harry 
 Berkeley to be still a living man. 
 
 With the same heroic calmness and diffidence of manner which 
 he had shown throughout the scene, did he take his wife into his 
 arms. And Harry Berkeley, now fully master of himself, exhib 
 ited a like firmness of nerve and steadiness of countenance. He 
 yielded her, with one fond, despairing glance, to the arms of his 
 brother. Olive was utterly insensible. She knew nothing of 
 what followed ; and, with the tenderness of one whose heart was 
 full of loving care, and who had no cause of complaint, the cas- 
 sique lifted his wife upon his bosom, and as he bore her away 
 repeated the injunction 
 
 " Wait till I return." 
 
 This was all : there was nothing to show in what mood, or with 
 what purpose, he should return. And with his own doubts still 
 upon him, Harry replied 
 
 " Be sure I will await you, Edward Berkeley." 
 
 And as the cassique bore away his precious burden toward the 
 dwelling Harry picked up his rapier, and, without sheathing it, 
 walked si jwly off for a few paces, to the sheltering branches of a 
 great oak, under which he threw himself down. 
 
 " Yes, Edward, I will await you ! It is proper that you should 
 meet me here, where I have parted, perhaps for ever, from her ! 
 I will await you, and " 
 
 The soliloquy was arrested abruptly. In his present conflict 
 of mood, there could be no logical conclusion for it. We, too, will 
 await the parties. 
 
882 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 
 
 " Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you : 
 I thought that all things had been savage here; 
 And, therefore, put I on the countenance 
 
 Of stern commandment ! 
 
 I blush, and hide my sword." 
 
 As You Lite It. 
 
 OUR rover lay waiting for some time impatiently beneath his 
 tree. The cassique was necessarily delayed by the condition of 
 Olive. It was scarcely possible that he should leave her before 
 she showed signs of recovery. Even Harry Berkeley could al 
 low for this in spite of his impatience. But he was not the less 
 impatient for the allowance. His blood and brain were in wild 
 confusion. 
 
 At length the cassique appeared in sight, slowly moving toward 
 him. We must not, in this place, interrupt the progress of events, 
 by reporting the trying scene of Olive s recovery from insensibil 
 ity. We must give ourselves wholly to the things before us. 
 
 As Harry saw his brother approach, he rose eagerly to his feet, 
 
 but did not advance, till he beheld the other pick up his sword. 
 
 He had not sheathed his own ; and now, poising it lightly in his 
 
 grasp, he strode a few paces forward, diminishing the distance 
 
 etween them. 
 
 The cassique beheld the action of his brother, and his counte 
 nance assumed a sadder aspect than before. He paused delib 
 erately sheathed his own sword, and came forward, presenting his 
 hand. 
 
 Harry gazed sternly on his face ; and, speaking only to the 
 action of the other, said, in the harshest accents : 
 
THE MEETING OF THE KR OTHERS. 383 
 
 " Bettor take your weapon in it, Edward Berkeley. Our hands 
 can never again meet ungloved. It is too late for such peaceful 
 signs. You have passed the bounds of amnesty. We must try 
 the last issues !" 
 
 "I know not why it should be so, Harry, my brother/ 
 
 "You know not! It is then strange enough that, you should 
 know anything. But, before we speak of discord, first tell me, 
 what of her what of Olive the woman you aro murdering! 
 Does she live ? Is she recovered ?" 
 
 " She recovers she lives." 
 
 "Ah! God be praised for that! I shall not, then, have her 
 murder, as well as my own wrongs, t<> avenge !" 
 
 " If this is to be taken into the account, Harry," paid the other, 
 sadly enough, " I know not how lonj; it will be before you may 
 make your reckoning complete. Olive Berkeley i ecovers from 
 her swoon, it is true; she lives, for the present: but I must not 
 disguise it from you, as I do not from myself, that she can not live 
 very long. The strings of life are snapping, one by one. Soon 
 they will vibrate no longer ! She will die, Harry Berkeley 
 nothing now can save her !" 
 
 " And with these tidings on your lips, you think that I will 
 take your hand ? That I will grasp with friendship the hand of 
 him who has been her murderer ! Edward Berkeley, robber of 
 thy brother, traitorous and dishonest kinsman, it was not enough 
 that thou shouldst carry off all the wealth of thy father, as tho 
 first-born to the inheritance ; that I, thy brother, should be driven 
 abroad to perilous venture upon the high seas, in search of for 
 tune ; but thou must glide in between me and happiness be 
 tween my heart and its onu treasure and rob me of that which 
 alone could suffice to make my home procious ! Draw, sir, and 
 let your manhood show itself equal to your malice !" 
 
 Deep crimson was the flush that suddenly passed over the 
 cheeks and forehead of the cassique as he listened to this lan 
 guage. 
 
 But the flush was succeeded by a still more decided pallor. 
 His lips were, for a moment, sternly compressed, as if to subdue 
 all efforts of the rising passion In his blood. When he spoke, he 
 had obtained a great triumph over himself. His tones were 
 measured, his words and utterance quite calm. 
 
384 THE CASSIQUK OF K1AWAH. 
 
 " These are fearful charges, my brother ; terrible, indeed, were 
 they true." 
 
 " And are they not true ? Are you not in possession of one 
 who was pledged to me, in life and death ; and is she not dying 
 in your hands ? Couple the cause with the effect ; note the his 
 tory, step by step, as you may, with any honest logic, and the 
 truth is patent. True ! Do you dare venture to deny the truth ?" 
 
 " It is new to me, Harry Berkeley, to listen to such language, 
 from any lips." 
 
 " Why listen, then ? The sword" 
 
 " There had been a season, Harry, when even you should not 
 have challenged me to the sword without the sword s answer. 
 But now " 
 
 " Ah ! now ! What is it now subdues your courage ? What, 
 but your conscience ? Edward Berkeley, good swordsman as you 
 are, in such a cause you would cross my weapon only to fate." 
 
 " Perhaps ; and yet I know not that. But what have I to do 
 with vain boasting, or equally vain reply to your boast, when such 
 a fate as now threatens, hangs over yonder dwelling ?" 
 
 " Ay !" answered the other, gloomily. " It may well rouse 
 conscience and challenge fear in the bosom of him to whom it is 
 all due." 
 
 " Due to me, indeed ! But not knowingly, not willingly, as 
 Heaven looks down upon us now ! Harry Berkeley, impatient 
 brother of mine, the greatest of my pangs now, after the one which 
 follows that impending fate, is, that I should hear such language 
 from your lips ; listen to such accusations ; and be taught that they 
 are made by one who, after a twenty years experience, should 
 know me so little as to entertain such fancies. True ! God of 
 heaven ! has the brother of my childhood and happy youth 
 when we were both happy has he yet to learn the qualities of 
 one with whom he has slept and sported for nearly twenty years ? 
 This is my great regret ; the very dagger to my heart of pride. 
 What ! have I been so utterly void of demonstration, or character, 
 that, without question, you should think of me such thoughts ?" 
 
 " Ah ! you declaim it well ! But this will never answer. Say, 
 are you not here, and in possession of one whom you know tc 
 have been my betrothed ?" 
 
 " I know it now ! I knew it not, a month ago." 
 
THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 385 
 
 " Ha ! impossible ! I happen to know better. This tale will 
 never answer. Enough ; I say the thing is impossible." 
 
 " Why, yes, Harry ; it must be impossible to you, in such a 
 mood as yours, when you make it my offence that I was born be 
 fore you ; that, by law, I have a certain family inheritance. When 
 such are my imputed offences, what hope have I that any proofs 
 would satisfy my accuser ? He forgets that he has shared with 
 me the profits of this very inheritance ; that my purse has ever 
 been his own ; that his first outfits for fortune were under my ad 
 vances of money ; and that I have never said him * Nay, when 
 from boyhood to manhood he had a craving or a plan, a need or 
 a pleasure, which implied the free use of money. May God curse 
 the wealth which is to deprive me of a brother s faith the affec 
 tions of a kinsman !" 
 
 " Now, by my soul, Edward Berkeley, but it confirms all my 
 belief in your crime, when you plead your benefits, your bounty, 
 in justification of your wrong-doing." 
 " Plead ? My benefits ! my bounty !" 
 
 " Ay, plead ! what else ? You tell me of your purse, and how 
 I shared it ; and how, as boy and youth, I had wants and appe 
 tites, to which your wealth has ministered. And this, in reply to 
 my charge that you had basely stolen from me the one only jewel 
 to which, in all my poverty, I had clung as keenly as to life. She 
 was my life ! I have had none since !" 
 
 Again the warm crimson overspread the cheeks of the cassique. 
 Indignation and mortification strove together in the expression of 
 his face. 
 
 " O Harry Berkeley," he said, " this is very, very cruel. How 
 vexatiously do you pervert my speech !" 
 
 "Yes; you remind me of your benefits of what I owe yon! 
 That is, you have given money to a boy who wanted toys to a 
 youth who had appetites for pleasure ; you have given freely, un 
 grudgingly ; and you tell him so ! It is true ; you have so given. 
 But, thank Heaven, I am able to quite you the amount of this 
 giving, ten times told ! You shall have it, every farthing." 
 "Harry! Harry!" 
 
 " But, what did I not give you, in return for these benefits 
 this liberal allowance of money ? I gave you faith, sir the gen 
 erous faith of a most unselfish boyhood. I opened to you all my 
 
 17 
 
386 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 heart ; I confided freely in yours. You had, from me, the fond 
 est deference, the most uncalculating confidence, the most broth 
 erly love, unmixed with envy, jealousy, or any other baser metal 
 of the passions. Your money did not buy these ! It was your 
 love, your truth, your equal confidence and faith. And where 
 were these when you wronged my absence ? Suppose me worth 
 less, ungrateful for all your gifts, forgetful of your benefits : should 
 this justify you in the usurpation of my rights?" 
 
 " I did not ! By the great God" 
 
 " By all the gods, you did ! You seized the moment of my 
 greatest misfortune my wreck upon the seas, and the dreary 
 absence which followed it to insinuate yourself into the affec 
 tions of the woman who was pledged to me the only woman I 
 had ever loved ! By cunning arts, you overcame her weakness ; 
 roused her vanities by your temptations your wealth, your title ; 
 played upon her poor, weak, woman-heart ; dazzled her eyes " 
 
 " Stop, Harry ; and whatever else you may say in your mad 
 ness, forbear all reproach of Olive Berkeley ! Not a word of 
 censure upon her ! She was weak, no doubt ; weak where, would 
 to God she had been most strong ; but mean vanity, lust of wealth, 
 pride, pomp, or power, never weighed one moment in her bosom. 
 She, at least, was free from all such sin." 
 
 " What is it, then, that you call her weakness ?" 
 
 " She had no proper power no will, perhaps when she hear<? 
 that you were dead, to resist an authority under which her infancy 
 and childhood had been always trained. The fault (and there was 
 fault) was none of hers. She must not suffer censure from your 
 lips or mine." 
 
 " Ah ! I thank you, EoVard Berkeley, for this, at least. It 
 restores her to my thought, to my heart, as she was before a 
 pure, loving, faithful, and devoted woman. Olive ! Olive ! it is a 
 great gain to my soul that I can still think of you as in that first 
 morning of our youth, when neither of us had dread of wreck 
 But, how much more the wrong- and sliame of those who have baf 
 fled the hop# s and erjjslifcd the hearts of both ! Yes, Olive, I 
 might have known, in your wan visage and breaking heart, that 
 you were only a victim! But you shall not be unavenged! 
 Weak, say you, Edward Berkeley ? weak as a loving, simple- 
 hearted, tender woman ! But whose was the wily art to abuse 
 
THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 887 
 
 this weakness ? to win this weak heart from its faith ? to deceive 
 her with false tidings of my death ? to torture her life by incessant 
 practice, until, through sheer exhaustion, she sank into submission 
 to a fate at which her whole soul revolted a fate which has 
 brought her now, as you admit, to the very verge of doom ? Who, 
 but you, and that wretched old beldame, her mother ?" 
 
 " False ! false ! / am guiltless." 
 
 " Yes ; you joined wits together ; laid your snares ; practised 
 your arts ; lied, cajoled, vexed, worried, until you triumphed 
 triumphed in the utter overthrow of the fairest, gentlest, loveliest 
 of all God s creatures. Your money and rank bought that miser- 
 erable old woman, whose passions, nursed by vanity, had no life 
 save in public show. The strong will of the strong man ; the cun 
 ning arts of the selfish old woman : these combined to overawe, to 
 overcome the timorous young thing, till you had her tangled in 
 your snares, fettered in your meshes, trembling under your des 
 potism, and, in utter despair at last, yielding submission, through 
 utterly-exhausted faculties and a wretchedly-bewildered brain ! 
 And lo ! the fruits madness, and a closely-impending death! 
 Acquit Olive, as you do, and such is the history, such the damna 
 ble crime ; and all the guilt is yours !" 
 
 A cold sweat covered the pallid brows of the cassique. The 
 vehemence of our rover had been irresistible. And such was the 
 apparent history. On his lips, it was but too plausibly stated ; 
 and the cassique shuddered as he heard. 
 
 "It is a terrible picture, Harry Berkeley, which you have 
 drawn ; and I feel there is too much in it that is probably true ! 
 This is what crushes me. For, though myself guiltless, I fear, 
 from what I now know, that such have been the arts practised to 
 subdue the faith of Olive Berkeley, and cause her to yield to my 
 wishes. I have been made to win by a practice in which I did 
 not share." 
 
 " Ah ! and who not guilty, if not you ? Knew you nothing of 
 these processes ? Was Olive s such a clear, frank, noonday con 
 senting to your prayers, that it never once struck you that it was 
 an enforced business ? Can you tell me that she smiled gratefully 
 when you came ? that her eyes seemed to hunger for your com 
 ing ; that her lips welcomed you with fondest falterings of speech, 
 Oh ! there are thousand signs by which one detects the passion 
 
388 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 lurking in the purest virgin heart, and giving encouragement to 
 the bashful wooer. All of these you saw ? You were not a sim 
 pleton ; not blind with self-conceit ; no mere boy, laboring under a 
 bounding impulse of the blood ? You could see, could hear, could 
 understand, that child-nature so unsophisticated, so true in ev 
 ery gushing emotion, thought, feeling, fancy ! You were not de 
 ceived. Had you these signs, proofs? for such signs speak as 
 certainly for the ingenuous young heart as any that shine from 
 heaven, or pass before our eyes on earth. Ah ! you had these 
 proofs, Edward Berkeley, all, ere you ventured to say to your 
 self, This woman loves me ? Surely, you never, with your 
 pride, your manhood, would descend to a traffic in hearts, in 
 which you were willing to have a counterfeit passed upon you !" 
 " Were I to say to you, Harry, that I had such proofs now 
 with my present thoughts and convictions I should speak 
 falsely. But, when I sought Olive Masterton in marriage, I fondly 
 fancied that I had these proofs. No ! my pride alone would never 
 have suffered me to take a counterfeit passion to my breast." 
 
 " Never ! never ! You could never have believed that you had 
 such proofs." 
 
 " I had not. I am willing now to admit that I had not. Yet, 
 I loved, and was willing to believe ! I was deceived by others j 
 I was too easy, too willing to be deceived by myself. That was 
 all my fault. Now that I look back^ I wonder at my own self- 
 deception. Olive was simply passive. The proofs that assured 
 and lured me were such as cunning could suggest to passion." 
 "And whose the cunning?" 
 
 " It is enough for me, Harry, to disclaim the cunning as mine. 
 I used no arts, except those which should commend myself to a 
 beloved object ; none but such as I thought, and still think, legiti 
 mate to use That others were used, I now believe ; but it is 
 not for me, ilarry, to declare or denounce the guilty. Enough 
 for me, to disclaim all part in the guilt. I had no doubt of 
 your death ; but you were not spoken of, or thought of, in this 
 connection. I fancied, when I proposed for Olive, that her heart 
 had been touched in r.c serious manner : that she had been an 
 object of attention, had reached my ears ; but no such object ever 
 presented himself to my sight ; and the assurance given me was. 
 that there had been no obligation between her and anv other 
 
THE MEETING OP THE BROTHERS. 389 
 
 party. I am satisfied now even before any word from you 
 that all this was false ; that there had been an engagement : but 
 even then, even when I had made this discovery, I never dreamed 
 that you had been the object of her affections. This discovery 
 was reserved for a more recent period. It was then made invol 
 untarily by Olive herself, under circumstances too sacred to speak 
 of. Whatever subterfuge or cunning was employed to bring her 
 to my wishes, Harry Berkeley, as God hears me at this moment, 
 I knew nothing of them. I was as innocent of any false practice 
 with Olive Masterton as she with me ! That she was practised 
 upon that we were both practised upon, selfishly and dishon 
 estly, even as you describe the practice I am now too well sat 
 isfied. It is my great grief that I was the gainer if, indeed, it 
 be gain by this false practice ; that so much that you have said 
 is true ! But I, too, have been the victim. Do you think that I 
 would have married any woman whom I should have to love in 
 vain?" 
 
 An incredulous laugh, full of bitterness, answered this assurance. 
 For the moment, the speaker had no other answer. 
 
 " You may laugh, Harry, as you will. But I have lived too 
 long in vain, to be moved by this treatment. It is matter of more 
 moment to you than to me, that you should continue to nurse this 
 demon of doubt. If I loved Olive Masterton if I tried all arts 
 to win her sacrificing truth, and faith, and magnanimity, as well 
 as honesty I am terribly punished for the fault ! She will soon 
 be lost to us for ever. She has long since been lost to me! For 
 months have I known, not only that she loved me not, but that 
 my presence was a pain to her, and a loathing ! If I have sinned 
 against you, my brother, I have got my reward. My punishment 
 is inevitable. If I could reproach myself, as you now reproach 
 me, I should entreat your sword to my throat ; nay, my brother, 
 be prompted to use my own ! The demon has urged this in my 
 ears a thousand times, and with reason, for, of a truth, life is to me 
 a dreadful weariness !" 
 
 " Edward Berkeley, I would to God that I could believe you ! 
 How I have loved you, can be said by no lips better than by 
 yours ; it will not now be said by mine. I believed you all truth 
 and honor. I would have trusted you with mine with life, love, 
 everything ay, even with Olive ! And to be betrayed by you V 
 
390 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " I never betrayed you, Harry." 
 
 " Stay, Edward Berkeley. Do not suppose me ignorant. Mj 
 emissaries have been busy. I have heard the truth. There was 
 one person, at least, who told you of Olive s engagement, and the 
 claims of your brother." 
 
 " Never ! Who ?" 
 
 " Old Walter Hern ! You saw him ; you spoke to him of 
 Olive and her childhood, and he told you of our betrothal." 
 
 He did not." 
 
 " What ! old Hern lie that good old man the faithful stew 
 ard of our father for forty years ?" 
 
 " Did Hern tell you, in so many words, that he had told me 
 these things? I honor his truth no less than you. If he said 
 this, I should (but for my own conscientious conviction that I 
 could not so have erred) be staggered by the assertion/ 
 
 " He said to Jack Belcher that he had told you all." 
 
 " He did not ! Belcher has jumped to his conclusions, and the 
 old man has spoken vaguely. I have no doubt that he weula 
 have spoken out, but for a false notion of delicacy. Certainly he 
 would have done so, but for the account of your death, when he 
 had no further reason to see embarrassment in my marriage with 
 Olive. O Harry, would to God that the old man had spoken 
 out ! But he never did. He dealt in hints and inuendoes, the 
 amount of which was that Olive, at some time past, had been in 
 terested in another. This was all that I could comprehend, and 
 upon this hint I pressed Mrs. Masterton with the keenest inquiry. 
 I have already told you what was her answer." 
 
 " The miserable hag !" 
 
 " It is possible that, could I now recall all that Walter said, in 
 his shrinking, timid, doubtful manner, I should have the clue to 
 what he meant. With my subsequent knowledge, all might be 
 made clear. But the old man, though he spoke of another attach 
 ment, of secret meetings " 
 
 " Not so very secret. You might have heard it from a dozen 
 at Feltham." 
 
 " But we were not at Feltham. I did not meet Olive there. 
 Her mother and herself were in lodgings at London." 
 " Ha ! London waiting your arrival." 
 " But never once, though Walter hinted a betrothal, did lie or 
 
THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 391 
 
 any o:.e give mo the slightest reason to suppose $iat you, ray 
 brother, were the person who was thought to have preceded me 
 in the affections of Olive." 
 
 " But should not the mere hint of the betrothal, no matter to 
 what person, have served to check your pursuit ?" 
 
 It did" 
 
 " Not very long." 
 
 " O Harry ! be not so coldly and unjustly incredulous. It did 
 check my pursuit ; for I should be the last man to seek so ready 
 a fiancee. But I had the most solemn assurance from the mother 
 of Olive that there was no truth in the report. She admitted that 
 there had been some attention from another ; that, for awhile, she 
 fancied Olive to be impressed, but she was mistaken ; that there 
 had been no engagement, no impressment ; and that the affair was 
 all over, long before." 
 
 " Jezebel ! And you never once conjectured that the other 
 party was your own brother ?" 
 
 " Never, as I hope for mercy !" 
 
 The eyes of Harry Berkeley deliberately addressed themselves 
 to those of his brother. He searched them piercingly, and with a 
 keen intensity, which seemed resolutely to probe the soul through 
 them to its most secret depths. Those of the cassique were open to 
 the scrutiny as frankly, fairly, broadly, as were the soft, blue skies 
 overhead. They shrank not from the search ; they recorded the 
 truthful utterance of his lips ; there could not be a doubt of their 
 veracity ; and Harry Berkeley, however reluctant to believe 
 however still dissatisfied as hopeless could not fail to be im 
 pressed. He lifted his rapier-point slowly from the earth, and 
 sent it home with force into the scabbard. 
 
 " We have played together, Edward," he said, very slowly and 
 sadly, tk as loving brothers. We have had, for long, pleasant sea 
 sons, but a single life between us. Your money has been mine ; 
 you have never given it grudgingly ; and if I suffered myself to 
 reproach you as the first-born of my father, believe me I never 
 once envied you your better fortune, not even when I strove to 
 make myself independent of it. O Edward, it was the bitterest 
 pang to me of all, when I felt compelled to think that you had 
 passed between me and all my hopes, and all that my heart held 
 precious, by means of that wealth !" 
 
392 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " And how could you think that, my brother ? how, at least, 
 think that I could do so knowingly, wilfully ?" 
 
 " Could I think otherwise, in possession of such evidence ?" 
 
 " No evidence nay, that of your own senses even should 
 have sufficed to make you believe that I could wrong you, in the 
 face of such an experience as ours. Ah ! Harry, this is among 
 the keenest pangs of my soul. What should I not require to be 
 lieve you false to me, to honor, and the sweet, pure lessons of our 
 sainted mother !" 
 
 " Speak not of her now" said the other, in husky accents. " She, 
 at least, is spared the sight of our mutual disappointments." 
 
 " True ; and yet how glad and grateful was her hope !" 
 
 " She is at rest, thank Heaven, and can feel no disappointment 
 now." 
 
 " Unless in sympathy with us ! O Harry Berkeley, if I had 
 ever wronged you in this matter, or in any matter, you have a 
 revenge such as no sword-stroke of yours could ever inflict. Look 
 at these locks, prematurely gray, yet how little am I your senior ! 
 I tell you, I now live for nothing have lived in vain ! I strug 
 gle strive; for I have turbulent energies that I must keep em 
 ployed, lest, like wolves, in the shape of pasnons, they turn upon 
 and rend me. But, save for this, I exercise mind and muscle to 
 no end. I have no longer a purpose in my work, as I no longer 
 have a living hope in my soul. Hope and ambition ore dead 
 within me. She for whom I could have striven valiantly and no 
 bly, she is heedless ; can not heed even if she would ; and, too 
 well I know, would not if she could. Of that I am too painfully 
 assured. Loving her as I do, Harry, would to God, for your sake 
 and hers, I had never seen her ! Would to God I could restore 
 her to you now ! But prayer is now vain. She will die, Harr* 
 you have seen that Olive will die!" 
 
 " Ay ! to both of us !" 
 
 " And it is well now. She could live for neither. She has not 
 lived for me ; and it may give your heart a sad satisfaction now 
 to know that her life, such as it has been, has been wholly youra 
 I know it now, too late too late ! Harry it is something verj 
 sacred but hearken." 
 
 Here his voice sank to a whisper, and he drew his brother 
 aside, taking him by the arm : 
 
THE MEETING OF THE BROTHERS. 393 
 
 " Harry, all the secret of her love for you has been delivered 
 to me, by her own unconscious lips, in her midnight dreams, and 
 when her senses seemed all to wander. Think of that, Harry : 
 how awful ! Harry, though I shuddered to hear the cruel 
 story, yet a strange fascination bound me to her side, and I was 
 made fatally wise in regard to her fate, and mine, and yours all 
 so terribly bound up together ! Alas ! we have all been cruelly 
 betrayed. She is not the only victim. She has passed the crisis. 
 She is now beyond all trial of the Fates !" 
 
 "You do not tell me that she is dead?" was the question of 
 our rover, in hoarse but subdued accents, as if under a sudden 
 shock, which made him recoil from that embrace which his brother 
 had unconsciously taken about his neck. 
 
 " No ! oh, no ! She still lives ; but the worst pangs those of 
 the soul of its first consciousness of wreck and ruin are all 
 over. And still she suffers in the body. But the life of her mind, 
 now, is resolved into mere dream." 
 
 " Yet she grew to consciousness, when standing here between 
 us. That one speech, that action " 
 
 " Was probably the last effort of the lingering mind. All is 
 delirium now 7 , and vacancy. She will probably never again know 
 us, except in the last struggle which looses the silver cord of 
 life." 
 
 " Edward, I would be near her then. I must, I tell you 
 must catch her last look, hear her last murmurs, see the light go 
 out of her eyes. I feel that she will know me then. I must be 
 present." 
 
 " Go to her now; be with her always to the last. She may 
 linger thus for weeks : she may sigh out life in an hour." 
 
 " No, not now ! I can not see her now ! Edward, my brother 
 when I waited for you this evening, I fully thought that there 
 could be no explanation between us save one that of the sword. 
 I felt, my brother, that I could slay you ; felt sure that, having 
 so wronged me, you would strive probably to slay me. I have 
 had dire and desperate thoughts, Edward ! Forgive me these 
 thoughts ; forgive me that I could so easily forget our boyhood, 
 and our boyhood s mother, as to meditate your death. But, it 
 was a madness, my brother, rather than a thought ! I have been 
 a madman for a long season, and have done the mad^^st things." 
 
 17* 
 
894 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Tell me of yourself, Harry," in low, sweet accents ; and the 
 hand of the cassique gently stole once more about the neck of our 
 rover. 
 
 " No, no ! nothing now. There will be a better time for this, 
 when we meet under a canopy of cloud, with the badges of stately 
 mourning all around, and the signs of death staring the life out of 
 our own eyes. Ask me then, when we are standing, perchance, 
 over the bier of of ay, Edward, the bier of Olive Masterton 
 
 ask me then. It will be a proper time. We must part now." 
 " Whither would you go, Harry ?" 
 
 " Whither ? As the winds drive ! What matters whither ?" 
 
 " But you will go with me ? Be with me now, Harry, since 
 Fate so thoroughly restores you to me ! Come with me ; all here 
 is yours. I and mine are yours, Harry ! Olive, too, is yours !" 
 
 And the brave cassique covered his face with his hands, while 
 deep sobs broke from his lips. Harry Berkeley turned away ab 
 ruptly, as if to depart ; possibly to subdue his own emotions. 
 
 The other pursued and clasped him in his arms. 
 
 " Let us not part now, Harry. Go with me !" 
 
 " No, Edward, not now. I must go elsewhere : I have duties." 
 
 This was said very calmly, as if the passions had been all sub 
 dued. The cassique clung to him. 
 
 " Duties ! What are you doing ? how came you here ? w r hence 
 
 why ? and where have you been these many, many months ? I 
 have so much to hear, Harry !" 
 
 " And I so much to tell if it will bear telling, or if I could 
 speak ! But it will only pain me to do so, and scarcely please 
 you. Let me go now, Edward. Another time ! There is time 
 enough for all. Hark ! some one calls/ 
 
 They both looked about. The nurse, with the child in her arms, 
 rapidly approached them and addressed the cassique. 
 
 O sir ! " 
 
 " What s the matter ?" 
 
 " My lady, sir she s raving, worse than ever. Mrs. Master- 
 ton begs you to come." 
 
 " Will you go with me, Harry ?" 
 
 The other strode to and fro. Then quickly 
 
 " No, Edward, not now ; not while she raves. But there will 
 come an hour when I shall be with you." 
 
THE MEETING OP THE BROTHERS. 39t> 
 
 " Why not see her now ? Perhaps " 
 
 " See her now ! and while she raves ! I that have never seen 
 her save when her soul was placid as that of an angel ! See i f , 
 now in storm ! No, no ; God of heaven, save me from such sight ! 
 T would madden me, too, Edward Berkeley, and I should forget 
 that we have spoken in words of peace " 
 
 " And love, too, Harry !" 
 
 " I should forget all, but her wrongs and my own. I will not 
 see her now. Enough that I have seen her : and such a wreck 
 of love, and happiness, and beauty ! Away ! Go you, Edward ; 
 go quickly !" 
 
 " I must. Yet, my brother, say that I am forgiven the UP- 
 conscious share I have had in this threefold work of wo ! Though 
 guilty of no treachery, I- feel that I too have been weak and mis 
 erably blind. I have suffered my own passions to cloud my 
 senses and baffle my reason. But for this, all would have been 
 well with all of us !" 
 
 " Ah, no more ! Hell s curses upon that she-fiend ! " 
 
 " Curse not, Harry !" very solemnly. " Even at this very mo 
 ment, Olive " 
 
 " Ah ! go to her, Edward." 
 
 " You will now grasp my hand we may now embrace, dear 
 Harry !" was the pleading, faltering speech of the cassique ; and 
 the brothers fell into each other s arms ! One violent grasp one 
 close, passionate embrace ; the big tears gathering from both eyes ; 
 heavy, choking sobs, bursting from both bosoms ; their manly 
 frames trembling with the emotions of their souls and they tore 
 themselves asunder. 
 
 The cassique sped toward the dwelling, never once looking behind 
 him. Harry watched him as he went. Then, as he turned, h 
 discovered the nurse with the child close beside him. Confound*^ 
 by what she saw, the woman had lingered. She had witnessed 
 the parting embrace of the brothers heard their passionate lan 
 guage ; they wholly forgetful of her presence. 
 
 The moment Harry Berkeley beheld her, he said 
 
 " Ha ! it is Olive s child !" 
 
 And he took the infant quickly, but tenderly enough, from th 
 arms of the nurse. He held it aloft, and gazed in its soft blue 
 eyes. And it smiled upon him, and cooed with its little lips 
 
396 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 And he felt how like it was, in feature, to himself. Giving it 
 back to the nurse, he murmured 
 
 "It is Olive s child Olive s, but not mine!" 
 
 Then, without further look or word, he turned away, and with 
 rapid strides soon buried himself in the thickets. In a few mo 
 ments he was upon his steed, and going at a rapid pace through 
 the forest, 
 
COILS, CARES, AND CLUES. 397 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 COILS, CARES, AND CLUES. 
 
 " Coils, which are cares, but grow to clues, if Care 
 Will heedfully unwind them, and march on, 
 The string in hand, to where the end awaits ! 
 It is your dullard dodges from his care, 
 Nor knows it as a missile, to be caught, 
 Aud hurled back to the cricketeer of Fate." Old Play. 
 
 RAPID motion, in the case of all persons of highly-sanguine 
 temperament, compels thought ; that is to say, in the case of peo 
 ple who liave brains enough, at any time, for such exercise ! The 
 mere temperament may be a motor to the reason ; a stimulating 
 force, as steam to the engine ; but it is not the faculty itself. Such 
 men as Harry Berkeley (or Calvert, for we must still continue to 
 know him by both names) think in action. There is a consenta 
 neous working of blood, and brain, and body, to a common end 
 and object ; the only sort of working which is worth. This con 
 sentaneous working makes the action in the cast) of the orator. 
 The effect, in that of our hero, who did not pretend to oratory, 
 would be, as in general with most of good Anglo-Norman stock, 
 the stroke and shout together ; the eye will be clear the while, 
 affording that greatest virtue in the military man, the exercise of 
 the coup d ceil; the judgment will be really quickened, and more 
 admirable, with the sense of danger once awakened. 
 
 So it was, that the moment Harry Calvert began to gallop, he 
 began to think. And very various, indeed, were the topics which 
 now pressed upon his thoughts. Ship and crew; brother and 
 wife ; his own wife ; the machinations of the conspirators among 
 his people ; the machinations of the red men against the colony : 
 
398 THE CASSIQUE OF KlAWAII. 
 
 all these in turn, and all together, crowded upon his thought and 
 memory his steed, meanwhile, beginning to suffer under the 
 infliction of the spur. 
 
 But the rider did not reason the less closely and correctly be 
 cause of the fleetness of his motion ; and when, after nightfall, he 
 reached the precincts of the creek where his vessel found harbor 
 age, he had properly digested all his plan of operations in regard 
 to the subjects most pressing upon his anxieties. 
 
 Events were ripening fast to their several issues, and he gath 
 ered up all their clues. 
 
 He did not go on board the vessel ; but, lurking in the thickets, 
 approached on foot, near enough to make his signals, which, after 
 awhile, procured him a secret interview with young Will Hazard, 
 the youth whose adroit practice had first put him in possession of 
 the secret of those who were willing to run up the " Jolly Roger. * 
 Having made a final disposition of all the matters between them, 
 he sent Hazard back to the ship, and betook himself to a body of 
 forest in which he had tethered his horse. Here he snatched a 
 few hours of much-needed sleep. With the dawn he was again 
 mounted ; and this time, picking his way slowly and cautiously, 
 he descended the country, keeping as closely as he could to the 
 river, until he reached Gowdey s castle, at Oldtown, where he 
 found a late breakfast awaiting him, and old Gowdey eager for 
 his return. 
 
 He had given the veteran full employment, nor had the latter 
 neglected any of his commissions. He had manned his castle, in 
 secret, with fourteen sturdy fellows, old sea-dogs, foresters, and 
 craftsmen ; men who could put their hands to anything ; could 
 handle musket or oar with equal dexterity ; and, having passed 
 through most of the roughening processes of life, without having 
 reaped any of the rewards of fortune, were just as ready for new 
 enterprise as the most ardent young fellow of twenty-one. 
 
 His little garrison was well armed from the magazine of the 
 Happy-go-Lucky. Gowdey had drilled them after his mixed 
 fashion ; the sailor and the forester blending oddly enough in his 
 nature. He had been careful to observe the injunctions of Cal- 
 vert, and had maintained the strictest secresy in his operations. 
 His fellows had been smuggled in under cover of the night ; and 
 while, to all without, the old castle presented its wonted aspect of 
 
COILS, CARES, AND CLUES. 399 
 
 solitude and feebleness, no one, white or red, could suspect its in 
 crease of society and strength. 
 
 The creature-comforts had not been forgotten. Preparations 
 were made even for a siege. Casks of bacon, barrels of flour and 
 biscuit, potatoes, and other stores, had been provided, as well as 
 all essential munitions of war, rendering the castle a complete 
 house of refuge for the contiguous country, in the event of any 
 sudden outbreak among the red men. 
 
 Nor had the veteran been heedless of what had been going on 
 without. To use his own words : 
 
 " I ve been a-scoutin , captain. Soon as I got these fellows in 
 garrison, and found a man among em I could trust, to keep all 
 dark and close, jest as ef I was here^myself, I put out, and have 
 had a good smart cruise round about the country. I went off 
 west, to the Stonoe river ; then I tuk down the river, among the 
 Stonoes and Cussoboes; and spread out, right and left, to tte 
 settlements of the Wadmalahs and Kiawahs." 
 
 " "Well, what discoveries ?" 
 
 " It s clear we re to have a risin ! The warriors ain t no 
 where. They re off in the thick somewhere ; but where, there s 
 no tellin . I skairted two camps of them, both Wadmalahs, but 
 could n t git too nigh ; for they had their scouts out, and busy. 
 It tuk all I had of wood-cunnin to see what I did, and git off 
 without showin my heels ; but I did ! Old Cussoboe was gone 
 above, with all his men. That I got out of an old squaw, for a 
 tin cup I carried. But she would tell me no more. The women 
 in the settlements, I could see, wor oneasy. They had everything 
 ready for a start at a moment s warnin . So that, I reckon, you 
 wor jest as near right, in your calkilations of a risin , as ever was 
 a man yit that know d the meanin of an Injiri sign." 
 
 " Did you warn any of the whites ?" 
 
 " Did n t see many, your honor. I m afraid they ll have to pay 
 for it with their wool, same as ever. When once these traders 
 are on the scent of a good trade, they won t smell even the sul 
 phur of hell s fires, though it s a-blazin under their very noses ! 
 I met a Dutchman and three Scotchmen, and each a-horseback, 
 and a great pack behind him ; and I says, Look you, you re 
 a-guine to a most bloody market. And the Dutchman says, 
 Himmel ! de plut is goot in de market ! When I told him 
 
400 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 zactly what I meant, he answered by showin a great pistol, and, 
 looking brave enough, said, * I vill show de red rascals dis leetle 
 gon ! And much would they mind his little gun ! He d git the 
 arrow through his great belly, out of the woods, and never see 
 the chap that held the bow. The Scotchmen wor all three to 
 gether, and had a sort of consult about what I told them ; but 
 they had a young fellow who was a kind of leader, and he laughed 
 at Injin fightin , and they all agreed to push for ard. It seems 
 that a party of seven, with great packs, had gone ahead, and they 
 wanted to overhaul em, lest they should take off the edge of the 
 market before they could get up." 
 
 " Whither were they bound ?" 
 
 "Toward the Savano town, where, they tell, there s a larg 
 gatherin of the Injins the Westoes, Savanoes, Isundigoes, an 
 Coosaws for a great ball-play. Cordin to the Scotchmen, there 11 
 be a thousand of the red-skins, and maybe more, at the gath- 
 rrin !" 
 
 " Can Cussoboe be off among these people ? Is it possible that 
 he has brought them together with reference to his own ob 
 ject?" 
 
 " I reckon not, your honor. I believe what the old woman says. 
 I reckon he s gone above, to the heads of the Edisto, to bring 
 down the great power of his own tribe, that hadn t come down, 
 and ginerally do n t come down, till the corn s laid by ; that is, 
 sometime late in July and the first weeks in August. It s not 
 likely that he 11 try to work in more tribes than his own ; for 
 these Injins are greedy after what they can git, and do n t want 
 too many to share the sp ile. And that s one reason why they 
 can t keep together in large bodies for very long : they grudges 
 to give up anything they git. I reckon old Cussoboe has marked 
 out everything, at our white cassique s, for himself ; and that s 
 one reason why he s put his own son there. He 11 set the other 
 chiefs of his people to lookin for their prog in other quarters. 
 There s a small settlement of Scotch and English down upon 
 South Edisto, close to the salts. They have n t been there long ; 
 and I hear there s a bigger Scotch settlement at Beaufort, under 
 a great Scotch lord. Ef the Injins are uprisin , ginerally, they 11 
 all be cut off, unless they git warnin in time, and are sensible 
 enough to take it." 
 
401 
 
 " And, in an Indian outbreak, we must always expect a rising 
 to be more or less general. If it takes in only the tribes of one 
 nation, they will suffice for the work of destruction." 
 
 " I could n t stretch away fur enough, captain, to give em warn- 
 in on the Edisto and at Beaufort. I had, you know, enough to 
 consider and watch here ; more at home, as I may say. But, ef 
 you think " 
 
 " No ! you will be wanted here. We must try and warn them 
 by boats from the sea. That will be safer and easier. I will see 
 to that to-night." 
 
 " To-night, sir !" with a smile. " Why, I reckon to-night you ll 
 be at the grand fandango and misdemeanor ball, at Lady Ander 
 son s, in town. There s to be old fun, and big splinters, and all- 
 tearin music and dancin there, to-night! Hain t you heard? 
 ain t you axed to the music ?" 
 
 Our rover smiled. 
 
 " Well, perhaps I am, Gowdey ; and it is possible I may be 
 there." 
 
 " Twill suit you, captain, for everybody s to go in his own dis- 
 guisin s, jest as he pleases, and wear what sort of coat suits his 
 idees ; and he can kiver his face with a kind of black curt in that 
 they calls a mask. Ah ! I have it now : the party is a masker- 
 adies ! that s it. It s a big word for a sailor, that s got but half 
 a jaw for his speakin , and t other half for his quid." 
 
 I may look in upon the masqueraders, Gowdey, but can hard 
 ly be among them. At all events, I can snatch opportunity 
 enough, I think, to send off a boat to the settlement at Beaufort. 
 What you tell me of these traders, and the settlements, troubles 
 me. I fear the mischief is more general than we thought it. 
 These settlements are all in danger. They seem to have no 
 sense of it; they have taken no precautions. The authorities 
 here despise the red men too much ; and, indeed, having been for 
 some time quiet and peaceable, they have furnished natural rea 
 sons why the whites should be lulled into security. This large 
 gathering of the Indians to the south of us, if true, is an im 
 posing fact. It is too late in the season for the ball-play. 
 They have other festivities, it is true the green-corn dance, 
 and" 
 
 "Oh! there s always some rolly-polly s goin on among em! 
 
402 THE CASSIQUE JF KIAWAH. 
 
 They re jest like our white folks, after all. Only let the drum 
 beat, or the trumpet blow, or the fife squeak, or squeeze the Scotch 
 man s bags ; or jest fling a handful of pebbles in a tin kittle, and 
 rattle away, and swig liquor all the while ; and the monkeys will 
 crowd about the pole from a thousand quarters, and grin, and 
 shake their legs, and catch hold of any partners. * 
 
 " True enough ! But the tribes do not usually- congregate in 
 such numbers, so far from their own council-houses, for any ordi 
 nary music. There is danger that all these traders will lose their 
 scalps." 
 
 " Like enough ! I warned em to take a good feel of the wool 
 on their sculps, for they worn t likely to feel it very long. But 
 they wor all full of braggadocio, under that young fellow s lead ; 
 and, as they all carried pistols, they talked as ef they wor an 
 army.* 
 
 " Well, we can do nothing for them. But the settlements w 
 may be in season to save." 
 
 "Yes, ef you can send right away this very night and ef 
 so be they believe you after they hear." 
 
 " Lord Cardross is a stout soldier, and his heart s in his colony. 
 He will probably take counsel. We must try, at all events, to 
 make him do so. This large gathering of the Indians, assuming 
 the report to be true, argues something beyond the usual Indian 
 policy. I suspect the Spanish guarda costas are again upon the 
 coast, and busy in secret. If so, Beaufort is in danger. They 
 may even meditate mischief here, at Charleston. The place is 
 without good defences. A single brigantine, well officered, could 
 destroy the town in three hours." 
 
 " You think so, captain ?" 
 
 " Think for yourself. What s the value of the palmetto fort 
 which they have at Oyster point ? Of what use the mud crescent 
 at the Governor s creek ? And if an enemy came through Wap- 
 poo into Kiawah, save your own one gun, Gowdey, no other could 
 be brougnt ro bear upon her, and that could do no mischief if she 
 took a position southwest of the town. If I were quite free at 
 this moment, I would run round with the Happy-go-Lucky to Port 
 Royal, and see for the Spaniards myself." 
 
 " T would be famous fun to git in among them guarda costas, 
 and catch the dons nappin ! I d jest like to have a few cracks 
 
 t 
 
COILS, CARES, AND CLUES. 403 
 
 at em myself, ef only to pay off old scores. They had me nine 
 months, hard at work, with a bracelet on the ankle, at their cus 
 sed castle at St. Augustine. I owe em the weight of that iron 
 bracelet, in iron bullets, at the rate of nine pounds a day for nine 
 months ; and whenever you can say to me, * Gowdey, come, pay 
 off them scores with the Spaniards, you 11 not find an old salt 
 more ready for a new craft or a fresh quid !" 
 
 We must not pursue the dialogue, though in its progress be 
 tween the parties it involved a great variety of details, minor cer 
 tainly, but all bearing upon the several necessities which con 
 cerned the fortunes of the personages in our history. Besides, it 
 consumed the day. Calvert lingered with Gowdey till dark, ma 
 king final arrangements in reference to the approaching issues ; 
 and was then, under cover of the night, paddled over to the thick 
 ets of the opposite shore, whence he made his way to the town on 
 foot. 
 
 Here, at an appointed place, he found Jack Belcher and our 
 old acquaintance Franks, who were both eager for his coming, 
 and in no little consternation. Belcher had received a private 
 despatcli from the ship, reporting the fact that, only the night 
 before, the prisoner, Gideon Fairchild (whom Sylvester, alias 
 Still water, had procured to be sent to New York, as express, 
 on the part of the governor), had made his escape ; as it was 
 supposed through the agency of the mulattress Sylvia, the maid 
 servant of the fair Zulieme, as she too had disappeared from the 
 vessel. 
 
 Nothing further was known. There were no clues. Sylvia 
 had been seen in close communication with Gideon, in the hold 
 where he was kept ; but how she had effected his release from his 
 irons, and his escape from the ship, nothing was stated. The two 
 had probably got into the forests, and were making, or had possi 
 bly made, their way to town having had ample time for it, even 
 by the longest route. 
 
 Here was a danger. It argued great laxity of discipline on 
 board the ship, and our rover now began to reproach himself bit 
 terly for having suffered his private affairs and feelings to endan 
 ger the safety of his people ; for, once in town, Gideon Fairchild 
 carried a perilous secret, with which the cunning Sylvester could 
 compel the governor to action against the vessel and crew 
 
404 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 which, as we well know, he would otherwise gladly avoid. And 
 against this danger even the fertile genius of Harry Calvert had 
 no remedy. 
 
 But he seemed neither surprised nor disconcerted. 
 
 " Have you any tidings of a boat from the ship ? Has Holy- 
 neaux reached town, or Fowler ?" 
 
 " Not yet not that we know." 
 
 " Keep a sharp lookout. You know what is to be done." 
 
 To Franks he said : 
 
 " Have you had your eyes on Sylvester ? Has he been to the 
 governor ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; but he has been out of town, and is out of town now, 
 I believe." 
 
 "Whither did he go?" 
 
 " We could n t find out. We only believe him absent because 
 we see nothing of him. If he left town, he did so between two 
 days. He s been very quiet." 
 
 " He has outwitted you, I am afraid. But we must prepare 
 against him as well as we can. You have" to Belcher " pre 
 pared for the arrival of Will Hazard and his party ?" 
 
 " He s at his place long before this." 
 
 " And a good boat s-crew ready at the lagune ?" 
 
 " Five stout fellows, regular sea-dogs, and well tried." 
 
 " Good ! Keep close watch on the approaches from the river, 
 and upon the house of Mrs. Anderson. You have provided 
 masks for all of us, Franks ?" 
 
 "All, sir." 
 
 " Very good. I shall not fail you. I shall leave you for an 
 hour or two. It is still early. Let no mouse stir without seeing 
 it!" 
 
 And so he left them, and the two separated on their several 
 duties. 
 
 Half an hour later, our rover was closeted with his excellency 
 Governor Quarry. The governor was in good spirits. These 
 were soon dashed by the tidings Calvert brought. But, before 
 he spoke of those which most affected his own private for 
 tunes, he opened the one topic of most importance to the col- 
 any: 
 
 "Your excellency has, I fear, taken no steps in regard to 
 
COILS, 5ARES, AND CLUES. 405 
 
 the report I made you touching the movements of the red 
 men." 
 
 " What, still piping to that tune, captain ?" 
 
 " It is one to which you will probably be made to dance, when 
 you least expect it ! I now beg you to despatch a fly-boat, or 
 periagua, with all haste, to the colony of my Lord Cardross, and 
 to another colony of Scotch, said to be in his neighborhood, some 
 where along the Edisto, advising them to put themselves instantly 
 under arms against the red men and the Spaniards ! I have rea 
 son to think that there is present danger from both." 
 
 " You are not serious ?" 
 
 " I have long since ceased to jest." 
 
 The governor rose, and stood up before Calvert. 
 
 " My dear captain, you are one of the most mysterious men 
 living! Where have you been all this while? what doing? 
 What keeps you from the sea, now that the chief business is over 
 with which you came into port ? for I feel pretty sure, from what 
 I hear, that you have emptied your ship. You have at least filled 
 the town with your goods. The thing is spoken of openly." 
 
 " But they have no clue to the ship s anchorage ?" 
 
 "No! that adds to the mystery. Where have you hidden 
 her?" 
 
 " Better that even you should not know. You will the more 
 innocently answer. At all events, you must not expect me to 
 answer all the queries you put to me." 
 
 " But how is it that you know so much of the settlements, of 
 those subjects which are so especially my own the condition of 
 the colony, its dangers, and the red men and the Spaniards ? Pon 
 my soul, though not much vexed with that verdant passion which 
 poets call ambition, I begin to feel a little jealous of you, with 
 your mysterious knowings in my province." 
 
 " Do not suffer any such childish feeling to disparage the im 
 portance of what I say. Act promptly upon my report. Write 
 to my Lord Cardross, as cautiously as you please, but still write 
 him, to put his people under arms, and employ all his vigilance, 
 as well by sea as land ; and send your despatches this very night 
 Believe me, there is no time to be lost." 
 
 " Well, you do seem very serious, and I do not see but that I 
 may safely adopt your counsel." 
 
406 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " You will be prudent to do so." 
 
 " But I hate these perpetual alarms about the Indians. Half 
 the time they make a governor ridiculous." 
 
 " Scarcely, unless he makes himself so. You will not do this. 
 You have only to write a plain letter, to the effect stated ; adding 
 that the rumors may be groundless, but that the precaution will 
 be proper. You need say no more, except to urge the notorious 
 treachery of the red men ; the cunning and hostility of the Span 
 iards ; their frequent invasion ; the near neighborhood of St. Au 
 gustine to Beaufort; the fact that the prevailing winds are favor 
 able from that quarter ; and, further, that you have advices that 
 the governor of St. Augustine has just received an additional 
 force of three new, light brigantines from Havana, each mounting 
 ten guns." 
 
 " How know you that ?" 
 
 " By my own discovery. I crossed them on my voyage hither, 
 and would have fought them, but that my ship was too deeply 
 loaded, and with a cargo quite too valuable, to peril against 
 a force so superior and the crews of which had nothing to 
 lose." 
 
 " But about the red men ? How is it that you can hear these 
 things, and I nothing? I have had my emissaries out, too, and 
 they report everything quiet. The traders go and come. I gave 
 thirty-eight commissions to as many Scotchmen only three days 
 ago, to carry on their traffic in the Indian lands, to and up the 
 Savannah, to Echoee." 
 
 " They will probably, every man of them, lose his scalp." 
 
 " Pshaw, my dear captain ! this is being too oracular and pro 
 phetic, surely. Come, come, we will hear to evidence, but not 
 prophecy. How is it that you can arrive at these things you, 
 a mere looker-on and I, whose very business it is, should know 
 nothing? I, too, who have my agents and scouts constantly go 
 ing to and fro !" 
 
 " Did they tell you, these scouts, of the great gathering of the 
 Indians on Savannah ?" 
 
 " Ay, for a ball-play, or some such Indian junketing." 
 
 " A thousand Indians, on our seaboard, gathered to a ball-play, 
 and at this season of the year, is by no means a common event. 
 But, did your scouts report that the red warriors south of us were 
 
COILS, CARES, AND CLUES. 407 
 
 temporarily separated from their women, and were nowhei-e visi 
 ble except in secret camps ? 
 
 " No ! That I did not hear." 
 
 " There are many things, my dear governor, which you will 
 never hear, though you had a thousand scouts, unless you were 
 sure of those who know the business. Scouting is a, beautiful art. 
 Your Scotch traders have yet to learn it. Had you some that I 
 could mention, they would soon change your notion of the aspect 
 of affairs. I took the liberty to counsel you some time ago to fit 
 up and reman the castle at Oldtown. Did you do so ?" 
 
 " No, faith, I did not. Old Gowdey came to me also on the 
 subject, and he had suspicions like yo<irs ; but I fancied that the 
 old sea-dog only wanted to get an increase of importance and 
 pay" 
 
 " And what did I want, giving the same counsel ?" 
 
 The governor was taken aback by the question, and answered 
 with some confusion : 
 
 " Oh, zounds, captain ! you are too close, too keen, too sharp 
 at logical conclusions. Of courtse, you wanted nothing, except 
 except " 
 
 " To give advice ; to increase my own importance, as old Gow- 
 dey desired to increase his, eh?" 
 
 " Faith, I confess, such was somewhat my thought." 
 
 " I forgive you, my dear governor, especially as I took leave to 
 repair your neglect I trust, without subjecting your administra 
 tion to reproach." 
 
 " Why, what have you done ?" 
 
 " To show you what sort of scouts you employ, and what reli 
 ance you may place upon their reports, know that the Oldtown 
 castle has been manned with fourteen stout soldiers and sea-dogs, 
 besides old Gowdey ; that each of these has his musket, pistols, 
 and a plenty of ammunition ; and that the provisions are ample 
 for a siege of three weeks. Yet, though, according to Gowdey s 
 report, no less than five of your scouts have been to see him 
 called in passing since this change has ben made, not one has 
 seen or suspects it." 
 
 "The devil! you say and and my dear captain you 
 say that you have done all this engaged all these beef-eaters, 
 in government name, and at government expense ! " 
 
408 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 His excellency showed real consternation. Calvci t knew where 
 the difficulty lay. 
 
 " Even so, your excellency. But here are receipts from all of 
 them, for six months pay, the term for which they are engaged ; 
 and here, too, are receipts, all in your name, for the stores of 
 beef, biscuit, pork, molasses, rum, potatoes, and other commodi 
 ties, which were deemed necessary for the garrison for the same 
 term." 
 
 The governor tool: the papers in silence. He was confounded. 
 The rover proceeded : 
 
 " You will establish your claim against the colony for so much 
 advance made by yourself. You will permit me to say that I 
 have no claim upon you." 
 
 " By ! Captain Calvert, you are a d d generous fel 
 low ! D d generous, by !" 
 
 " Say no more, please ! I am compelled, however, to say that, 
 as soon as you can exchange my ship s muskets, pistols, and cut 
 lasses, for those of the colony, I shall be glad to have mine back. 
 These belong to the ship." 
 
 " I shall see to it. I will send the despatch in a fast fly-boat, 
 this very night, to my Lord Cardross." 
 
 " Better this very hour." 
 
 " As soon as you leave me." 
 
 " I shall leave you shortly ; have very little more to say, now : 
 and that little is, unfortunately, like to give us trouble me, at 
 least. Your early knowledge of the facts may help you to keep 
 out of danger." 
 
 " Why, what s the matter ?" demanded the governor, eagerly, 
 but with no little trepidation in his tones. He felt that something 
 serious was impending. He knew Calvert too well to suppose 
 him guilty of a jest ; knew, in fact, that when he expressed an ap 
 prehension, it was generally founded upon some trouble of more 
 than common difficulty. 
 
 " Why, what s the matter, captain ?" 
 
 " The watch on my ship has been kept badly, during my ab- 
 cence from it. The express-rider Gideon Fairchild has es- 
 saped." 
 
 " The devil ! Gone ? got off?" 
 
 " It would seem so. He escaped last night. The discovery 
 
COILS, CARES, AND CLUES. 409 
 
 was only made to-day. He has probably had eighteen hours to 
 make off." 
 
 u This is a serious matter." 
 
 " To me, perhaps : hardly to you. I shall have to change my 
 anchorage-ground. You will have to order out the posse comi- 
 tatus, and create a special police ; nay, despatch an armed force 
 in search after the vessel, and perhaps put the town under mar 
 tial law. It will require, for your own safety, after you shall be 
 officially apprized of the intelligence I now give you, to show 
 yourself earnest in asserting the dignity and authority of govern 
 ment. You will hear of it soon enough. You must show your 
 self very resolute and active." 
 
 " Where the devil s the fellow Stillwater [Sylvester] ? I have 
 not seen or heard of him for a week or more." 
 
 " He is not in town, I fancy." 
 
 " Where the devil can he be ?" 
 
 " Ask rather where your members of council are, for I suspect 
 he is even now closeted with Morton or Middleton, or some one 
 or more of them. If he suspects you " 
 
 " Suspects me ! How the devil should he suspect me ?" 
 
 " I do not say that he does. But the thing is possible. He is 
 cunning enough. He may think you to be lukewarm, at all 
 events, and he knoivs some of the council to be otherwise. You 
 will probably hear the facts through your council." 
 
 "And what s to be done?" demanded his excellency, greatly 
 chafed, and striding his chamber with seven-league boots of anx 
 iety. 
 
 " I have told you. Keep cool ; be calm ! It will be sufficient 
 that you have due notice. You must not be taken by surprise. 
 You will show yourself more eager in pursuit than your council. 
 Go with them, even ahead of them, in all the plans they may 
 propose, for my capture and the seizure of the ship. It is possi 
 ble that they will not attempt this, by any force now in the col 
 ony. It is probable that Morton, who was on the Santee a week 
 ago, has been followed thither by Sylvester ; and I think it likely 
 that, without consultation with you, or any other member of the 
 council, he will despatch Fairchild from that point to New York, 
 with a new commission to bring on the king s ships. I must pre 
 pare for them. See that you prepare for Morton. There need 
 
 18 
 
410 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 be no embarrassment to you, now that you are prepared to know 
 exactly what to do. You will, as soon as the facts are forced 
 upon you, issue your proclamation, and make public the reward 
 offered for my capture." 
 
 " By , Captain Calvert, but you take it with a d d vir 
 tuous coolness !" 
 
 " Why should I rage ? Why tremble ? The arrow flies, wheth 
 er we weep or sing." 
 
 "And what mean you to do with yourself?" 
 
 " Ah ! better, as I have so frequently said, that you should 
 know as little as possible. I, too, am forewarned." 
 
 " What ! suppose I issue my proclamation to-morrow ?" 
 
 "You will do no such thing, unless you desire to ruin yourself 
 as well as me. Do nothing, as I said, until the facts are so forced 
 upon you that you can not escape them. Issue your proclama 
 tion now, and when Morton, Middleton, and Berkeley, ask whence 
 you get your information, what will you answer? From Calvert 
 himself, eh ?" 
 
 " True, true ! But it s a devil of a predicament !" 
 
 " Pshaw ! nothing, governor, so long as we know where the 
 snares lie, and walk like bearded men with our eyes open, and 
 our wits, like keen-nosed hounds, running before us. Be cool, 
 sir, and wait events, and do not force them." 
 
 " Where go you now ?" 
 
 "Into cover, as soon as possible, as the fox does when she 
 knows the hounds are abroad. I must relieve you of all respon 
 sibility, all doubts of my safety, so that you may act with the 
 most prompt decision, at the requisition of your council. Be so 
 good as to send the fly-boat to my Lord Cardross to-night. They 
 must use sail and oar, as they can ; but make rapid headway. As 
 for these Indians " 
 
 " D n em ! If your suspicions be true, that is another trou 
 ble !" 
 
 " One trouble is apt to devour another ! Considered selfishly, 
 an outbreak of the red men now, should be subject of congratula 
 tion. It will divert your people and council from your piratical 
 friends : it will giA r e you and me respite." 
 
 "Egad! that s likely enough. And, by-the-way, an Indian 
 war will reopen a branch of business which my virtuous brethren 
 
COILS, CARKS, AND CLUES. 411 
 
 in council have been busy in shutting up. It will give us cap 
 tives for the West-India markets. "We must follow the example 
 of our New-England crop-ears, and buy the scalps of the warriors, 
 and sell the souls of their women and children bodies, rather ; 
 the souls would n t bring a stiver in any good Christian market !" 
 
 Our rover left our governor to as many sources of consolation 
 as his own soul could suggest. We shall follow his example ; but 
 not before we have seen his excellency preparing his despatches, 
 apprizing Lord Cardross of the possible danger from red men and 
 Spaniards. 
 
412 THE CASSIQUE OF K1AWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 
 
 " Go to, and follow : 
 
 We skip from one to t other here, 
 And note their several fortunes." 
 
 FROM the stately dwelling of the governor, our rover hastened 
 to the lowly one of the ancient Jack-tar Franks, in " Boggy Quar 
 ter." His route was an obscure one, by Fiddler s Green, Cow- 
 alley, and Myrtle cove places no longer known to modern no 
 menclature in the same precinct until he found himself safe in 
 the obscurities of " Boggy Quarter." Here he obtained a mask, 
 and such change of costume as he desired to make, should he think 
 proper to peril his person at the fancy ball of Mrs. Perkins An 
 derson. 
 
 Old Franks had a "curiosity shop" of his own how collected^ 
 we may conjecture, but are not able to say and could, at a 
 pinch, have fitted out a score of masqueraders in their fancy 
 dresses. 
 
 But Harry Calvert, while he twiddled the domino in his fingers, 
 did not seem eager to habit himself for the evening. He gave 
 himself up to a sombre fit of meditation, seeing which, old Franks, 
 with genuine sailor instinct, proceeded to get out the rum, and 
 sugar, and lemon-juice, and quietly concoct a bowl of punch. He 
 knew the virtues of punch in vexatious moods. He also knew 
 that, though our rover was anything but a swiller of liquor, yet, 
 when in such a mood, he had only to place a can of the beverage 
 beside his captain, and it would be swallowed unconsciously. 
 Were he to offer to prepare it, as dull dogs are apt to do, Calvert 
 would no doubt refuse. The only proper way, as old experience and 
 
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 413 
 
 a gentlemanly tact had taught him, was the process already adopted. 
 And, having such a profound faith in punch, in all similar cases 
 of head and heart, Franks held himself justified in beguiling his 
 superior to his medicine. His moral in the business was such as 
 any honest temperance society will approve. 
 
 But, though Calvert drank, he grew moodier than ever. At 
 length, Franks went forth and left him alone. Anon he returned 
 and made his report. 
 
 Lieutenant Molyneaux and the old pirate, Sam Fowler, had 
 reached town in their boat. 
 
 " Well," said the rover, not turning his head, " does Belcher 
 know ?" 
 
 " T was he told me, yer honor." 
 
 " Ah ! well ! he knows what to do." 
 
 And he relapsed again into his meditations. 
 
 Leaving him to these, let us pick up and unwind some of the 
 clues which we have, hitherto, rather laid aside than dropped. 
 
 First, then, the mode of Fairchild s escape from the Happy-go 
 Lucky ? 
 
 The mulattress was, in truth, the agent. She had pretty much 
 the freedom of the ship. As the maid of Zulieme, a great many 
 privileges had been accorded her. As the spy and agent of Lieu 
 tenant Molyneaux, she had succeeded to a good many more. 
 Eccles, the second lieutenant, though really an honest and good 
 fellow, belonged to the numerous family of the " softs." He was 
 bashful in office ; and while Molyneaux was present, in authority, 
 Eccles never adequately asserted his own. 
 
 Molyneaux had temporarily forgotten his interest in Sylvia, in 
 that more absorbing interest which followed from his intrigues 
 with Fowler. Sylvia, while slighted by Molyneaux, had still the 
 freedom of the ship. 
 
 The mulatto is the cross of white upon negro blood. The male 
 mulatto has a share of the quickness of the white man, with little 
 of his solidity or grasp. He has the cunning of the negro, with 
 out his loyalty, or strength, or even courage. 
 
 The female mulatto has, in excess, all the arts of the male, with 
 a proportionate increase of that dexterity and cunning which nat 
 urally belong to the sex. She is fond of toys, capricious of mood, 
 restless of place, eager for change, greedy for show and vanity 
 
414 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and vindictive in her passion. This is especially true of the crea 
 ture where the cross is that of Spaniard or Portuguese. If the 
 father be French, there will be equal caprice but greater playful 
 ness. The Spanish mulattress will be a shade more religious. 
 The cross with the English gives a more solid character, capable 
 of greater thought and work. If Scotch, there will be a certain 
 character of moodiness and sullenness, with a like capacity for 
 work, and a greater degree of endurance. Descendants of the 
 Irish cross are apt to approach those of the French in character. 
 Sylvia was the daughter of a white Spaniard. 
 
 She had vanity and religion, appetite and frivolity, superstition 
 and passion, all huddled up together, in her composition. She 
 was a fool, of course ; but not the less dangerous because a fool. 
 Molyneaux had slighted her. He had promised to convey her to 
 town, for which she sighed quite as much as her mistress. He 
 gave her the freedom of the ship, but so watched, that she could 
 not get away from it. He found that she could only profit him, 
 in his proposed intrigue with her mistress, while with her ; and, 
 separate from her, she was good for nothing, and could do noth 
 ing. Finding the vessel empty, he simply left it on the shelf. 
 
 And Sylvia resented this, after vainly seeking to regain her as 
 cendency. He gave her no credit for her amulets. She might 
 have been pacified, if he had recognised her charms. But the 
 mulattress was no beauty. And so, with the sense of neglect, she 
 grew mischievous. She had, among other petty passions, a most 
 terrible curiosity. There was a prisoner in the hold, brought in 
 under mysterious circumstances. She found her way to him. 
 
 Gideon Fairchild was a straight-laced Puritan ; a rogu^ by in 
 stinct, but a saint by profession. He succeeded in persuading 
 Sylvia to undo his fetters. He promised to take her to town, to 
 her mistress ; the very thing she most sighed for at that moment, 
 How he proceeded by what oily words and phrases, by what 
 asseverations we need not say. But it will not surprise you 
 to hear that, in the darkness of the hold, Gideon did not scruple 
 to promise marriage to the mulattress. He had one wife already 
 in Charleston ; and there had been a scandal, which insisted that 
 he had left another in Connecticut. But the latter never looked 
 him up in Carolina, no doubt for very good reasons ; and to the 
 former he may have meditated no wrong in his promise to the 
 
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 415 
 
 mulattress. It was probably the only argument by which to per 
 suade her to undo his bonds ; and some little latitude must be ac 
 corded to a Puritan in durance vile. 
 
 Well, they escaped together ; and even at his departure from 
 the ship, Molyneaux was ignorant of the fact. Eccles, indeed, 
 knew it, but did not trouble his senior officer with the intelligence. 
 Nor, in fact, had he the chance : all that day, Molyneaux had 
 been busied in adjusting his costume for the night. He had a 
 wondrous wardrobe. Costumes of English cavalier, French mar 
 quis, Spanish don, Italian bandit, and (no less picturesque) gallant 
 rover : black hat, like steeple ; diamond button ; great, black plu 
 mage of the ostrich : rich frock, heavy with lace ; belt, studded 
 with jewels ; slings, for a brace of silver-mounted pistols ; sling, 
 for long, glittering cut-and-thrust ; diamond buckles for the knee ; 
 silken stockings, elaborately clocked ; and peaked shoes, glossy 
 with varnish, and gleaming with their buckles also. 
 
 What shall he wear? The question is one of proverbial diffi 
 culty to an English macaroni, especially when the object is a fancy 
 ball. Molyneaux labors under an embarras des riche.sse. It takes 
 him a whole day to determine ; and, though he decides before 
 nightfall, he is still dubious. He decides to be a courtier of 
 Charles II. ; but, lest his tastes should change ere he reaches 
 town, he concludes to carry with him an Italian brigand, a Span 
 ish don, and a French marquis. Anyhow, he will wear an aigrette 
 of pearl, and a great rope about his neck, of the same precious 
 tears, from the sea of Oman, or the less classical shores of the 
 Pacific. 
 
 Sam Fowler, "Squint-eyed Sam," the old pirate, begrudges 
 boat-room to the chest which is required for these precious fan- 
 tasticals ; for Sam s taste is more of the butcher than the tailor 
 order. But Molyneaux makes a point of it, and such a comrade 
 is not to be quarrelled with in a mere matter of taste. And so 
 they leave together the snug nook upon the Ashley, and make 
 their way to " Oyster Point" a name which, among the vulgar, 
 clung to the good city of the cavaliers a long time after. She 
 had been formally christened " CHARLESTON," after the " merrie 
 monarch. 
 
 They reached their destination, a creek which put in somewhere 
 between the present streets Queen and Wentworth, in the very 
 
416 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 heart of the modern city, and possibly an eighth of a mile above 
 that which usually afforded shelter to the skiff of Captain Caivert. 
 And here, on a little bank of sand, over which hung a single live 
 oak, skirted by a fringe of myrtle and sea-willows, the gallant Mr. 
 Molyneaux made his toilet, rigging himself out as a cavalier of 
 the English court. 
 
 He was now ready for the masking. But he had still to find 
 his way to the dwelling of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. For the ne 
 cessary knowledge he could only look to Sam Fowler ; and the 
 latter, in turn, must refer to his trading-acquaintance, Mr. Ebene- 
 zer Sproulls. 
 
 As both of our parties were eager after their several affairs 
 for if Molyneaux looked to the costume-ball for his delights, 
 Fowler had visions of a famous drinking- bout, with choice com 
 panions, running in his head they very soon left the boat in the 
 keeping of the two sailors who had rowed them down. These 
 sailors, by-the-way, were among their confederates, sworn brothers 
 under the " Jolly Roger." Fowler gave them stern counsel to 
 keep the boat, lie close under the willows, and obey their signal. 
 
 " If you try to git into town, my lads, they 11 have you in the 
 bilboes; and then, be sure, you ll die in your shoes, and that too 
 with no solid deck to stand upon." 
 
 " They ve no liquors ?" asked Molyneaux. 
 
 " Not a drap, yer honors !" And the two rascals grinned as 
 they answered in the same breath. 
 
 " Well, eyes bright, my lads, and lie close, with a good gripe of 
 pistols as well as oars. Remember, the three whistles and a 
 chirrup !" 
 
 And so they were left to the consolations of a dry time on a lee 
 shore. The reckless rascals, however, had made provision for 
 themselves ; and, hardly had their two superiors gone from sight, 
 ere they produced a portly jug of Jamaica, and proceeded to 
 refresh themselves. Their providence, and the frequency and 
 strength of their draughts, rendered the work of Jack Belcher 
 much easier than it otherwise might have been. In one hour 
 after they had begun their potations, they were only half con 
 scious, and nowise capable of using oar or pistol ; and in this con 
 dition were set upon by half a dozen sturdy fellows, who had them 
 roped and gagged in a jiffy, stripped of every weapon, and car 
 
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 417 
 
 ried off to a closer harborage. Their places in the.; boat were sup 
 plied by two others, who were soon habited in their garments, and 
 better able to perform their duties. 
 
 Meanwhile, Molyneaux and Fowler made their way to the hab 
 itation of Sproulls. A Spanish roquelaure, of great dimensions, 
 though light cf weight, sufficed to conceal the gayety of our lieu 
 tenant s costume from all vulgar eyes. But they met few persons 
 in the infant city, and no policemen. Not that the town was lack 
 ing in its Dogberries. But the mere corporal s guard, then kept 
 on the establishment, did not suffice for more than angel-visits to 
 the several streets. 
 
 Our lieutenant found the thoroughfares muddy. There were 
 pools to cross, and qwagmires to leap, and ditches which were 
 more easy to penetrate than to pass ; and Sam Fowler was some 
 thing of a blind guide. But all difficulties were finally overcome, 
 and the two reached Sproulls s dwelling in safety, though it was 
 found that the shoes of our lieutenant needed nice treatment and 
 a considerate brush. And Sproulls himself condescended to this 
 labor. He was, or affected to be, full of admiration at the cos 
 tume of his visiter ; and no doubt he was. Besides, Molyneaux 
 was a very pretty fellow, with a good leg, and a well-built and 
 graceful figure. He prided himself with propriety upon his leg. 
 Sproulls was no doubt moved to admiration, in some degree, be 
 cause of the notion he had taken that the famous rover, Calvert 
 himself, stood before him. Fowler had not named his companion. 
 Molyneaux kept on his vizard, and Sproulls himself had never 
 seen Calvert. He conjectured and concluded just as he wished. 
 Here let us leave the parties for awhile, until it becomes proper 
 to take the principal to the assembly of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. 
 
 It is not known exactly at what hour, and by what particular 
 mode, Gideon Fairchild and Sylvia succeeded in leaving the 
 Happy-go-Lucky. But we do know that their escape was made, 
 in the first instance, to the woods on the western side of the river. 
 Here they immediately buried themselves in the thickets, hurry 
 ing below with the flight of fear. Two miles below, they discov 
 ered an old canoe fastened to a tree in the water by a grapevine. 
 It was leaky, and seemed to have been abandoned as unseawor- 
 thy. A broken paddle lay in the bottom of the boat. But this* 
 with a stream so narrow at this point, and so smooth, was suffi- 
 
 18* 
 
418 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 cient for their purposes. They did not stop to bail the rickety 
 vessel, but boldly ventured in and paddled across ; their appre 
 hensions increasing during the voyage lest the canoe should sink, 
 for the water gurgled in from numerous seams and cracks. But 
 they succeeded in getting her into a creek running through the 
 opposite marsh, and landed safely at a point which tradition still 
 indicates as near the eastern bank of the " Ten-mile Ferry." But 
 it must have been above this point, since, according to the " claim" 
 put in by Gideon Fairchild for " damages" which may perhaps 
 still be found in the records of the colonial office he mentioned 
 his dreary midnight tramp of fourteen miles to the city after he 
 had crossed the river. But the matter is not of serious moment. 
 The fugitives crossed in safety, and succeeded in making their 
 way to the main thoroughfare of the country a noble avenue 
 girdled on both sides by mighty live oaks, hung with moss, and 
 gigantic pines, the most stately of all evergreens, the growth of 
 half a century or more, which literally linked their branches 
 across the track, forming a grand Gothic archway of many, many 
 miles in length. Old John Archdale, the Quaker governor for a 
 season, and one of the lords -proprietors, said of this avenue many 
 years after, that it was such as no prince in Europe could boast. 
 And for a good reason : it was cut out of the primitive forests, 
 which the axe of civilization had never dishonored by a stroke ! 
 
 It was hard work for our fugitives, in the thick woods and 
 thicker darkness, to make their way from the river to the open 
 road. Gideon, who pretended to some merits as a scout, but was 
 at best nothing but an express, was frequently puzzled and in 
 despair. But Sylvia kept beside him, cheerful through all, and 
 sometimes helping him forward by a hint, often by a word of en 
 couragement. Her exercises as vaulter, tumbler, and dancer, had 
 admirably prepared her lower limbs for any ordeal on foot ; and 
 she ran beside Gideon without effort, as he stumbled and fought 
 his way through the thicket, his Puritan restraints frequently so 
 far forgotten as to allow of sundry explosive expletives, such as 
 Odds blood !" " Odds flesh !" Odds zounds !" and Odds bodi- 
 kins !" all ?o many contractions of the Sacred Name, modifica 
 tions of well-known English oaths of the days of " good Queen 
 Bess." 
 
 " You re swearing, ain t you ?" demanded the gipsy ; " what for V 
 
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 419 
 
 " These tarnal thick woods I" 
 
 " What ! do you mind the woods ? I can see like an owl." 
 
 " Well, I wish I could light mv eyes by your lamp. I m tar 
 nation fear d we shall never git out of this thick." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we will ! I can get through ! You ought n t to miri 
 that, since your re out of the hold of that nasty old ship." 
 
 " S blood ! but twas nasty ! I shall never forgit, ef I live till 
 Methuselah. I don t think I shall ever git the smell of the tar 
 out of my nose." 
 
 " Well, you re out now, and that s something. It s better here, 
 and free to go, than stay there without any daylight." 
 
 " Odds Bob ! but what s the freedom here, I wonder? There, 
 now ! I had it right slap in my face! Sich a wipe! a blasted 
 big airm of the tree !" 
 
 Sylvia laughed merrily as her companion, growling the while, 
 extricated himself for ^he moment, but only to run into a new 
 mesh of entanglement. 
 
 " Here, hold my hand," said the girl, " I 11 show you the way." 
 
 But his pride wouldn t suffer this ; and when she laughed again, 
 he growled, fiercely 
 
 " What the dickens do you yell for ! Don t you know there s 
 wolves and tigers all about these woods ?" 
 
 " Madre de Dios! is it true?" And the gipsy nestled closer. 
 
 " True ! why, you can hear them sometimes a-barkin in the 
 streets of Charlestoun." 
 
 "Jesu ! holy Mother ! but is it true ?" 
 
 " True ! Ah ! the Lord be praised, we re in the road at 
 last !" 
 
 And the two looked up, and saw the stars shining out fairlj 
 through the avenue. 
 
 " Yes ! we re in a cl ar track now, and that s a God s mercy/* 
 
 " But the wolves and tigers, Mr. Gideon !" 
 
 "Yes! don t you wake em up with your infarnal yells a, * 
 You don t know how soon they ll be on us anyhow. Sti t to 
 me." 
 
 " I will !" 
 
 "And there s the red, painted, devilish sons of S?.tJ/ thf 
 Injins !" 
 
 "O Jesu! and have you the red Injins so near the tvn?" 
 
420 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAfl. 
 
 " Near the town ! We ve got a good ten miles to go ye* j 
 we may both lose our sculps before we git a mile further." 
 
 " But they would n t sculp a woman, would they ?" 
 
 " Would n t they ? Why, why not ? What would they want 
 her for?" 
 
 " Why, they d want her to go with one of the warriors ; they d 
 eome of them be wanting to marry her." 
 
 " And so you think you d git off that way, while they was a- 
 eculpin me, do ye ?" 
 
 " No ! but that would be the worst of it for a woman." 
 
 " And you d marry an Injin, would ye ?" 
 
 " And why not ? He s got a good color, jest like mine. But, 
 you know, I m to marry you, Mr. Gideon." 
 
 " Hem ! marry me ? Wai, I guess we did say something 
 about it, when I was onable to make a contract. Do you recol 
 lect anything of sich talk ?" 
 
 " To be sure, I do ! You are to carry me to my missus, you 
 know, and if she says l Yes, why, you re to marry me." 
 
 "I m afear d, my poor gal, that your mistress won t say Yes." 
 
 "Oh, but she will!" 
 
 " I guess not. You &ee, I Ve been a-thinkin about it, Sylvia ; 
 and, you see, you re a slave." 
 
 " Oh ! you ll pay missus so much money, you know." 
 
 " And whar s it to come from, I say ?" 
 
 " Why, to be sure, you ought to know." 
 
 " But I don t know. And I reckon, my poor gal, you ll have 
 to give up any sich onreasonable ixpectations." 
 
 " But why ?" 
 
 " For the reasons I tell you, and for other reasons that I won t 
 tell you." 
 
 The gipsy began to whine and blubber. But just then, Gid 
 eon: 
 
 "Hairk! what s that in the thick? Shet up your oven, gal, 
 and do n t bring out all the painted savages twixt here and hell 
 to eat us up ! Shet up, I say, and push on, now the track s clear. 
 It ll be broad daylight afore we git to town, ef you don t walk 
 faster." 
 
 The word " savages" sufficed. Sylvia darted forward at a run. 
 
 " Why, you tarnal ! would you jest now surrender me up 
 
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 421 
 
 to the painted varmints, and leave me to be sculped intire ? la 
 that the way you shows your gratitude, now that I ve extercated 
 you out of that pirate prison ?" 
 
 Gideon had completely changed the relative obligations of the 
 parties. In due degree as he began to feel himself secure, did 
 the sense of gratitude decline within him. We have seen how 
 decidedly he ignored his promise of marriage. It was necessary 
 that he should do this effectually before he reached the presence 
 of the Mrs. Gideon of Charleston. But, even as he felt the ne 
 cessity of silencing the one idea, another entered his head. He 
 was not altogether prepared to give Sylvia up to her mistress. 
 She was a slave to the Spaniard. Why not to him ? It the ab 
 stract, he was decidedly opposed to negro slavery ; but there is, 
 as every virtuous Christian knows and understands, a very sub 
 stantial difference between a slave to keep and a slave to sell ! 
 Now, it was very certain that Mrs. Gideon would never suffer 
 him to keep Sylvia; but he was quite as sure that that excellent 
 woman would never object to selling her, at a proper market val 
 uation. Sylvia would bring, even in that day, as an accomplished 
 lady s maid, some fifty pounds under the hammer. Now, if Syl 
 via, reconciled to the denial of her claims, as wife, could be per 
 suaded of the superior advantages to herself of becoming, for a 
 season, lady s maid to Mrs. Gideon, the next step was easy. Once 
 recognised, though for the briefest possible period, as the servant 
 of Gideon, the presumption of ownership would be sufficient. As 
 for the rival claims of Zulieme Calvert, Gideon knew enough to 
 satisfy him that he could dispose of them by a very easy process. 
 He had not been slow to extract from the prattling Sylvia the 
 evidence that he desired in respect to our rover, the Senorita de 
 Montano, and the good ship, the Happy-go-Lucky. Sylvia had 
 left herself few secrets. 
 
 With these cunning thoughts running in his head, and which 
 matured with great rapidity in a brain that cupidity had sharp 
 ened as a cut-and-thrust, Gideon, when about half way from town^ 
 concluded to call a rest. 
 
 "Let s set awhile, Sylvia, my gal; let s set, and rest. We ve 
 done the worst half of our work, and the rest s pretty easy. A 
 leetle rest, now, will be good for both." 
 
 " Where shall we set ? I m tired." 
 
422 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " So am I. Here s a log, now, jest convenient to the roadside. 
 I 11 jest pok 3 it first, to scare off the snakes, ef there be any. 
 Thar ! set you down, gal." 
 
 And the two sat, cheek by jowl. Then Gideon, putting his 
 hand good-naturedly on Sylvia s shoulder, began : 
 
 " I Ve helped you out of the hands of them heathen pirates " 
 
 " But they ain t no pirates, I tell you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, my gal, they air, though you kain t understand." 
 
 "Yes, lean; and I know they ain t no pirates. They re a 
 rough, nasty set, and she s a nasty little ship, and that s true ; 
 but they ain t no pirates, Mr. Gideon." 
 
 " Wai, do n t matter ; they re nasty, and I ve helped you out 
 of their hobbles." 
 
 "You! I was a-thinkin twas I helped you. I could git 
 away at any time." 
 
 " En why did n t you, I wonder ?" 
 
 " Cause I had nobody to ax me to be married, before you 
 come." 
 
 " Ahem ! you still talks about that, Sylvia, as ef you had a sort 
 of right. But I guess I made it cl ar to you that sich a thing was 
 all foolishness." 
 
 " But you said it." 
 
 "A man what s in a donjin, or is a-drownin , ain t answerable 
 for what he says ! That s the law, Sylvia, and it s sense ! So, 
 jest you shet up about the marriage. Marriage, twixt us, is only 
 so much nonsense. It kain t be." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Bekaise, you see, I ve got a Mrs. Gid a ready, and the law 
 won t let me have tew Mrs. Gids ; and, what s more, I do n t want 
 em. Lord save us from sich a happiness ! Next, you see, you re 
 a nigger " 
 
 " Nigger !" starting up. " No more nigger than you, sah !" 
 
 " Oh, yes, Sylvia, you ve got the blood, and I aint ! My 
 blood s the nateral, white, pure blood of the pilgrims, that come 
 out of the Mayflower genooyne Saxon, without a cross. The 
 family of Fairchild was about the first that ever planted a foot on 
 the Plymouth rock, and t was a foot in a shoe, my gal ; for, you 
 see, old Gid, my great, great, great, granther, was a shoemaker, 
 and it stands to reason he always took care to have a good pair 
 
A NIGHT OP ADVENTURES. 423 
 
 of shoes for himself. The blood s the best, I tell you, in all 
 Plymouth, and Massachusetts bay to boot ; and t wont do to cross 
 it with nigger blood, unless for a good consideration. Now, I ve 
 hearn of some of your Spaniards that had a cross of black, or 
 white, or mestizo ; but they had, same time, a smart chance of 
 nigger-property and lands. Ef so be you was one of them sort, 
 now " 
 
 " Yer you, Mr. Gideon, I m no nigger. I Ve got white blood 
 a leetle yellowish, that s all ; and ef you thinks your n is so 
 much better, look yer, git yourself out of prisoned next time for 
 yourself ! See what your white blood s guine to do, to open 
 them iron rings you had about your legs and arms ! You ain t 
 forgot that, I reckon." 
 
 " Guess not ! Wai, you see, I held up the darbies, and you 
 found the key, and, between us, I worked out ! That was all you 
 did. I paddled you over the river, and showed you the way 
 here" 
 
 "You !" and the gipsy laughed merrily at the absurdity. She 
 had not seen so much absurdity in his mode of presenting the 
 manner of his escape from the darbies he holding up the man 
 acles, and she finding and using the key ; but, remembering his 
 troubles in the woods, his claims as a guide seemed to her super 
 latively ridiculous. 
 
 " Now," said he, " I ve showed you what we Ve done for one 
 another; and I reckon we re about square. As for a wife, that, 
 you see, is the onpossible thing; it s like the onpardonable sin of 
 scripter. You see, thar s a Madam Gid a ready, and she d tear 
 all to pieces before she d hear of it ; and, what s more, she d have 
 you sent back, tied neck and heels, to this pirate-vessel." 
 
 "Oh, don t say so!" 
 
 " She d do it, by all that s bloody, or she d make everything 
 crack ag in !" 
 
 " O Mr. Gideon, what shall I do ?" 
 
 " Wai ! to do you a sarvice, for the leetle that you did for me, 
 you must mind your eyes, and some few things I Ve got to tell 
 you. First, you 11 have to clap a stopper on your jaws, and never 
 let out about our gittin out of that ship, or what you did, and what 
 I might happen to say to you in my weakness of heart and tribu 
 lations of sperit, when them cussed iron clamps was upon me." 
 
424 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You re not to say a word about husband and wife, you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " And you re to go to my house ; and my wife, Mrs. Gideon 
 a most sweet, sainted vessel of the sperit she 11 be your missus 
 instead of that painted harlot, what do you call her ? " 
 
 He was interrupted by a scream a shriek a yell of disgust 
 and indignation. And the next moment the girl was on her feet, 
 and darting forward down the road like mad. 
 
 " Odds ounds ! Where are you goin , and at that mad rate, 
 gal?" 
 
 " You re a brute a great British brute that you are I" 
 
 " But where are you goin , gal ?" 
 
 " To town to my missus. I 11 not have any missus of 
 your n." 
 
 " But the wolves - the tigers !" 
 
 "You re a wolf and a tiger yourself! I won t stay with you." 
 
 " But you must. How would you git on in town, ef t want for 
 me ? You d never find your way." 
 
 " The road s a big one." 
 
 " But, before you git a mile, there s a dozen roads ; and, in 
 town, there s two hundred houses. You d never find the right 
 one." 
 
 " I 11 go through town, through every street, and holler for the 
 senora. I kin holler I kin ! Whoo whoo whoop ! O se- 
 nora ! O my lady Zulieme ! Where are you ? I m here ! I m 
 lookin for you. It s Sylvia that s callin for you everywhere." 
 
 " Confound the b ! She 11 wake up the Injins for true, ef 
 
 any of em s a-harborin about. Hairk ye, gal ! do n t be foolish. 
 I 11 see you safe/ 
 
 " Whoo whoo whoop !" 
 
 " Was ever sich a bletherin b ! Hairk ye, gal ! Therts a 
 
 Injins, as I m a livin sinner !" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 He got up to her, and caught her by the arm. 
 
 " They re in the woods, on the right, on the left, front and rear 
 and they 11 have your sculp, and they 11 have mine too, ef you 
 don t put a bridle on your tongue. Don t be a fool! I ll carry 
 
A NIGHT OF ADVENTURES. 425 
 
 you to your missus the half-witted Spanish fool ! I ll carry you 
 safe. Trust me. I was only a-tryin you. O Lord, presarve 
 us women s are sich blasted fools !" 
 
 The momentary paroxysm was over. Sylvia was quieted by 
 the Indians, though she snapped her fingers at the wolves. She 
 had an infantile dread, as a Mexican, of red fingers in her hair. 
 She was pacified, but only on conditions. 
 
 " Ef you talk ag in the senora, I "11 bawl though there were 
 fifty Injins ! I must go to the senora. You must take me to 
 her." 
 
 I will. 
 
 " And no more about your Mrs. Gideon, or I *11 tell all !" 
 
 " To be sure not. I m still as a suckfish." 
 
 " And take your fingers off me. I m not to be your wife." 
 
 " No ! to be sure not." 
 
 And then the girl yelled again, probably at her painful disap 
 pointment. " Some natural tears she shed, but dried them soon." 
 In brief, Sylvia was cunning. The arts of Gideon had not suf 
 fered him to conceal the dread of his spouse which he felt. In 
 this, Sylvia found her strength and the secret of her safety. Gid 
 eon grew complaisant ; and if he did not utterly forego his secret 
 purpose of making her a slave to himself, he yet felt that his pol 
 icy must be reserved for other circumstances. He did not forego 
 it; but he said to himself 
 
 " It will be easier to fix that, when we ve got the senora and 
 her bully under government hatches !" 
 
 The result was, that the two reached town in safety ; and, though 
 still an hour before day, Sylvia made him take her to the dwel 
 ling of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. When the servant, after re 
 peated and clamorous rapping with a stick, was roused to open 
 the door, Sylvia darted in headlong, calling for the senora. Zu- 
 lieme, awakened by the clamor and well-known voice, started out 
 of bed, and threw open the chamber-door. Mrs. Perkins Ander 
 son was also roused, and appeared at the same moment. Great 
 was the confusion. But Sylvia, as each lady stood before her 
 with candle in hand, soon distinguished her " missus." 
 
 " my lady ! O senora ! it s me it s Sylvia 1 I m come to 
 you all afoot; and there s wolves and tigers, and the red Injins! 
 
 " Where ? where ?" demanded both ladies, in a breath. 
 
426 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " In the woods ! in the woods ! But I m safe now. O my 
 lady, I m safe here, I know !" 
 
 Gideon Fairchild slipped off in the confusion. In the same 
 hour he made his way to the housing-place of Sylvester. He 
 could find that cunning master of fence, though Belcher and 
 Franks could not ; and he found him a willing listener. 
 
 He had, in some degree, anticipated the tidings of Gideon. He 
 had but just returned from a secret mission to Colonel Morton, 
 one of the most influential of the council of state. But of this ; 
 hereafter. We shall see that Sylvester lost no -time in availing 
 himself of the swelling intelligence which was brought by Gideon. 
 But this in due season. Let us to bed now. 
 
ODDS AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 427 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 ODDS AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 
 
 " Make yourself welcome ! 
 
 There s that in every true man which makes entrance 
 Happier than exit." Old Play. 
 
 THE night of Mrs. Perkins Anderson s glory has arrived ! 
 This night she is to outshine all her competitors in the fashion 
 able world of Oyster Point. She is to take the shine out of Mrs. 
 Artemisia Bluebottle ; the wind out of the sails of Mrs. Araminta 
 Gay lofty ; and utterly to outdo and undo sundry other rivals in 
 fine " society." She is about to reach her crowning performance. 
 Finis coronat opus ! In other words, she will put the finishing 
 stroke to her own career. 
 
 And you are not to suppose, dear reader, that we use this word 
 "glory" unwittingly, and without a due regard to its grand sig 
 nificance. Glory, like wealth, virtue, and other imposing things, 
 is yet a matter of relative signification. It has its degrees, and is 
 to be measured by the usual experiences of people, rather than 
 by any intrinsic standards of its own. The society which rates 
 pleasure as profit, and gawds as gain ; which holds a dance or a 
 dinner to be the chief end and employment of life ; and which aims 
 at no higher social performance than simply to outshine less clever 
 circles in all such society, a fete like that of Mrs. Perkins An 
 derson, attempting exhibitions and attractions such as far exceed 
 all previous aims and achievements, is a thing of glorious antici 
 pation, and, if successful, unquestionably of most glorious result. 
 Certainly in our little city of the Carolinas, if she succeeds this 
 time, people will be sure to say, and to think, that the measure of 
 her glory has been filled ! She so thinks herself. 
 
428 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 And this, dear reader, if only with regard to what has been 
 done already, by those about us, not by those remote. 
 
 Now, if you are such a Judy as to turn up your ridiculous little 
 turnipy nose at the performance, after all, and say, " Ah ! they 
 do the thing far otherwise in France and England," we give you 
 up as wholly immaterial ! " Oyster Point," or, to speak with more 
 reverence, Charleston, is not exactly Paris or London. Even to 
 day, when we have a far cleverer and vastly larger circle than at 
 the period of which we write far more wealth, better education, 
 better tastes, and a better knowledge of what the world abroad 
 has done and is doing even to-day, I say, we must yet fall 
 within the category of a petty and remote provincial offshoot 
 from European civilization, striving, greatly in the rear, at the em 
 ulation of its beautiful follies, and graceful and interesting ab 
 surdities of society and fashion. It is " high life below-stairs" at 
 best ; though we have some very simple people among us very 
 good, but distressingly simple who really delude themselves 
 with the notion that, if the world is not absolutely staring the 
 eyes out of its head to see what we are doing, the world is making 
 a very poor and unprofitable use of its vision ! 
 
 But, even in spite of such good people, the truth may as well 
 be told. Though nearly two hundred years older now than at 
 the date of our story, Charleston has not overcome, by its own 
 forward progress, the relative difference between the two hemi 
 spheres. She is still provincial in her tastes, habits, aims, and 
 performances ; and society that very society which is most apt 
 to boast of its possessions yet tinkers on, tied to the foreign car 
 of state or fashion, lacking the courage to assert an independent 
 and well-founded standard of judgment for itself. This is the 
 great secret, this of social independence, for all really great achieve 
 ment, and which we need to-day almost in as great degree as we 
 did two hundred years ago. 
 
 Nay, I am not sure that our need is not greater now than then. 
 We now know so much more ! We have a superior conscious 
 ness. We are not so rude as then, and not so ignorant of the 
 merits of fig-leaves in the way of costume. We are in closer pro 
 pinquity with Europe than in that early day ; lack the courage 
 which ignorance imparts ; and dare not assert ourselves indepen 
 dently, in the face of our own consciousness of deficient resources. 
 
ODDS AND. ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 429 
 
 Yet, we have our own intrinsic resources, material and mental, 
 it we only knew how, and had the courage to apply them. But 
 we do not ! We might show why this is the case, but this is not 
 the place for it. Enough that, so far as we are concerned, it will 
 not do for us to sneer at the short-comings, in fashionable or high 
 life, of the daring little colony at Ashley river in 1684. We make 
 better displays to-day, no doubt, but we are not a whit less servile 
 in our imitations of what is done elsewhere. We are but feeble 
 copyists, after all, of the butterfly-tribes in foreign centres ; nay, 
 we take much of this at second and third hands ; and Paris and 
 London come to us, diluted, through Gotham, and Boston, and 
 the Quaker-city. 
 
 We state all this, if only to protect old Charleston, in its little 
 social ambitions, from the sneer of young Charleston. You are 
 to-day, Mrs. Frill, but a development of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. 
 The tail is longer and broader, and there is something more of 
 fullness about the pin-feathers; but you are birds of the same 
 feather. I do not see that Mrs. Loftyhead, of 1684, differs iii 
 much from Mrs. Furbelow, whom I met last week nightly in all 
 the four fashionable sets of the present city, each of which claims 
 to be " the society" of the place. The costume was very much 
 the same. In latitude and longitude of skirt, Mrs. Furbelow had 
 certainly the advantage. Her hoops were twice the size of those 
 of Mrs. Loftyhead ; and, so far as toggery was concerned, the palm 
 would unquestionably be carried oif by the former. But, to coun 
 terbalance all this, compare the women. The natural red and 
 white, the portly proportions, the honest bone and muscle, of the 
 ancient lady, asserted themselves independently of costume : they 
 needed no plea ; asked no indulgence ; were superior to all the 
 help of art. She could have -done without a skirt ; whalebone 
 was useless in her case ; and paddings about breast and body, and 
 red varnishes upon the cheeks, were never dreamed of. She had 
 an honest English bust, which could beat bravely against the bo 
 som of a true man, in a wrestle whether of love or hate. 
 
 Alas, for the fine lady of to-day, the dashing Mrs. Furbelow ! 
 It is really pure absurdity to talk of her as a living animal at all. 
 She needs all her skirts and hoops, and paints, padding, and var 
 nish ! And her leathery skin, sallow and yellow, and tallow, at 
 naked fallow, would, without these helps, provoke nothing but dia- 
 
430 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 gust and revulsion. And chalk and rouge help her little. Veri 
 ly, let us not sneer at old times, since such creatures as these are 
 tolerated by the present. There was more honesty in their arts 
 as well as in their flesh and blood ; and their manners were de 
 cidedly better, though lacking in much of the artifice which chills, 
 and moulds, and stales all modern convention. Give me honest 
 flesh and blood, I say, to all these things of paste and putty ! 
 And give me the honest expression of a native sentiment, how 
 ever rude or simple, to the stereotyped persiflage of a circle which 
 is confessedly ignorant of an idea, and lives only in the security 
 of a well-memorized commonplace. 
 
 But, bless me ! we are keeping you from the company, here in 
 the hall ; and the music is growing earnest, and the dancing wil 
 soon begin. And yet, a little while longer, let us delay you here 
 We have something to say of the hostess ; to let you into certain 
 secrets, showing why she especially ought to make her fancy ball 
 a clever thing. 
 
 We have shown you, we trust, that Mrs. Perkins Anderson is 
 a clever woman. She is naturally a strong woman ; quick, sharp, 
 acquisitive, discriminative ; and with instincts that have a hundred 
 eyes. She has also blood ; and this, with nothing to do, is at the 
 bottom of all the evils in her character. She must expend her 
 superfluous energies. Lacking regular duties, she will be apt to 
 do so mischievously, and in consonance with certain very natural 
 instincts. This is one of the secret causes of vicious tendencies 
 on the part of people of wealth, who have also health ! But we 
 must not be essayical. 
 
 Well, Mrs. Perkins Anderson is a clever woman. She has had 
 opportunities ; and a certain probation of toil, in her early life, 
 will enable her to do clever things which her neighbors will hardly 
 attempt. As an Edinburgh mantuamaker, or milliner, and what 
 not, she had acquired sundry experiences in the offskirts of good 
 society, if only by manufacturing its skirts. She is a good clipper 
 and cutter ; had been, on dit^ a royal clipper : by which we do not 
 mean a three-decker or a yacht, but, in literal language, a manu- 
 facturess of the robes and dresses of certain members of the royal 
 family ; that is, when they happened, in Edinburgh, to feel the 
 lack of a skirt. And it may be in London, too, for the lady lived 
 several years in that pleasant little borough-town, and carried on 
 
ODDS AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 431 
 
 we must use a vulgarism of our moderns the profession of 
 the artiste of modes. But the true secret of her claims to royal 
 favor consists, probably, in her having been employed as a cos- 
 turner for the theatre, where she made the robes of princes and 
 princesses, lords and ladies, and accordingly picked up some no 
 tions at once of high art and high people. This was one of the 
 scandals against the lady, put in circulation in Charleston by the 
 envious Mrs. Golightly a lady who has left a very large and 
 rather light progeny behind her. No matter how Mrs. Anderson 
 gets her knowledge she has it ; and, with her acknowledged 
 cleverness, you may be sure it will do smart things. She will 
 get up her part of this fancy ball with grace, spirit, and effect. 
 She will help such of her neighbors- as are willing to ask for as 
 sistance. She will devise suitable characters for certain persons, 
 and these she will lesson in their proper personation : she has a 
 talent for this business, and would have made a dextrous mana 
 ger of private theatricals. She will possibly pass to these, when 
 she has once carried through her masquerade ball successfully. 
 
 Successfully ? That is according to certain provincial stand 
 ards. Don t be unreasonable, and expect too much. It is doubt 
 ful if, according to the ideal standards, we could get up a success 
 ful masquerade ball anywhere in this country ! It is reported 
 that when Mr. Dickens s visit to New York was in contemplation, 
 and it was proposed to lionize him, one of the leaders of the fash 
 ionables of that city said, " Can we make him fashionable ?" And 
 this query was but a natural introduction to what followed. Tab 
 leaux, from the writings of the author, were chosen, as the most 
 grateful mode of paying him homage ; and it was then that the 
 fashionables were compelled to buy his books and study his char 
 acters. Dickens himself soon discovered the sort of hands into 
 which he had fallen. He would have found twenty times the in 
 telligence among the weekday, working world, which his enter 
 tainers had ignored. So, if you, dear brethren, build upon the 
 people who claim to be " in society^ as the parties best calcu 
 lated to personate the grand and gorgeous in history and the 
 drama, you will find it politic, before you begin, to put them 
 through a course of the primers and Mother Goose. Do not, 
 therefore, be unreasonable in your anticipations, touching the pro- 
 jet of our Mrs. Perkins Anderson. 
 
432 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 For, look you, she has but two rooms, twenty feet square, and 
 a piazza, forty feet long, for all her company. The chambers 
 will be used for tiring-rooms ; and there shall be one of these for 
 the tough, the other for the tender gender. And the supper-table 
 shall be spread in a shed-room ; but she will give them a famous 
 supper of solids. 
 
 But there is no ice, alas ! Ice is a modern invention ! 
 
 No ; but the water shall be cool. It is kept in a sort of " mon 
 keys," a well-known porous vessel of that day, which was greatly 
 in use ; and these shall be hung in the trees all around the house, 
 wrapped with wet blankets : and you will, as you drink, be forced 
 to admit that our ancestors might be content to endure to live 
 even though ice was not invented ! 
 
 There were no ice-creams, of course ; but there were the "West 
 India fruits, sweetmeats, jams, pines, berries, grenadines, all in 
 sirup or crusted sugar. And there were 
 
 " Fragrant jellies, fresh from Samarcand, 
 And lucent sirups tinct with cinnamon." 
 
 Ay, and ginger shall be sweet in the mouth too, as well as hot. 
 There will be no lack, be sure, of any of the cates and delicacies 
 known in that day and region. Champagne was not ; but there 
 was Madeira, and (more popular yet) there were bowls of punch, 
 a rare marriage of the strong, the sour, and the sweet, bringing 
 about such harmonies as were apt to " seize the prisoned soul and 
 lap it in Elysium." And, as the invited guests probably said to 
 themselves and to one another 
 
 " There shall be no want of music ; 
 
 " There shall be free footing ; and 
 
 " Supper at twelve o clock !" 
 
 A very interesting programme, scarcely inferior to that usual 
 at ih e present day. 
 
 We have shown what was the population of Charleston at the 
 date of our history. "We have also given some idea of the rude, 
 wild, irregular state of its topography. But a few more words on 
 this head, by way of description, may not be amiss. We have 
 before us now a plan of the infant city, as laid off in 1680. Fan 
 cy, then, a great shoulder of bacon, with the knuckle at what is 
 now " the Battery." On the east side there is an irregular plat, 
 
ODDS AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 433 
 
 hree main streets running south and north, crossed by four 
 others running east and west. There are lines drawn, which in 
 dicate bastions and a wall, encircling the whole. These lines are 
 limits which you will find now all comprised within Market street 
 on the north, Meeting street on the west, Water street on the 
 south, and the Bay on the east ; and half of this is a quagmire, 
 and quite unsettled. South, west, north, and east, the ground 
 which the ^ity now occupies is perforated by creeks that stretch 
 up almost to a meeting, from Ashley river on the west and Cooper 
 on the east. We count no less than ten of these creeks, so inter 
 secting the territory between the southern terminus of the city 
 and Calhoun street, which crosses it now nearly at the centre. 
 Between each of these creeks there is a little farmstead ; scarcely 
 more than one. Here is a ricefield ; here a cornfield ; here a 
 vegetable-garden ; and here a brick-kiln. The watch-house stands 
 at the southern extremity, wholly beyond call of the citizens. 
 There is a " block-house," with two pieces of cannon contiguous, 
 looking out on Ashley river. There is another watch-house, or 
 court of guard, at the east end of Broad street, where the custom 
 house now stands ; and, at half a dozen points, the sites are indi 
 cated for future bastions, which were not raised for ten years 
 after. The great avenues of Meeting and King streets were laid 
 out, and the former opened for several miles into the interior; but, 
 in bad weather, these were almost impassable. All the creeks 
 were bold ones, navigable by boats into the very heart of the 
 town. Their banks were fringed with shrubbery, and sometimes 
 their margins covered with marsh. No wonder that Molyneaux 
 got his shoes muddied ! The wonder is, that, in such limits, liv 
 ing so crudely, there should be such people as Mrs. Anderson and 
 Lady Highflier ; that there should be balls and parties ; that am 
 bition should soar to such a pitch as to achieve a masquerade. It 
 will be seen that Mrs. Anderson was no ordinary woman ! 
 
 Though giving all help and instruction to every pretty and 
 young, and some ugly and antique damsels antiques, but not 
 gems our excellent hostess was especially heedful to instruct 
 her beautiful little guest in the way that she should [not ?] go. 
 She had forgotten, had foregone, none of her projects. She had 
 carried out her purpose to caparison Zulieme as Titania. She 
 bad persuaded the Honorable Mr. Keppel Craven to don the 
 
 19 
 
434 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 golden armor of Oberon. Precious little did Zulieme know of 
 Titania ; but she could frisk and dance like a faerie, and she could 
 be deceived by a clown ! Now, Keppel Craven was no clown, 
 though he wore his own ears. Mrs. Anderson was pleased to say 
 to him that Oberon was born to conquest ; that his part was, not 
 to fail ; that he could not fail, with proper audacity ; and that, if 
 he would only comprehend his real attractions, there could be no 
 apprehensions of failure. Certainly, her lessons were quite enough 
 to make him impudent. She designed that they should make him 
 more. Mere impudence may say saucy things, and, with proper 
 encouragement, encountering a weaker object, may be bold enough 
 to do them ; but it is the will the reckless resolve not to fail, 
 but to carry a purpose through, without heeding check, and de 
 spite of hinderance this was the sort of spirit with which Mrs. 
 Perkins Anderson would infuse the Honorable Mr. Craven. 
 
 The better to help him in his progress, she bestowed her coun 
 sels on Zulieme. When the latter happened to say 
 
 "Where can Harry be? I wonder if he will come to-night? 
 she answered : 
 
 " What matter if he comes or not ? What s the good of him, 
 or any husband ? Marriage, my dear Zulieme, is only a tyran 
 nous bondage, invented by husbands, who seek to keep by law 
 what they can not keep by love ! Their jealousy and our cow 
 ardice are the secrets of this tyranny. It is against Nature, which 
 is the proper teacher ; and where we feel a liking, there we may 
 entertain a love. What ! because we have been mistaken in the 
 objects of our affections, shall we be tied to a hateful object foi 
 ever? To be sure not! I m certain, if I saw anybody to lov 
 better than Perkins Anderson, I d give him my heart directly." 
 
 " But would that be right, Charlotte ?" 
 
 "Right! What s right? Isn t Nature right? Don t she 
 know best ? Marriage, where the nature is not prepared to love, 
 is only " 
 
 But we care not to repeat. The argument is already well 
 known, and is in the mouths of a good -many strong-minded wo 
 men. 
 
 " Ah ! but I love Harry," said poor little Zulieme, with a sigh, 
 
 " You ! You love that stern British brute, as you call him ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do ! I suppose because he is a brute ! I wish he d 
 
ODDS AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 435 
 
 come to-night. I m sure he can outdance all these people. That 
 young Craven, though he s a most funny little fellow, can t dance 
 with Harry." 
 
 " Oh ! do n t let him hear you call him little." 
 
 " But he is little !" 
 
 " No ! He s of good size enough not to compare with Harry 
 Calvert, of course he s a sort of monster but a most superior 
 cavalier. Ah, what a conquest you ve made, Zulieme ! Keppel 
 Craven loves you to distraction." 
 
 " He s a fool for it ; for I do n t love him !" 
 
 "Oh, don t say so, Zulieme! If ever woman loved a man, 
 I m sure you love him." 
 
 "Me!" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and he s such a proper match for you !" 
 
 " Match for me ! Why, Charlotte ! And I m married al 
 ready." 
 
 " What if you are ? Does your being married make you a 
 slave ? Does it forbid that you shall feel ? Can it ? No ! And, 
 if it can t, it s only hypocrisy to pretend that it does. I tell you, 
 Zulieme, marriage is a cunning invention of the men, the better 
 to make slaves of us poor women !" 
 
 " But you re not a slave, Charlotte ! and I m not a slave !" 
 
 " But if we should happen to love another man than our hus 
 band, Zulieme we can t help it, you know shall we be denied 
 to do so? And doesn t marriage deny it? and ain t that bond 
 age ? and ain t bondage slavery ? Ay, we poor women are the 
 merest slaves ! But we are not to submit. I know that you do 
 love Keppel Craven, and he s worthy of it, and I don t see the 
 harm of it! 
 
 " Well, it s strange, Charlotte. I don t think I care a bit about 
 him ; and I m very sure if Harry thought he was making love to 
 me, he d wring his neck !" 
 
 " Wring his neck ? Shocking ! Dear Zulieme, you must drop 
 all these horrid phrases." 
 
 " But he d do it, Charlotte !" 
 
 "Well, if he could, perhaps; because it s the nature of tyranny 
 to enforce its laws by violence. But, if Keppel Craven loved me, 
 and I him, precious little would I care for its laws, and bonds, anj3 
 rites! I d" 
 
43f> THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Enough of this ! Enough for us to know that the true nature 
 of our little Spanish sefiora is not understood even, perhaps, by 
 those who know her best. Mrs. Perkins Anderson, at all events, 
 has been making some mistakes, in spite of all her cleverness. 
 Zulieme listens to her social and moral philosophy with some cool 
 ness, possibly some impatience. But Zulieme s passions are not 
 to be reached through her mind. She could not be argued into 
 sinful fancies. Intellectually, she is a thing all shallows lim 
 pid as a brook at play in breeze and sunlight ; and her training, 
 in a secluded hacienda, among simple people, has not tended to 
 enlighten her passions, though it may have increased the spright- 
 liness of her fancies. All the morals of Mrs. Perkins Anderson 
 were wasted upon her ; and she thought only of the dance, and 
 not of the dancer, even though he should be the Honorable Kep- 
 pel Craven. 
 
 Suppose the company to be assembling fast. There are coaches 
 at the door. The " shay" was one of the vehicles of Charleston 
 in that day, and the " chair ;" and these were the most numerous. 
 Some of the gentlemen came on horseback ; none on foot. The 
 streets were without sidewalks, and Mrs. Perkins Anderson s 
 " circle" contemplated no such persons as needed their own legs 
 for any other than dancing-purposes. It was, accordingly, a stag 
 gering circumstance, when the servant in green-and-scarlet livery 
 was required to admit our Lieutenant Molyneaux, even though 
 in the garb of a cavalier, when he presented himself on foot. 
 Molyneaux came under the guidance of Sproulls, who was talka 
 tive, and addressed him all the way as " captain." That our lieu 
 tenant did not seem startled by this title, and made no remark 
 upon it, was calculated to confirm Sproulls in his suspicion that 
 he was piloting the famous rover. But Molyneaux had been 
 made somewhat familiar with the title by the free use which 
 the politic old rogue, Fowler, had made of it, in winning him 
 over to his purposes. Sproulls was exceedingly communicative, 
 and pretty free in his comments upon the fine women about town, 
 who, according to his report, were quite " fast" enough for our 
 own day. But his scandals were sufficiently natural to one who 
 was not admitted within the sacred precincts. He pointed out 
 the house of Mrs. Anderson, and stood at a little distance, to see 
 him enter. There was some delay in this proceeding. The house 
 
ODD3 AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING. 437 
 
 was already pretty well filled ; and the stout negro who officiated 
 as porter was, as we have said, quite staggered to see the stranger 
 present himself on foot. The fine clothes certainly made their 
 impression; but, no horse no carriage! The fellow parleyed 
 with our lieutenant : 
 
 " But, I say, maussa, whay you hitch you hoss ?" 
 
 " Horse ? I had no horse !" 
 
 " Carriage shay den ?" 
 
 " I did n t ride, fellow ! I walked !" 
 
 " Ki ! maussa ! wha for you walk ? You hab ticket for come ?" 
 
 "Ticket be ! What do I want with a ticket? Stand 
 
 aside, fellow ! Clear the gangway ; and none of your 
 
 palaver !" 
 
 The lieutenant suited the action to the word ; and, hurling the 
 servant aside contemptuously, with no little emphasis of muscle, 
 he proceeded to enter the house. 
 
488 THE CASS1QUE OF KIAWAH 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 HOW THE REVEL SPED. 
 
 " You have displaced the mirth ; broke the good meeting, 
 With most admired disorder." Macbeth. 
 
 MOLYNEAUX S proceedings, at entrance, were not of a sort U 
 escape notice. He was rough-handed in his practice : the negro 
 was hurled aside as if he had been a stone. Pompey was a spoiled 
 negro, as are half of the old family-servants of the South. He 
 was a fellow apt to put himself upon his dignity. At the treat 
 ment of Molyneaux, so new to his experience, he made lamenta 
 ble outcry. His mistress was upon the watch. Never lady, about 
 to achieve glory in good society, more vigilant. She was instantly 
 in the piazza. She encountered our lieutenant at the threshold, 
 and with no little stateliness. 
 
 " Sir!" said she, haughtily. 
 
 "Ma am!" quoth he. 
 
 " Whom, sir, have I the honor to receive ?" 
 
 Molyneaux was an Irishman and a rover. Whatever the de 
 gree of bashfulness which belongs to the one character, it was more 
 than relieved by the boldness which should always accompany the 
 other. In spite of his origin, Molyneaux was nowise wanting in 
 proper self-esteem. 
 
 " Madam," said he, " you are, I fancy, the lady of the house. 
 I am a friend of your guest, the Senora Zulieme Calvert. I wish 
 to see her." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! for God s sake, sir ! That name is not to be 
 spoken here." 
 
 The language of the hostess was that of trepidation. Our bash 
 ful Irishman was evidently wanting in a knowledge of " the ropes." 
 
 " Ah ! I see ; but I am her friend, her old acquaintance." 
 
HOW THE REVEL SPED. 439 
 
 " Who are you, sir ?" 
 
 " Why, to tell the truth, madam, I do n t know but that a like 
 caution should forbid me giving my own name. But if you are in 
 the secrets of the Sefiora " 
 
 " Still, sir, it needs not that I should know yours. But I can 
 guess them. Perhaps, sir, the shortest and best course will be to 
 suffer you to see the lady." 
 
 "That s it, madam. There can be no harm done." 
 
 " None, sir. Please follow me. * 
 
 And she took him to the rear of the piazza in the back 
 ground where he could remain unseen by new-comers. She 
 then brought Zulieme to him. He lifted his mask at her ap 
 proach. 
 
 " What ! you, Molyneaux ?" cried Zulieme, in tones of pleas 
 ure, offering her hand. " I m glad to see you." 
 
 " I knew you would be, senora," responded our bashful Irish 
 man, grasping her hand warmly, and carrying it to his lips. 
 
 "But where s Harry, and whereas the ship?" 
 
 " I have not seen the captain for a week." 
 
 " Not for a week ! And where is he, then ?" 
 
 " On a cruise somewhere, which he keeps secret." 
 
 " Ah ! well and what brings you here ?" 
 
 " The felicity of seeing you." 
 
 " Well, you re come at the right time, and I see you re dressed 
 for the occasion, as if you knew of it." 
 
 " To confess a truth, I did know of it ; and here you see me, as 
 I am." 
 
 " Well, now, Charlotte" 
 
 Mrs. Anderson was present during the scene, a silent but not 
 an unobservant spectator. 
 
 " Well, my dear, how would you dispose of your friend ?" 
 
 " Why, to be sure, have him in among the rest." 
 
 " But is there no danger ?" 
 
 " Danger ! from what ?" 
 
 " Danger, madam, is a familiar acquaintance. I have slept 
 with it nightly for seven years !" 
 
 Mrs. Anderson thought to herself: "The man s well to look 
 on ; he is in courtly costume ; he will be a handsome addition to 
 my party ; and the very fact that he is unknown, and can not be 
 
440 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 well suspected by anybody, will make him a lion. But we must 
 make him keep close." 
 
 " Zulieme, my dear, there can, perhaps, be no danger, if your 
 friend, Mr. ?" 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "Mr. Molyneaux Lieutenant Molyneaux next officer to 
 Harry in the ship " 
 
 " If Mr. Molyneaux will be careful not to forego his disguise 
 for a moment." 
 
 " Wear my mask all the while, madam, you mean ?" 
 
 " Exactly, sir." 
 
 " Egad, madam, I can do it, and will, if you require it ; but I m 
 not much used to disguisings, and my face, madam " 
 
 He lifted his visor for the benefit of Mrs. Anderson, and by the 
 action properly finished the sentence. The smiling Mrs. Ander 
 son found the appropriate words 
 
 " Is not one that you need be ashamed of." 
 
 " ? Gad, madam, you have the proper idea!" 
 
 " Well, sir, your costume is that of " 
 
 " Sir Edward Molyneaux, madam, who had the honor, long ago, 
 to be a frequent attendant at the court of his majesty King Charles 
 I. He lost his head, madam " 
 
 " Enough, sir. Do not lose yours, if you please. I know 
 enough of your ship and captain to know that you, as well as he, 
 would be in some danger here if discovered. You will exercise 
 the utmost caution. Go in, my love go in, Zulieme and we 
 shall follow you. Be pleased not to know your friend, till I intro 
 duce him as Sir Edward Molyneaux." 
 
 Zulieme disappeared, and, after a reasonable pause, the lady of 
 the house followed her into the ballroom, and was followed in 
 turn by Sir Edward. In this character he was formally intro 
 duced to a number of persons, male and female, who were all des 
 ignated in character. Many of these were known to the party 
 through their disguises ; but our Sir Edward was a mystery, and 
 so naturally provoked no small curiosity, especially as he boasted 
 a fine leg, and was altogether a very graceful fellow in his court 
 costume. 
 
 Costume or fancy balls are very rarely successful, in any dra 
 matic sense of the term. Very few persons are equal to the im- 
 
HOW THE REVEL SPED. 441 
 
 personation of marked characters, even where they are acquainted 
 fully with the biography of him or her whom they represent. 
 Actors, like poets, are born, not made. But fine dresses, and gay 
 humors, and lively music, and our own exercise in the dance, will 
 carry off an affair of the kind with sufficient eclat. Anyhow, and 
 with all its defects, a masquerade ball is a great improvement on 
 that of mere existing society. There is more privilege, more 
 piquancy, and so much more variety ! You are to understand 
 that this of Mrs. Anderson, though pettily provincial in a thou 
 sand respects, was yet perfectly delightful, for the time it lasted, 
 to all the parties engaged in it ; and even the Honorable Messrs. 
 Craven and Cavendish permitted themselves for a brief season to 
 forget the more imposing conventions of the court from which they 
 were in temporary exile. 
 
 But the affair had its desagremens even to these courtier gen 
 tles. The Honorable Keppel was particularly annoyed at the 
 cool familiarity which the imposing stranger, Sir Edward Moly- 
 neaux, exhibited in his intercourse with the fair Zulieme. Moly- 
 neaux put himself very soon at home ; and the very experience 
 of his rover-life rendered him a confident and presumptuous wooer. 
 He strode the hall with the same command and freedom which he 
 exhibited on the quarter-deck, when no sailor dared to pass be 
 tween the wind and his nobility. He sat beside the lovely Zu 
 lieme, the moment a seat became vacant ; and more than once he 
 took her hand, and, toying with her fan, she was seen to rap him 
 playfully over his fingers, evidently to chide or check some de 
 voted speech. But she smiled gayly as she did so, and he had 
 his retort wpuld playfully seize the fan, and agitate the atmo 
 sphere about her into breezes rather than zephyrs, being but 
 slightly accustomed to deal with such delicate implements. 
 
 " The d d impudent puppy !" muttered the Honorable Kep 
 pel. " Who can he be ?" 
 
 " He seems an old acquaintance," replied Cavendish ; " but he B 
 evidently no Spaniard. I begin to tremble for our guineas, Keppel." 
 
 D nation, yes ! I must see Madam Anderson." 
 
 " The worst is, the senorita seems wonderfully pleased with his 
 attentions." 
 
 "Oh, she s pleased with all attentions! The kitten appears 
 hardly to care with what mouse she plays." 
 
 19* 
 
442 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " He s no mouse ! He carries himself like a bully, a roystering 
 soldier from the Low Countries." 
 
 " We must find him out. Ha, for the coranto !" 
 
 And, so speaking, the Honorable Keppel darted across the 
 room to Zulieme, and extended his hand to take her out. She 
 rose and gave it him, but Molyneaux interposed promptly : 
 
 " How s this? Was I not to dance with you, Zulieme?" 
 
 " Zulieme !" muttered Craven. " Dem d free !" 
 
 " The next dance," she answered, to Molyneaux ; " not this." 
 
 Molyneaux growled out some guttural, which had no softness 
 in it, and glared through his vizard at the effeminate courtier as 
 he bore the lady into the area. With an oath, he muttered 
 
 "I should like to wring the fellow s neck !" 
 
 "Who s your friend?" asked the Honorable Keppel of the 
 senorita. 
 
 " He? why, he s " and then she paused. 
 
 "He s who?" 
 
 "Oh, don t ask me! I do know, but I can t tell you. But> 
 no matter he s nobody." 
 
 And they whirled away under the call of the music. 
 
 Molyneaux followed them round the room, in all their evolu 
 tions, like a grim Afrite following a fairy fresh from Yemen ; 
 and whenever his eyes met those of Craven, the mutual flash of 
 each showed that their instincts had already made them bitter 
 enemies. But dear little Zulieme saw nothing of this. She was 
 exhilarated ; laughed merrily with her partner ; yielded herself 
 voluptuously to all the caprices of the dance ; went through the 
 corantos, the lavoltas, the delicias, with all the gusto of an eastern 
 almee little dreaming that Molyneaux was writhing with rage, 
 and fumbling the hilt of his rapier, and muttering his prayers that 
 somebody, of the masculine gender, might look at him and sneeze ! 
 
 But it was soon his turn to dance, and Craven s to writhe. The 
 next dance brought them into the same circle, but this time Moly 
 neaux danced with Zulieme, and Keppel with another damsel. 
 And now was Molyneaux all exultation, for Zulieme was just as 
 full of glee and buoyant fancy as when she danced with Craven ; 
 yielded herself just as fondly to his embraces ; and scarcely seemed 
 to heed the graceful voluptuary, as he swam, in corresponding 
 mazes, with another fair partner, directly opposite. 
 
HOW THE REVEL SPED. 443 
 
 But Craven was not so indifferent. 
 
 "The dem d puppy!" he muttered, whenever his eyes met 
 with those of Molyneaux ; and when the two danced toward each 
 other, it could be seen that there was a something mutually defi 
 ant in their manner. There was a haughty toss of the head on 
 one side, and an insolent bull-fling of the other forward ; and the 
 parties each felt as if the occasion were approaching when they 
 must surely take each other by the throat. The awkwardness 
 of Molyneaux in the dance nearly led to this result in the prog 
 ress of this very round. Whirling Zulieme about, and following 
 her movements very unequally with his own, he found himself 
 entangled with a group, and, setting down one of his feet with 
 emphasis, as if to secure himself steadily in position, he planted 
 the heavy heel on the pointed toe of the Honorable Keppel, who 
 was just then gliding, with zephyr-like sweep, beside him. 
 
 We know not what was the exact condition of Craven s toes. 
 He possibly had a corn or two which no delicate surgery had yet 
 been able to extirpate. His pumps were perhaps new, and tight 
 as new. One thing was certain : that setting down of his foot by 
 Molyneaux had been terribly emphatic. The Honorable Keppel 
 writhed under it with a bitter cry ; doubled up his body, down 
 ward from his shoulders; dropped the hand of his partner her 
 waist, perhaps while she went over headlong into another set; 
 the victim, meanwhile, catching up the suffering foot in his hand, 
 and muttering a fearful malediction upon the elephantine hoof 
 that caused the injury. 
 
 A hoarse laugh from Molyneaux, which he could not suppress, 
 disgusted the hearers, and even aroused Zulieme. 
 
 "You ve hurt him !" she said ; and he muttered, in reply 
 
 " D n him ! not half enough." 
 
 She dropped his arm ; and, hearing his insolent laugh, Craven 
 now approached and whispered in his ear 
 
 " You shall answer for this !" 
 
 " To be sure, I will ; and you shall answer too !" was the fierce 
 reply, a little too loudly uttered, since it reached other ears than 
 those for whom it was meant. There was a buzz about the room, 
 and some confusion. Mrs. Anderson began to fear that her party 
 might fail yet. Craven, with a nice propriety, whispered again 
 in Molyneaux s ear, as he saw the hostess approaching : 
 
444 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 "We understand each other. Let us keep up appearances 
 Take my hand, that it may seem as if the matter were amicably 
 settled." 
 
 And he extended his hand as he spoke, lifted his vizard, and 
 smiled graciously, with a bow. Molyneaux caught tfce proffered 
 hand with a vice-like gripe which made the other wince. 
 
 " Ay, we understand each other !" 
 
 The action arrested the confusion for awhile: the dance was 
 resumed ; refreshments were served ; the chat once more became 
 hilarious ; and, leaving the company in a good humor, we will 
 change the scene to the lodgings of Sproulls, where we left Sam 
 Fowler, the old salt and pirate " Squint-eye Sam" beginning, 
 with a few kindred spirits, a night of grosser debauchery. 
 
THE TIGER BREAKS THE TRAP. 445 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE TIGEK BREAKS THE TRAP. 
 
 " Countess. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 
 Talbot. Prisoner ? To whom ? 
 Countess. To me, bloodthirsty lord; 
 
 And for that cause I trained thee to my house. . . 
 Talbot. Ha! ha! ha!" SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THERE is always a latent infirmity in crime, that serves finally 
 to defeat the efforts and designs of the most vigorous sort of man 
 hood. Crime, in fact, presupposes a defect of mind, as it does of 
 character. The most vigorous and thinking criminal shall yet be 
 a victim to certain shortcomings of calculation, or some qualifying 
 weaknesses, which shall operate to the ultimate defeat of all his 
 purposes. And if this be the fact in the case of those who are 
 really well and vigorously endowed, what must be the defect in 
 the case of a coarse ruffian like our old pirate, Sam Fowler? 
 This wretch had been lapped in crime and suckled on infamy. 
 He had been made callous by brawls and bloodshed ; reckless by 
 self-indulgence and drunkenness. Yet he could conceive great 
 purposes of outlawry, had his ambition for rule, and aimed at a 
 certain control and supremacy over his fellow-men. But, even 
 while he planned conspiracy, which required the utmost prudence 
 as well as the utmost resolution, he was so little capable of re 
 straining his licentious habits, that, though the success of -his 
 projects required the greatest sobriety and while in a hostile 
 city, where a reward was offered for his head he had not the 
 necessary strength which should keep from drunkenness, nor the 
 degree of caution which might shelter from detection. 
 
 So, accordingly, while the vanities of his colleague and superior, 
 
446 THE CASSTQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 Molyneaux, led him to exhibit his legs at the bal costume of Mad 
 am Anderson, he (Fowler) regaled himself at Sproulls s, with a 
 villanously low circle, on the strongest potations and the heaviest 
 meats. 
 
 Sproulls was in quasi alliance with the keen and cunning Syl 
 vester, alias Stillwater. It is needless to try and fathom the se 
 cret between these two persons. But it is certain that Sproulls 
 was much more decidedly the agent of Stillwater than the friend 
 of Fowler. Whether he wished to acquire a claim on the favors 
 of Stillwater, or that he desired to obtain a clue to the hiding- 
 place of the rover Calvert, matters nothing to us. His motive 
 need not tax our inquiry. Enough that he fancies Molyneaux to 
 be Calvert. He has contrived so to report to Sylvester, and to 
 furnish all the clues to the present employment of the lieutenant. 
 The next matter is to secure Fowler. 
 
 This required management. Fowler is an old sea-dog, of vig 
 orous frame, well armed, and of determined courage. A city po 
 lice is not always equal to a hand-and-hand encounter with a des 
 perado, and it requires a very considerable superiority of force 
 before the attempt will be made. But the preliminaries have 
 been overcome. There is a hot supper steaks, oysters, and 
 other good things at Sproulls s den, the locality of which may 
 yet be designated, somewhere in the purlieus of Queen street and 
 the bay. Hot rum-punch is in abundance, and no bette^^-beverage 
 is asked for until the period arrives when, the taste silenced, the 
 appetite calls for something more potent still, and the naked rum 
 throws upon his back that champion whose heels the sweetened 
 liquor only served to trip. 
 
 Four or five stout fellows have consented to meet Sproulls and 
 his friend in good fellowship. The steaks and oysters smoked 
 from separate dishes. The foaming liquors, hot and cold, went 
 freely round. Sam Fowler sat as sovereign, well satisfied. He 
 had impudence, and a ruffian-like humor ; was fond of horse-play ; 
 and dealt out the most brutal oaths, as boys fling cherry-stones 
 about. The demureness of his companions, at first, seemed to 
 him the natural tribute of inexperience and inferior spirits to his 
 own superiority. Every brute has his vanity. He found this 
 sort of tribute grateful. 
 
 " You 11 git bolder, fellows, when you ve ploughed the seas for 
 
THE TIGER BREAKS THE TRAP. 447 
 
 twenty-five years ; when you ve tasted the salt of a lee shore ; 
 when you Ve split every sail in a norther ; and been so far up 
 in the wind s eye, that you d only got to stretch out your hand 
 to take the man in the moon by the beard ! A week s maroon, 
 now, would make men of you all. A desarted island, without a 
 tree or shrub, and nothin but a pocketful of biscuit, a gun without 
 a lock, and no way to git your grub but by listening when a turtle 
 grunts, as she s a-marchin up the sands to drop her eggs ! That s 
 the sort of schooling to take the pip off a man-chicken s tongue ! 
 A week of that sort of idication, my lads, would make something 
 of you all, and bring out the pluck. It s life you wants ; and ef 
 you ve the heart to 1 arn, say so, fellows, and ship with me, out 
 ward bound and return v yage, with shares of eights upon the 
 venture. What do you say to that ?" 
 
 The cue was to humor the ruffian. 
 
 " Well," said one, and then another. " It s monstrous poor 
 sort of life that we lives here hardly gits our grub, and more 
 salt than sugar in it. I m clear for any venture that ll give us 
 a chance at a better sort of life." 
 
 " Shill have ft, my lads. I 11 be ready for you. You 11 have 
 to sign articles, lads not much only to have an understandin 
 of the tarms, and the rest s easy, and the money sure. I ve known 
 three hundred pounds starling per man, out of a single v yage of 
 two months. Bales always ready for our cargo, and markets right 
 and left, east, west, north, south everywhere, jest like here in 
 Charlestoun, where the folks sing night and day, even when they re 
 
 a-prayin . 
 
 " Come along, ye jolly brothers, 
 
 That do range the Spanish main ! 
 Bring us in the precious galleons, 
 
 With their gold and silver grain : 
 Ye ve brought us treasure oft before, 
 
 So cut and come again ! 
 
 "But fellows! am I to do all the drinkin ? I say drink 
 though it blows a harricane ! You 11 never be up to a spankin 
 breeze ef you don t 1 arn the uses of a bottle. Grog s the whole 
 secret of all that s good and lucky : grog s courage ; grog s good 
 luck ; grog s sense and sperit ; grog makes the cargo, and grog 
 knows how to spend it. Drink, I say ! By the holy pipers, I ll 
 lay my cutlash over the first nose that I see holdin off from the 
 
448 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 punch-bowl! Up with it, fellows down with it let s hear it 
 give an honest guggle as it goes down a wide swallow !" 
 
 Suppose, in this speech, the action suited to the word. The 
 burly ruffian actually stood up, tankard in one hand and naked 
 cutlass in the other ; and, while quaffing the contents of the cup, 
 he flourished the weapon over the heads of his companions. 
 
 Now, Sproulls s assistants, though not exactly of the class of 
 Dogberrys, were yet very far from being familiar with the sharp, 
 prompt practice of our ancient buccaneer ; and their heads shyed, 
 from side to side, as the gleaming cutlass waved to and fro. They 
 eagerly filled their cups and swallowed. 
 
 " No heeltaps, you milksops ! Drink deep as death and d na 
 tion ! I m not goin to palaver over punch. Drink, I say! 
 swallow like a suckfish swallow, and be gentlemen-rovers, fit 
 for the high-seas, and a ready market ! Ef you don t, I 11 make 
 a short swipe of you ! Ef you does, I 11 know you to be men 
 of good, warm blood able to write your names under a Jolly 
 Roger! " 
 
 He had his will of them ; and he laughed in half scorn, half 
 merriment, to see the avidity with which they shallowed the 
 alacrity with which they obeyed him. 
 
 " That s goin it honest ! I like a free drinker. The fellow 
 that skulks his liquor ain t honest. I say, now, write down yer 
 names on that paper ! You re entered for a cruise." 
 
 And he cast down a paper before them. The fellows looked 
 blank looked at one another. The task now put before them 
 seemed to promise more peril than the punch. 
 
 "What s this for?" said one. 
 
 " What s that to you, blast me ! Sign !" 
 
 And again the cutlass was flourished over the heads of the 
 party. They signed, not daring to stop to read what was writ 
 ten signed to a man ! And the old pirate coolly gathered up 
 he paper., and pocketed it away, as if it had been a deed of value ; 
 hough he was now evidently too drunk to reason correctly upon 
 any subject. It was habit and instinct that governed his actions 
 
 He chuckled, with all the self-complacency of an ancient des 
 pot, when he found them so submissive. 
 
 " That s it ! all right !" said he ; " you re bound for the v yage. 
 No backin out now. Sworn to the Jolly Roger. But it s a free 
 
THE TIGER BREAKS THE TRAP. 44 ( J 
 
 life, fellows pleasure all the time ! Nothin but fun, and fight- 
 in , and plenty of liquor ; and lots of fine gals at New Providence 
 and all along the keys. It s a glorious life. Fill up, now, I say, 
 and let s drink to the Jolly Roger !" 
 
 They filled ! he filled ! the cutlass flourishing in fearful prox 
 imity to every head, and Fowler walking to and fro, as he spoke, 
 with the air of a commander upon the quarter-deck, ready to 
 board the enemy. But, as they carried the cups to their mouths, 
 he stopped : 
 
 " Where s that blasted son of a yardstick ? where s Sproulls ?" 
 
 " He s jest gone for a minute. He 11 be back soon." 
 
 " He s skulked a matter of five glasses. I 11 take the d d 
 
 fellows ears off, close to his top ! What s he, that he should 
 skulk ? Why ain t he here, I say ? Who s here to answer for 
 him ? Does I come to visit him, and he sneak off and leave me 
 to take care of myself! Nobody to ax rne to liquor ! I m a de 
 cent man, and can t ax myself: it s for him to ax. I won t drink 
 
 ef any d d, blasted liquor, when the right owner do n t ax me. 
 
 I 11 shave his ears off, blast me !" 
 
 The desperado fairly overawed the proper men around him. 
 The cutlass again flourished about in terrible closeness to their 
 heads. One of them, more bold than the rest, endeavored to 
 pacify him. He said : 
 
 " Sproulls is my friend. He s a good fellow. Do n t mean 
 anything oncivil would n t for the world. He said he had to 
 go. Begged me to do the purlite ; and / ax you, captain /ax 
 you, in his name take a pull take a pull with me !" 
 
 " D n his name ! Who s he ? I 11 take a pull with you, in 
 your own name. What s your name ?" 
 
 u Jim Atkinson." 
 
 " Jim Atkinson ? Ah ! you ve signed" taking out and trying 
 to examine the paper. " Well, stand up, old fellow ; you re a 
 man of size ; you ve got the inches ! I 11 take a pull with you. 
 Fill up all, fellows. A pull all round with Jim Atkinson. Hur 
 rah for the Jolly Roger ! Drink that, boys, ef you wants to be 
 blest." 
 
 They drank. 
 
 " I ve got the benefits ! I must be off now. See to the boat. 
 See to the lieutenant. He s a fool ! Footin it with women, 
 
450 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 when he ought to be drivin along the coast, and down for the 
 gulf ! But, no matter : life s a long day. So long as the liquor 
 lasts, and there s good feedin , no need to hurry. But you re all 
 booked, and we must be off soon. I count on you as my fellows. 
 You shall have a glorious swing of it. Not in your shoes, you 
 boobies ! do n t think that ! No man need fear the gallows who s 
 got the sense to die a wet death. We 11 do it in stockin -feet ! 
 Another pull, my beauties, and then I m off ! I ve eat a most 
 
 too many of them d d ysters ! They re watery. But the 
 
 punch ain t ! Another pull, all round, and hurrah for the Jolly 
 Roger ! You 11 be all ready at mess-call !" 
 
 And every hand grasped the noggin, though possibly none but 
 Fowler emptied the vessel. He did this to the last drop. Then 
 thrusting his cutlass home, he strode off toward the door. 
 
 " I 11 give you the sign when it s time to go aboard ; not quite 
 ready yit. Git stores in the locker ; work the ship round first. 
 You shall know when the time comes. Hard a-port, I say ! Hey, 
 there ! a cup ! One more cup ; and then, a free sheet and a 
 flowin sea!" 
 
 It was with some disquiet that his companions beheld him pre 
 pared to depart, and resolved upon it. It was against their in 
 structions that he should be suffered to go. Sproulls s secret 
 words had been emphatic : 
 
 " You 11 have no trouble with him so long as the liquor lasts. 
 He ll stop till daylight. Ply him fast, Drink with him, man by 
 man. But keep him till I get back. We must have him fast by 
 the heels. It s a hundred pounds sterling in our pockets ; and 
 every man shall have his five pounds, remember that ! I 11 bring 
 a proper officer, and we can fix him fast when I get back. But 
 should he offer 1o go, jump upon him, all of you, and get him 
 down, and rope him. You re strong enough, each of you, and 
 there s four of you. Keep him, fair or foul see that you keep 
 him till I get back." 
 
 The instructions seemed quite natural and easy to the hearei 
 when first delivered ; but, since then, their humors had cooled. 
 The course of Fowler had been so decidedly desperate, that what 
 seemed to promise so feasibly at the outset, became now quite a 
 hazardous measure. So far from taking the initiative, in keeping 
 him at his liquor, he had rather forced it upon them ; and his fear- 
 
THE TIGEE BREAKS THE TRAP. 451 
 
 ful cutlass-flourishes had not suffered them to prevaricate at their 
 punch. They could not play him, and sham their own drinking ; 
 and each felt that his potations had done something toward dis 
 turbing his own equilibrium. 
 
 Besides, the reckless demeanor of the ruffian ; his physical pro 
 portions ; the dexterity with which he flourished his weapon ; and 
 the discovery which they made of the mahogany-butts of pistols 
 protruding from his breast all combined to beget an extreme 
 degree of prudence on the part of these valiant citizens, which did 
 not argue any great promptitude, should it become necessary for 
 them to jump upon him, as one man, and lay him out like a turtle, 
 on his bacfc. 
 
 Still, something must be done. He was evidently resolved on 
 his departure ; and the fellow who had played spokesman before, 
 now taking the parole, as if warmed by his beverages to eloquence, 
 began his work as insidiously as he could. 
 
 " Sorry, captain, that Sproulls hain t got back time enough to 
 do his honest drinkin with you " 
 
 " D n Sproulls, for a sneak !" 
 
 " So say I, too ! D n Sproulls ! But so long as his liquor 
 lasts, I m for it. So, what say you, boys, to a pull all round ? I 
 say, captain, this punch is glorious, and there s a smart chance in 
 the bowl yet." ^ 
 
 " D n punch ! The sweet s too snakish. Give me the naked 
 Jamaica !" 
 
 The rum was placed before him a huge, square, black bottle, 
 containing a gallon. The pirate filled, taking his rum this time 
 in puris naturalibus. But the rest began filling from the punch- 
 b&wl. 
 
 " H-ll !" he cried ; " am I to take the naked creetur, and you 
 be swizzin out of the sweetened sarpent ? And you wants to sail 
 under the Jolly Roger/ too ! Blast my peepers, if they shall 
 
 look on and see sich infarnal hypocrisy ! There s for your d d 
 
 wash !" 
 
 And, with a tremendous sweep of the arm, he hurled the punch 
 bowl from the table, sending the beverage in every direction, and 
 shattering the vessel into a thousand pieces. 
 
 u The naked sinner, fellows ! Kiss the black jug, and show that 
 you ve got the strength for a fair wrestle with the naked sperit !" 
 
452 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 The demonstration was sufficient, and they drank with him. 
 The drunken despot would not allow them to water the liquor ; 
 they must take it raw. Luckily for them, his eyes were quite 
 too humid to suffer him to see whether they filled to the brim or 
 not The former spokesman, in still more subdued accents, though 
 affecting a frank good-humor which he did not feel, cried out 
 
 " That s right ! The sweetened liquor don t do after the short 
 hours come on. Here s to the good ship, captain, and a glorious 
 cruise, a riih cargo, and a ready market !" 
 
 " Good !" was the answer, with a gruff complacency. " But 
 what did you say about the short hours ? How late do you call 
 it, fellows ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it s not late : somewhere twixt twelve and one." 
 
 " Twelve and one ! I must be off must see to that d 
 
 peacock ! We shall soon be on the ebb of tide. Must be off. Well, 
 fellows, you shall hear my signal soon. Keep your ears on the 
 stretch, and your fingers and feet free. You re good fellows. I 
 see ; know when rum ought to be taken naked ; 1 arn you, ef you 
 don t know. And so, the devil s blessings upon you, my kittens ! 
 I 11 come for you before he does, and we 11 both be sartain !" 
 
 And, without waiting any answer, he strode to the door. They 
 all rose, and approached him. The spokesman on previous occa 
 sions, Atkinson, gave the rest the winlfr He had contrived to 
 whisper them 
 
 " When you see us shakin hands, then jump upon him, all at 
 once, and bring him down !" 
 
 But Fowler had reached the door before Jim Atkinson could 
 reach him. He found it closed, and locked on the outside ! So 
 slyly had Sproulls done this, that it had passed unnoticed by all 
 the party. The effect upon Fowler was to endow the ruffian with 
 all his resolution, and some of his habitual readiness and decision. 
 In an instant the effects of the liquor seemed to disappear. He 
 confronted the party, his back to the door, which opened on th 
 outside, and drew a brace of pistols from his bosom. 
 
 " What bloody lubber has done this ?" 
 
 " Done what, captain ?" said Atkinson, approaching. 
 
 "Done what! Do you ask, you blackguard? Stand off, or 
 I 11 feed you on bullets which shall last you to the grave !" 
 
 And he cocked his pistols. Atkinson stopped short, his hand 
 
THE TIGER BREAKS THE TRAP. 453 
 
 extended as for leave-taking. His comrades, meanwhile, were 
 slowly gliding round the table, like himself irresolute. They all 
 had weapons, but produced none. 
 
 " Caught in a trap ! and of your settin , you d d fresh-water 
 
 sneaks ! You would harness a shark with spider-webs, would 
 you !" 
 
 And, keeping his eyes steadily upon them, and his pistols ex 
 tended with deliberate aim, he lifted his foot and drove it behind 
 him, with all his force, against the door. The slight fabric yielded 
 at the first blow, and was sent free from bolt and hinges. The 
 way was clear. 
 
 " Now move one step toward me, and I 11 plaster the wall with 
 your bloody brains ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! a pretty trap ! Say to 
 Sproulls, I ve taken his measure: I ll cut out his garmints for 
 him ! I ll paint em red, do you hear ! I ll make the sign of the 
 cross on him, so deep, that the priest won t have anything to do ! 
 And all that won t save him. I ll oh, blast him! He sha n t 
 know what hurts him !" 
 
 And he strode forth into the highway, pistols in hand, coolly 
 resolute, steady with the sobriety of desperation ; and none of the 
 party dared to follow him. They looked at one another with 
 somewhat of the philosophy of Dogberry : 
 
 " Take no note of him. ^ Let him go, and thank God you are 
 rid of a knave." 
 
 Atkinson said, apologetically : 
 
 " I would have taken hold of him, thougn I died for it ; but I ve 
 got a wife and children. But why did n t you all jump upon him, 
 fellows, when you seed me offer him my hand ?" 
 
 " But you was to take his hand, you know, and then we was to 
 jump on him. That was what you told us." 
 
 " But when you seed that he wouldn t shake hands? 
 
 " Then we waited to see what you would do. You was nearest 
 to him." 
 
 " But why didn t you git up ? Ef you had only pressed about 
 him, I d ha jumped on him anyhow." 
 
 "And ef you d ha jumped on him, we d been up fast enough." 
 
 " And you wanted me to face his two pistols by myself, did 
 you ? and I with a wife and three young children !" 
 
 "And ain t my life as dear to me as your n, no matter ef you 
 
454 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 had fifty wives and children ? And when I consider t was only a 
 poor five pounds that we was to git, after all, I don t see the sense 
 of runnin ag in a brace of bullets from the biggest-mouthed pis 
 tols I ever laid eyes on !" 
 
 "They were monstratious big," said a third party. "They 
 looked like young cannon. A bullet from them muzzles would 
 take off a man s head clean !" 
 
 " Well," responded Atkinson, " it s agreed we all did our best 
 We tried all we could to stop him. We made him drunk 1 
 thought we had him dead drunk. You seed how he reeled al out 
 when he first got up from the table !" 
 
 " But, Lord, how sudden he got quite sober, soon as he found 
 the door was locked !" 
 
 " He s a most powerful villain ; he d be a match for any five 
 men I ever seed. I thank God we re well rid of him, and no life 
 lost! I don t feel like takin up and seein hung an honest rover 
 that we ve been dealin with so long. I m glad he s off, and we 
 have n t had the sheddin of his blood." 
 
 " And he the sheddin of your n, Bonney." 
 
 " Well, I consent ! I do n t want to burrow in a dog s hole be 
 fore the Lord calls me !" 
 
 And the party soon persuaded themselves that their proceed 
 ings had been marked equally by couragg and judgment, and would 
 have been quite successful but for the unexpected and brutal ob 
 stinacy of Fowler, who in no degree would contribute to the tri 
 umph of their operations. 
 
 They had logically reached this result, when Sproulls reap 
 peared, bringing with him another party. His eye beheld the 
 wreck of the door ; and, as he failed to see Fowler, he at once 
 conjectured the failure of his scheme. He listened impatiently to 
 the narrative of Atkinson, but did not quite agree with him in his 
 estimate of the courage and conduct they had shown. 
 
 " But why did you not follow him and see where he burrows now ? 
 
 " Follow six pistols, with mouths as big as a blunderbuss, and 
 etuffed to the muzzle with bullets !" 
 
 " We must be after him," said Sproulls to his companion, " and 
 see if we can t do what these fellows failed in." 
 
 " No !" replied the other ; " we have n t time. We Ve to see 
 after higher game : we must take care and not lose both." 
 
THE TIGER BREAKS THE TRAP. 455 
 
 " You re right ! Look you, boys, you ve lost a matter of twenty 
 pounds apiece, lettin* the pirate git off!" 
 
 " You only said five apiece ; and was I to risk my life for a 
 poor, pitiful five pounds, and I have a wife and three children 
 lookin to me for all they git ?" 
 
 " Never mind that, my good fellows," said the stranger ; " go 
 with us now, and see that you do better ! I 11 lead you, and not 
 ask any of you to face a danger that I m not willing to face the 
 first We ve got to make another capture ; and if we succeed, and 
 he s the person we look for, you shall have your twenty pounds 
 apiece yet ! You know me, I think, and know that I m not going 
 to ask you to do that which I won t attempt myself." 
 
 They at once expressed their alacrity. They knew the speaker. 
 He had, even then, quite a local celebrity ; and was destined to 
 make himself still more notorious in after-days, in the colonial 
 regime of Carolina. He spoke with a decided Irish accent; was 
 a fine-looking, stalwart fellow, in a sort of undress uniform ; had 
 rich, rosy cheeks, fair complexion, blue eyes ; and carried himself 
 like a knight of chivalry. This was Florence O Sullivan, then in 
 command of the two-gun battery, on the southwest point of the 
 town ; afterward in command of the first palmetto battery, or log- 
 castle, on Sullivan s island, which takes its name from this very 
 personage. 
 
 He led the way, and all the party followed him into the street. 
 
 NOTE. We have suffered our old pirate to deliver himself freely in his 
 habitually brutal language ; preferring that he should revolt the instincts of 
 the young, whose more elegant forms of speech, in the dialect of the flibustier, 
 might be apt to persuade. It is better, perhaps, that we should suffer bru 
 tality to disgust the tastes even as the Spartans exhibited their slaves when 
 in a state of drunkenness than, by a solicitous forbearance to offend the 
 tastes, to endanger the morals. It is the just objection to many of our ro 
 mancers and poets, that they drew the portraits of their corsairs and brigands 
 in such artful colors (suppressing all that might offend the tastes) as to con 
 vert the criminal into the hero, and, by appealing to the fancies and mere 
 instincts, succeeded too surely in corrupting the soul. Having thus far suf 
 fered our ruffian to show himself in his true colors, wo shall clap a stopper on 
 him hereafter. 
 
456 THE CASSIQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 A BLOODY STRUGGLE. 
 
 " A bloody deed, and desperately despatched I" 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 WHEN Sam Fowler left the house of Sproulls, his first notion 
 was, to find his way to the dwelling of Mrs. Perkins Anderson, 
 and endeavor to draw Molyneaux forth. The fellow had become 
 doubtful of his securities, suspicious of the precinct, and appre 
 hensive for his companion. But he had no guide ; felt his legs 
 beginning to be more and more unsteady, as he inhaled the cool, 
 fresh air of the morning ; and, upon second thought, he directed 
 his steps toward the lagune in which the boat had been hidden. 
 His selfishness overcame his good-fellowship. 
 
 " This chap Molyneaux," he muttered to himself, " is no great 
 shakes. We can do without him. Why should n t I have the 
 ship to myself? He s a fool too, not thoroughbred, and will be 
 always after some fol-de-rol or other, sp ilin a profitable v yage I 
 We can do without him. Let him git out of the scrape as he can. 
 I 11 wait for him in the boat. Ef he comes, we re no worse off 
 than before. He can be captain of the ship. I ll be his cap 
 tain ; and ef he kicks, we can send him over the side to feed the 
 sharks !" 
 
 Such was his policy and moral. 
 
 He took his way to the lagune, and found it. 
 
 He gave the signal. The boat shot from her sheltering myr 
 tles, and was run up to the shore. Two silent figures managed 
 her. 
 
 " Here away, fellows up to that yster-bed ! No need to 
 muddy one s feet !" 
 
 The boat obeyed him. 
 
A BLOODY STRUGGLE. 457 
 
 He stepped in with a yawing, unsteady motion, his brain feel 
 ing more than ever the potations he had drunken. 
 
 " Put her out, and row for the mouth of the creek, fellows. We 
 shall be safer there, and can hear the lieutenant s signal when he 
 comes upon the p int. I m thirsty as d nation !" 
 
 He was obeyed in silence. 
 
 " What have you seen, boys ? Any strange sail ? anybody 
 here ?" 
 
 " None, sir." 
 
 "None? Well, that s good! They haven t found us out, 
 then ! But they ve got bloody lights out. There s rats abroad. 
 I ve had a narrow escape. Had me on the hip. Got ropes 
 
 stretched. The d d punch ! Them sweet liquors have snared 
 
 many a true man. Drink no more of em ! The naked rum for 
 me!" 
 
 And he laid himself back in the stern. 
 
 " How s tide, boys ?" 
 
 " Have the ebb soon, sir." 
 
 " Ay, I know d it. Twixt twelve and one, they said. Two 
 now. Ebb at three. D n the punch ! Wish we were safe all, 
 stowed away in our bunks !" 
 
 A deep silence followed. The rowers continued to pull out, 
 They were nearly at the mouth of the creek. The Ashley was 
 rolling broad, clear, and fresh, in the growing moonlight. Fow 
 ler seemed to sleep. One of the rowers muttered to the other 
 
 " He sleeps !" 
 
 " Not yet," was the answer. 
 
 " Well, away ! avast, there ! What do you pipe ?" demanded 
 the supposed sleeper. 
 
 " Nothin , sir !" 
 
 " Nothin be d d ! Talk out ! Why do n t you talk ? What 
 
 have you got to say ?" 
 *" Nothin , sir !" 
 
 " I say nothin be d d ! Say somelhin ! You, Byrd, have 
 talk enough when the humor suits you. Have you no liquor ?" 
 
 " Not a drop, sir." 
 
 " D d bad lookout ! Wish I had brought the black junk, 
 
 Famous Jamaica. Feel hot and thirsty as h-11 ! Ought to have 
 
 cut one of them d d throats ! Been easier for it. The sneak- 
 
 20 
 
458 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 in lubbers I Sich a trap for a strong man ! But I 11 smoke era 
 
 yet ! I 11 .smoke the d d town, soon as I git fairly on the 
 
 quarter-deck ! smoke the rats out of their holes ! Sich a trap ! 
 Sproulls ! Jim Jim Atkinson ! Got em all down in the ship s 
 articles. Hang em for traitors hang em in their shoes the 
 d d fresh-water lubbers !" 
 
 Here his eloquence was interrupted by a fit of hiccoughing, 
 broken with muttered ejaculations of the same type with the pre 
 ceding ; the sample is sufficient. He finally gave up the effort to 
 speak, and again subsided, with head upon the side of the boat. 
 He was silent. The oarsmen paused in the stroke, and the oars 
 were resting on the sides. Fowler seemed to sleep. He was 
 quiet ; the hiccoughs were gone. 
 
 " He sleeps now," whispered one rower to the other. 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " But he s so drunk, that it will be quite as easy." 
 
 " Hardly ! We need risk nothin . There s time enough yet 
 for an hour." 
 
 The supposed sleeper rose up : 
 
 " Why the h-11 do n t you pull ?" 
 
 " We re at the mouth of the creek, sir !" 
 
 " What of that ? Pull out, I say !" 
 
 " Into the river, sir 1" 
 
 "Yes h-11! To be sure!" 
 
 " But the lieutenant, sir ! " 
 
 " D n the lieutenant ! I m myself lieutenant. Shall we 
 
 stay for him all night, locked up in a d d cabin with five fel 
 lows at one s throat ? Pull out, and the lieutenant be d d ! 
 
 Ef he will burn daylight, shakin his d d ridiculous legs at a 
 
 fandango, when he ought to be breezin it at ten knots straight 
 for the gulf, he may stay for ever ! Pull out, fellows, and lay us 
 aboard the Happy-go-Lucky before the dawn !" 
 
 They obeyed him, and he again relapsed into silence. The 
 rowers rested on their oars. The boat lay rocking to and fro, 
 steadied in the one spot only by an occasional dip of the oar from 
 one of the parties. Fowler showed himself restless, and, starting 
 up, exclaimed : 
 
 " Look you, fellows, why don t you say somethin ? and 
 bello ! why do you stop the boat ? Why do n t you pull ? What 
 
A BLOODY STRUGGLE. 459 
 
 do you mean by not talkin ? What s come over you ? Where s 
 your report ?" 
 
 The rowers were silent and motionless. 
 
 Fowler sat up, and stared at them. His brain was foggy, but 
 not so much befogged but that something mysterious in their con 
 duct made itself felt. 
 
 " Look you, Byrd ! talk, I say !" 
 
 And the speech was rounded by a volley of oaths. 
 
 " Talk, I say ! Let me fiear somethin I can understand. Talk, 
 
 though you talk to the fishes only ! Ef you do n t, by you 
 
 shall go to feed em !" 
 
 Both rowers answered him. 
 "Heh! Who s that?" 
 There was something strange in the voice. 
 " I say, fellows, who s that spoke ? Was it Byrd, or or 
 Cromley?" 
 
 " Cromley, sir." 
 
 " A d d strange croak for Cromley ! Got a frog in your 
 
 throat, fellow. I must look for it." 
 
 And, staggering up, he strode forward and took the first oars 
 man by the shoulder. The light of the moon, now one third of 
 her course in heaven, was sufficient for the inspection, which, as 
 the pirate made it, he roared out : 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! h-11 and brimstone ! More traps ! more sarcum- 
 
 ventions ! The d d punch ! But I ain t on my beam-ends 
 
 yet. You bloody sarpents ! You think you ve got me, do you ! 
 But, thunder and blazes, I m not to be laid by the heels by sieh 
 chaps as you !" 
 
 He had discovered Jack Belcher in the oarsman whom he had 
 taken for Byrd. This discovery revealed his danger. He knew 
 the fidelity of Belcher to Calvert ; felt, from his presence, in the 
 place of the hands he had left in the boat, that his treachery was 
 known. 
 
 His prompt action kept pace with his words. With the hand 
 which grasped the collar of Belcher, he pressed him over upon 
 the thwarts, while with the other hand he fumbled at his pistols. 
 
 The crisis was come. Belcher felt that he had to deal with 
 one who was desperate, and almost as vigorous as desperate. 
 Danger and strife had the effect to restore him, in some degree, 
 
460 THE CASSJQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 to sobriety, and so to a corresponding increase of strength. It 
 was necessary for the assailed party to make powerful exertions. 
 It was not easy to do so in his situation. Not expecting assault 
 from the drunken man, he had kept his seat on his approach ; 
 and, as the truth dawned on the mind of Fowler, the outlaw had 
 incontinently thrown himself upon the oarsman, bearing him down 
 backward to the bottom of the boat, from which he was only 
 saved by the lap of his companion. That companion was no less 
 a person than the old salt, Franks ; Calvert having found it neces 
 sary, in the present complication of his affairs, to put all his per 
 sonnel into requisition. We may here state that the orders of 
 our rover to his two subordinates were, to secure the person of 
 Fowler not to hurt him to fetter him effectually; and, for 
 this purpose, the iron handcuffs were provided, and in the bottom 
 of the boat. 
 
 Caught suddenly, grasped firmly, and by the still vigorous 
 frame of the old pirate, Belcher was overborne for the moment. 
 Dropping his oar, his only resource was to throw his arms about 
 the neck of the ruffian and drag him down with him. Thus they 
 rolled together struggled and strove with rapid movements, 
 which, from their confined and constrained position, were neces 
 sarily awkward ones. Both felt that the struggle was for life. 
 Belcher s aim was, to hoist his assailant over the boat s side. 
 This he might nave done, could he have obtained the upper posi 
 tion ; but Fowler was too heavy of build, still too strong, and had 
 all the advantage of the gripe. Franks, sitting at the forehand- 
 oar, could take no hold ; Belcher s position having been between 
 him and that of the pirate. But the old sea-dog watched his 
 chances, seeming altogether quiescent during the struggle. 
 
 It was in vain that Belcher strove to throw off his assailant ; 
 fitill more vain, with both hands needed to keep himself uppermost, 
 that Fowler fumbled, at moments, for his pistols or knife. And 
 the strife thus continued ; few words being spoken by either party, 
 and Fowler only belching forth an occasional oath, as he felt him 
 self baffled in his effort. 
 
 But Belcher was beginning to suffer. Hi* enemy had him by 
 the throat with one hand, his head being borne below the level 
 of his body. The weight of his heavy assailant was stretched 
 upon him. His breathing was difficult. As yet. Fowler showed 
 
A BLOODY STRUGGLE. 461 
 
 no signs of suffering. He was working one hand with some free 
 dom. Franks watched and listened. Suddenly the click of a 
 pistol was heard, and a moment afterward the fire. Belcher 
 made a violent effort and threw off his assailant. He was, hap 
 pily, uninjured. The bullet went into the bottom of the boat, just 
 grazing his side. Fowler, thrown off, lay beside his antagonist, 
 who contrived to cast a leg over him and pinion his lower limbs. 
 Then, as the hat of the outlaw fell off, and he lifted his head, old 
 Franks seized him by his hair, which was long, and plaited into 
 " pig-tails." 
 
 " All right now !" quoth the old salt, as he dragged down the 
 uplifted head of the pirate. But the hands of the latter were 
 free. He struck right and left with the empty pistol, inflicting 
 some heavy blows ; but he was evidently growing weaker. He 
 felt this ; and, dropping the pistol, stuck his hand into his belt, 
 seeking another. 
 
 Belcher was too quick for him, and now buckled, with all his 
 weight, close to his body, even as Fowler had succeeded previ 
 ously in keeping him down. For a moment the ruffian lay quiet, 
 but it was only for a temporary respite from exertion, and the 
 regaining of his strength ; and while his two assailants were taking 
 advantage of the pause to recover breath, he began a series of new 
 and most desperate exertions. 
 
 " We shall have to kill him," said Franks. " There s no hitch 
 ing him !" 
 
 " Kill him ! and why not," muttered Belcher, " as soon kill him 
 as any wolf that runs ?" 
 
 " Kill !" roared Fowler ; and the conflict was renewed with in 
 creasing vigor. Then Belcher, with clenched teeth, fell upon 
 him with all his might. Fowler half righted himself, sitting fairly 
 up in the grasp of the enemy. It was a final and exhausting 
 effort. Belcher, in another moment, succeeded in pressing his 
 head over the gunwale of the boat, which by this time had drifted 
 into the middle of the river. 
 
 " Help, Franks," quoth he, " while I pitch him over !" 
 
 " Pitch him over," said Franks, " while there s so much life in 
 Kim ? He 11 sink better after this ! " 
 
 And, with the iron handcuffs, which he had caught up from the 
 of the boat, he smote the naked head of the pirate, as it 
 
462 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 lay over the side one, two, three, terrible blows under which 
 you could hear the crunching of the skull ; while a horrid shriek 
 went up from the victim. One violent, spasmodic convulsion of 
 the whole frame, and his death-agony was over ; and even while 
 he was writhing in the muscular spasms, Belcher seized him bodily, 
 and flung him over into the river. 
 
 Then the two survivors drew a long breath, and sat gazing at 
 each other in deep silence. They both felt all the horrors of the 
 scene. They were both exhausted. Franks was the first to catch 
 up his oar, and motion to his companion to do likewise. 
 
 " Throw these handcuffs overboard," said Belcher, " and wash 
 the side of the boat." 
 
 " We had to do it !" responded Franks, apologetically. 
 
 " Yes, it was him or us! Twas life or death between us 
 Could n t be helped ; the fellow was desperate ! And better so, 
 for we could n t have kept him. What could the captain do with 
 him ?" 
 
 " T was a maroon shore he meant for him, I reckon. But he 
 might have got off from that, and somebody would have had, at 
 last, to cut his throat ; for he was past cure. And, let to live, who 
 knows how many murders he would have done !" 
 
 " Yes, it s best so !" 
 
 " Yet, I d rather it had n t been my old hands to do it. I was 
 prayin that the time was gone by for me to meddle with fightin 
 and bloodshed. But it could n t be helped." 
 
 " And it s over now, Franks ! T was a hard struggle, and a 
 bloody end. But twas not to be dodged. Let s pull in now, for 
 I reckon the captain will want all the help he can git to-night 
 We ain t out of the woods yet." 
 
THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE. 463 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE. 
 
 " Oh ! I see that nose of yours, but not that dog that I shall throw it to." 
 
 Othello. 
 
 AND, while this tragic scene was in progress on the river, ou 
 gallant rover, Lieutentant Molyneaux, was footing it, after a free 
 Irih fashion, in the saloon of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. He had 
 forgotten his piratical comrade in the intoxication of spirit occa 
 sioned by his return, at last, after so long a period of denial, to 
 the society of fair women. As a good-figured and well-dressed 
 stranger, of commanding carriage, and wholly unknown omne 
 iqnotum pro magnijico he was the observed of all observers. 
 Tiie ladies smiled upon him graciously. You can always note 
 when the fair sex favors and when it only tolerates the party. 
 They are not apt to conceal ; in fact, they can not, while young, 
 easily disguise their likes and dislikes. 
 
 Though something of a puppy, Molyneaux did not deceive him 
 self when he came to the conclusion that he had made a favorable 
 impression. Mrs. Anderson was despatched to bring him to more 
 than one fair lady who felt willing to fling him the handkerchief 
 for the dance, if for no longer engagement. And our lieutenant 
 soon established himself on a favorable footing we mean no pun 
 here with old and young. His manners gave him the advan 
 tage over the confessedly high sprigs of nobility, the cavaliers 
 
 Craven and Cavendish. They were too apt to insist upon thei* 
 blood ; carried high heads ; and, in their intercourse with the best 
 people of the colony, made it very manifest that they were only 
 
 emporarily condescending to the provincials. 
 
 Now, Molyneaux, a better-looking fellow than either of them, 
 wd quite as well-habited, was rarely upon his dignity. He was 
 
464 THE CASSIQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 too vain, and so too eager to conciliate kindly sentiment, to enter 
 tain much self-esteem. A little stately at first perhaps some 
 thing awkward because of his stateliness he soon found himself 
 at home in the circle, as he found his welcome ; and his manners 
 sensibly improved. He was gay, chatty, miscellaneous, frank 
 eager to take the floor, and full of empressement when in such a 
 tete-a-tete with a fair woman as even a ballroom will sometimes 
 afford to a judicious couple who have learned to school the tones 
 of the voice only to the stretch of a single pair of ears. To sum 
 up, Molyneaux was vulgarly interesting. His empressement, fatal 
 to his aristocracy, was yet everything for his popularity. His 
 approach won an involuntary smile ; his bon mots and sayings 
 were caught up and repeated. In two hours he had taken th 
 wind out of the sails of both his high-bred rivals. 
 
 " Who is he ? What is he ?" 
 
 Curiosity grew the more it questioned. Mrs. Anderson was 
 charmingly knowing and evasive. She knew well how to convert 
 her casual capital into good marketable stock. With a significant 
 smile, finger on lip, she would answer the eager questioner : 
 
 " After a time. You shall know in due season. Be patient ; 
 you will not be disappointed." 
 
 Meanwhile, Craven and Cavendish began to feel uneasy. Moly 
 neaux had been doing the gallant to Zulieme with rare energy. 
 He had been fast growing familiar with some others of the ac 
 knowledged beauties about town. He was making his way with 
 wonderful rapidity through the circle. 
 
 " The dem d impudent puppy !" 
 
 " The dem d conceited ass !" 
 
 " What a vulgar voice he has ! How loud in his tones ! how 
 boisterous !" 
 
 " And, do n t it occur to you, Keppel, that there is something 
 of the brogue a twang a " 
 
 " Yes, by St. Jupiter ! that accounts for it all. He s a demn d 
 impudent Irishman !" 
 
 " Ha ! was not Sir Richard Pepper about to come out to the 
 colonies V 
 
 " Yes ; but that s not Pepper ! He s too short and too stout. 
 No ! it s not Pepper ; but who is he, then ?" 
 
 " He s certainly from Grane Arm. " 
 
THE FINA1 AT THE BAL MASQUE. 465 
 
 " Yes ! There a no mistaking the brogue." 
 
 "And he s a bully! 5 
 
 " Right, like enough ! But I 11 pink his jacket for him if he 
 gives me a chance !" 
 
 " He s like enough to do it, Keppel. The fellow s disposed to 
 be insolent." 
 
 " It s the bully art. But a drawn rapier usually quiets such a 
 temper." 
 
 " Come, come ; no brawls here !" 
 
 " Here ? oh ! surely not ; but he must not put his horrid ele 
 phantine hoofs upon my toes a second time !" 
 
 " You have a sort of pledge to him already on that score." 
 
 " Yes ! but, as we know nothing of the fellow, I shall pursue 
 it only in the event of his crossing my path a second time. I will 
 surely pink him if he does." 
 
 So the friends talked together, sotto voce, of the dashing stran 
 ger. So Keppel Craven resolved to act in a certain event. And 
 so, talking and resolving, the pair eyed the movements of Moly- 
 neaux with glances of jealousy and vexation. 
 
 And the dance sped, and the promenade ; and groups formed 
 in the intervals ; and punches and lemonades were served, with 
 jellies and preserves ; all that the West Indies, in that day, could 
 provide that fashion could employ toward the comforting of 
 the * creature" in good society. 
 
 And, as the hours advanced we are constrained to confess it 
 the intoxications of such an assembly, added to the intoxicating 
 effects of punch, swallowed ad libitum, began to tell upon the 
 brain and the free-and-easy temper of our roving lieutenant. 
 The bashful Irishman began gradually to fling off the sedate re 
 straints of a becoming courtier, as well as of a natural modesty. 
 His voice grew louder ; the brogue more rich ; the sentiment more 
 free ; the levity more audacious ; and his action began to corre 
 spond with the growing license of his tongue and sentiment. Rude 
 enough before in the dance, his steps became wilder, wider, wholly 
 out of the reach of measure and music. He would lose his part 
 ner ; lose his own circle ; and find himself throwing a contiguous 
 ring into most adverse disorder. 
 
 But his merriment all the while his free laughter the good- 
 natured apology which excused his blundering and awkwardness 
 
 20* 
 
466 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 were readily received; and his irregularities only provoked the 
 mirth, not the indignation of the party, if we except the two mal 
 content rivals, Craven and Cavendish. They grew more and 
 more chafed as they perceived that the romping Zulicme looked 
 on with as much good humor as the rest, and resented none of 
 those familiarities which our lieutenant now began to bestow freely 
 upon all with whom he came in contact. His hands and arms 
 exhibited a restless desire to paw and encircle. Rebuffed, or 
 turned aside, he would laugh merrily, and address his freedoms 
 to some more flexible damsel. In the dance with Zulieme, he 
 would catch and fetter her hands ; exhibit the queerest antics ; 
 seize her fan, work it violently toward her face and his own, and 
 break out into the wildest guffaws. He was evidently fast as 
 cending into the excesses which usually distinguished the revelries 
 among certain classes of the West Indies, with which his experi 
 ence had been considerable. 
 
 While they danced thus, and he capered, Zulieme said to him : 
 
 " Look you, you great Irish monster, you are getting drunk ! 
 Do n t you drink any more. I know what 11 come next. You 11 
 be for fighting somebody !" 
 
 " Who shall I fight? I 11 fight anybody for you, Zulieme !" 
 
 " Thank you ! But I do n t want any fighting done for me. 
 I do n t love fighting. When I do, I Ve somebody to do my fight 
 ing already." 
 
 "What! you mean Calvert? Blast him, Zulieme, I ll fight 
 him, any day, for you !" 
 
 This was spoken with an extreme change of voice and manner, 
 so sudden and startling, that even Zulieme felt it ; and, as she 
 looked into his eyes for he had now lifted his visor, and stared 
 intently upon her face and as she noted the stern, concentrated 
 passion in his tones, she withdrew her hand from the fingers which 
 violently clutched it, and said : 
 
 "You! you fight him! It would be w your last fight, then! 
 Harry would chop you to pieces in a minute ! And you talk to 
 me of him, of my husband, in such a voice, and such language ! 
 And curre him, too ! Go ! you are a great Irish blockhead and 
 a brute ; and I wish you d leave, and begone to the ship ! " 
 
 " Your husband ! Why, Zulieme, that s a good one ! What 
 do you care for him ?" 
 
THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE. 407 
 
 " Me ! what do I care for Harry ? Oh, you are the greatest 
 fool! Why don t you go, I say, and leave me? You will be 
 making a fool of yourself here, before long, getting drunk and 
 fighting somebody." 
 
 " To be sure, I will ! Shall I fight those two whipper-snappers 
 yonder ? They seem to be watching us, by St. Jupiter ! I ? 11 see 
 what they mean by it. I 11 " 
 
 And he was rising, his glances set in the direction of the two 
 English cavaliers. 
 
 " No, no !" she cried, laying her hand upon his arm, and grasp 
 ing it firmly. " Oh, what a fool you are, you great Irish black 
 guard ! Why did you come here ? Sit where you are, and be 
 quiet !" 
 
 " You do n t vant me to go, then ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, go ! Go from here, before there is mischief. You 11 
 get into danger, and put Harry and the ship in danger. Why 
 did you come ?" 
 
 " If I must go, Zulieme, I shall pull those fellows noses before 
 I go ! My fingers are itching for it. I will find out how much 
 tallow goes to the making of a fashionable puppy s nose. It will 
 grease my fingers, no doubt; but I ll take the shape out of the 
 rudder. I 11 give it such a twist, that they will never be able to 
 steer by it again." 
 
 " If you do, Mr. Molyneaux, I 11 never forgive you." 
 
 "What! you love that curly-headed chap, do you? Say so, 
 and you send him to execution ! It will not be his nose ; it will 
 be his throat ! Say it, if you dare ! Just say you love that fel 
 low !" 
 
 " Love him ? You are the greatest fool, I tell you ! You might 
 as well ask me if I love you." 
 
 "Well, did n t you once?" 
 
 The scorn rose, like a lightning-flash, into her eyes. 
 
 " Yes, as I did my monkey ! He was so odd and ugly, he made 
 me laugh." 
 
 " Ha ! your monkey ! Zulieme Calvert, or Zulieme de Mon- 
 tano, whichever you please, those words shall cost that fellow his 
 ears ! Ay, they shall cost you a pair of ears, too not your own, 
 for you are a woman ; and, hark you !" stooping and hissing the 
 words into her ear " I 11 have you yet ; ay, for that very speech ! 
 
468 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Your monkey, Zulieme ! Pretty little Zulieme ! I shall yet see 
 you, and feel you, hugging and kissing that monkey, much more 
 fondly than you have ever kissed your husband your royal 
 Harry your your blast him !" 
 
 And, without waiting her speech, if she had been disposed to 
 make any, he rose and strode away from her strode away into 
 the adjoining room, and in the direction of the punch-bowl. 
 
 For a moment s space Zulieme was stunned. Her child-nature 
 was horrified by the intense and concentrative bitterness with 
 which the man had spoken, by the ferocious violence with which 
 he threatened, and by the wolfish glare which shot from his eyes. 
 His phase of drunkenness had changed in a moment from the 
 monkey to the tiger development. She looked at him with a va 
 cant stare of terror, thoroughly paralyzed. 
 
 But, only for a moment. Scarcely had he left the room, than 
 her attention was roused by seeing Craven and Cavendish follow 
 ing him. These two young men, irritated already with Moly- 
 neaux ; dissatisfied with themselves their vanity vexed at the 
 unwonted necessity of playing second fiddle in a circle where hith 
 erto they had been the ruling spirits ; curious to see who Moly- 
 neaux was ; and, with a vague sense of a want unsatisfied, a re 
 sentment unappeased, an outrage unredressed ; without any defi 
 nite idea of what should be done, but restless with mixed emo 
 tions of a vexing ill humor they followed him into the drinking- 
 room. 
 
 As soon as Zulieme beheld the course which they took, her en 
 ergies came back to her. She started up, and crossed the room 
 to where Mrs. Perkins Anderson sat, the centre of a group of 
 well-dressed gentlemen, who no longer ranged themselves in the 
 ranks of the youthful candidates for merriment or matrimony ; and, 
 drawing her aside, in a hurried whisper, she said : 
 
 " Oh, dear Charlotte, send some of these gentlemen into the 
 other room !" 
 
 " Why, what s the matter, dear Zulieme 1 You seem fright 
 ened." 
 
 "I am frightened. That great Irish brute, Molyneaux, is 
 drunk, and getting savage. He has been rude to Craven, and 
 threatens him. Send some of these old gentlemen, and let them 
 keep these foolish fellows from fighting," 
 
THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE. 469 
 
 " Oh, surely, there can be no danger of that. I 11 go myself." 
 
 " No, do n t you !" 
 
 " Oh, yes : nothing like a woman to keep the peace between 
 young men. But I will carry some of these gentlemen with me. 
 Mr. Yonge Mr. Yeamans !" 
 
 The two gentlemen came forward. 
 
 " Come with me. The Senorita de Montano thinks there is a 
 quarrel on foot between some of our young gallants. Come with 
 me, and give me your assistance should it be necessary." 
 
 And quietly, with a composing smile for the circle which she 
 left, the fair hostess tripped out of the room, followed closely by 
 the two gentlemen to whom she had appealed. 
 
 Molyneaux was already at the punch-bowl. Two or three per 
 sons, of like appetite with himself, were standing nigh, each with 
 a huge goblet in his hands. Molyneaux filled his own, and looked 
 around with a lordly complacency. 
 
 " Gentlemen, with your permission, I will drink with you." 
 
 " We are honored, sir," was the answer. 
 
 " Thanks ! Then here s d nation to land-sharks and water- 
 sharks ; to sharks masculine and feminine ; to tiger-sharks and 
 puppy-sharks ; to beast-sharks and human sharks ; to all sharks 
 that that don t value good-fellowship, and don t know the 
 honesty in punch !" 
 
 " Well, that s a grand toast, and too much for a shark s swal 
 low. Here s to you, sir, and may the punch-bowl never run 
 dry !" 
 
 Even as Molyneaux held the goblet to his lips, Craven and 
 Cavendish came upon the scene, gradually approaching the par 
 ties. He held the uplifted goblet untasted, and glanced at the 
 new-comers, saying aloud to those around him : 
 
 " I said puppy-slicks too, my friends, you remember ! That s 
 a breed by itself. It s a breed that follows in the wake of the 
 tiger-sharks. It has a thundering swallow, big as any, but no 
 teeth. It lives on what the tiger leaves. I say, fellows, of all 
 sharks I despise, the puppy-shark is the meanest. I spit on himA 
 He sasuckfish!" 
 
 And he spat in the direction of the two cavaliers, never onc 
 heeding the fine, well-bleached matting on Mrs. Anderson s floor. 
 Then he swallowed the contents of his goblet at a single gulp. 
 
470 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 The action was sufficiently unequivocal. It was understood by 
 everybody, and occasioned some emotion among the other drink 
 ers. Craven and Cavendish did not misunderstand. Both of 
 them were men of blood. They might be frivolous, but they had 
 courage. They paused, however. Blood requires, in the case of 
 any old noblesse, of any country, that it shall not descend to its 
 inferiors, except in absolute self-defence. They knew nothing of 
 Molyneaux ; and his conduct had been of a sort to show that, 
 whatever of blue might be in his blood, he lacked the breeding of 
 the gentleman. 
 
 " It is evident," said Craven, in a whisper to Cavendish, " that 
 this fellow means to insult us, and me in particular." 
 
 He is a bully !" 
 
 " True ; and in London, my dear fellow, I should hire a cudgel- 
 player to punish him. But the case is altered here. These peo 
 ple know nothing of the refinements of a court, and are rather 
 pleased to behold the higher classes subjected to mortification : 
 they will side with the bully. Now, if this fellow will fight, and 
 offers any further annoyance, he shall fight. I feel that I can not 
 submit to further trespass. I must punish him. Look about you 
 at the first chance, and find Budgell, who is a gentleman he 
 was here an hour ago and Gifford, and one or two others, whom 
 we can trust, to see fair play. We must take care that we keep 
 off all bullies but the one. As for this fellow, I shall spit him 
 like a frog !" 
 
 Thus they communed, and in low voices, for a few seconds. 
 Molyneaux laid his goblet down, with some deliberation. He 
 had evidently made up his mind to something. He approached 
 them. But, even as he did so, Mrs. Perkins Anderson, followed 
 by the two gentlemen, passed between the parties. She wore the 
 sweetest smiles ; she bowed with the most exquisite graces ; her 
 tones were subdued to singular softness : 
 
 " What, gentlemen," said she, " do you fly the ladies for the 
 punch-bowl ? Fie, fie upon you ! What would be said of such 
 taste at the court of the merry monarch? Do you know the 
 ladies wait upon you for a minuet ? Let me have the honor of 
 your arms." 
 
 Craven and Cavendish were at once the gentlemen. It is sur 
 prising how much a clever woman can achieve against the angry 
 
THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE. 471 
 
 passions of men. She did not take the arm of Cavendish ; only 
 that of Craven. 
 
 Sir Richard," she said, addressing Molyneaux, " we can not 
 spare you." 
 
 And she passed her arm within his. He hiccoughed, and stag 
 gered forward. Her two elderly companions interposed. 
 
 " Pardon us, dear Mrs. Anderson, but we desire to make the 
 acquaintance of Sir Richard. Suffer him to remain with us ; we 
 will guaranty his future appearance." 
 
 Sir Richard was not unwilling to remain. He had reached 
 that mood when woman gives way to wine. The lady bore off 
 the two cavaliers. So far, she was successful. But they were 
 both uneasy. We are not prepared to say that they went through 
 the minuet. It is certain that Cavendish suddenly missed Craven, 
 and went after him. The company, meanwhile, was employed. 
 Zulieme had forgotten her terrors, in the mazes of a new dance, 
 with a new partner. Mrs. Anderson was busied with her circle. 
 It was not long before Craven and Cavendish were both in the 
 room where Molyneaux was expatiating on the delights of a " wet 
 sheet and a flowing sea," half speaking, half singing. 
 
 On the appearance of the two cavaliers, he grew sullen. He 
 had been seated ; he now rose. In evil moment, the two gentle 
 men, Yonge and Yeamans, who had begun to suspect that his in- 
 imicality was toward the two courtiers, fancied they could recon 
 cile the parties. The error of such an effort is a great one where 
 one of these is drunk, and where the parties have been reared 
 under a different convention. Punch was supposed to be the proper 
 mediatizing spirit. Molyneaux was never insensible to the claims 
 of punch. He was ready at the suggestion of a goblet all round, 
 But, even as Craven and Cavendish entered the circle, the invet 
 erate humor of the drunkard filled his brain ; and when Yonge 
 and Yeamans fancied that all was now right and pacific, the rover, 
 confronting Craven, said abruptly : 
 
 " I am to drink with you, am I ? Do n t object ! But I never 
 drink with a man whose nose is doubtful ! I am curious to see 
 what your nose is made of. It looks soapy greasy ; has a look 
 of putty ; and so " 
 
 Without stopping to finish the speech, he seized the nose of 
 Craven with thumb and forefinger, and, putting all his muscle 
 
472 THE CASSIQUE OF KiAWAH. 
 
 into the performance, subjected the astonished member to such a 
 twinge as was wholly new to the cavalier s experience. 
 
 The action of Craven was instantaneous. Like all true Brit 
 ons, of good breed, he was practised in the " manly art of self- 
 defence." In the next moment he addressed a facer to Moly- 
 neaux, which drew the claret. 
 
 The parties rushed into collision, but were instantly separated. 
 Then, while Molyneaux raved, Craven touched his sword-hilt, 
 and led the way out of the room into the piazza, and thence into 
 the street. 
 
 The affair had gone too far for intercession or mediation of any 
 kind. The elderly gentlemen gave the matter up. The punch* 
 drinkers followed Molyneaux as a leader : Craven, closely attend 
 ed by Cavendish, was accompanied by three gentlemen ; and all 
 parties drew their swords the moment they emerged from the 
 dwelling. 
 
 " Not here !" said one of the party. * Let us not bring discredit 
 on the house." 
 
 And he led the way, all following, to a thicket, which stood by 
 no means remote in that early day, and which was sufficiently far 
 from the dwelling for the purposes of combat. 
 
 None of the parties perceived that they were followed by other 
 and unknown persons. A group of six or eight men had been 
 prowling about the house, sheltered from sight by as many forest- 
 trees. They may have been curious only; but they followed 
 close in the wake of the combatants, without pressing upon them. 
 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson dwelt, as we have said, somewhere 
 near the present corner of Church and Tradd streets. It was not 
 much of a walk from this point to the northern terminus of the 
 town, then very much on the spot covered now by the churches 
 St. Philip and the Circular. There was a tolerably thick wood in 
 this quarter oak, pine, and cedar. A few scattered habitations 
 had cut out squares in the woods ; but there was still enough shel 
 ter for security, and there were well-known openings in which the 
 moon held a sufficient torch for the purposes of strife. 
 
 " Not too fast," said one of the unknown party following ; " but 
 keep close. It is a fight, I reckon. We must see what they are 
 after. If they stand up for each other, they are too many for us, 
 But if there s a fight, we have only to watch our chance. Do 
 
THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE. 473 
 
 you be ready to put in when I bid you. The stout fellow, that 
 you see yawing so, is our man. He is a sailor, and must yaw a 
 little; but I reckon it s the Jamaica that wants so much sea- 
 room." 
 
 And this group followed on. Scarcely had they begun to glide 
 among the trees, when still another party appeared, taking the 
 same course. 
 
 " To the right, Belcher ! Sweep round for the rear ; and take 
 cover, as you see me. Till I move, let no man stir. Use no pis 
 tols, if you can help it ; the bludgeons will answer. Take no life, 
 mark you, save in self-defence. But, when I have my man, throw 
 yourselves between us and the creek, and retreat with your faces 
 to the pursuers, whom you can easily keep back with the show 
 of firearms, till they lose the chase in the thicket by the marsh. 
 Look to me to take you off in the boat." 
 
74 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 HOW CALVERT AND MOLYNEAUX MEET. 
 
 "Let life be short; else, shame will be too long !" 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 LITTLE did Molyneaux suspect how much, and by how many, 
 he was the subject of consideration at this moment. Ignorant, 
 arrogant, vain, and maudlin, in his ferocious mood, he thought of 
 nothing but wreaking his resentment upon the cavaliers he was 
 about to meet. He dreamed not of the several parties following 
 in his wake ; some of them prepared to pursue him to the death, 
 with even more tenacity of purpose, though perhaps less personal 
 feeling, than the Honorable Keppel Craven. 
 
 Reaching the sufficient cover of the woods, with a broad space 
 within the enclosure over which the moon cast an adequate light, 
 the antagonists paused, their rapiers already naked in their hands. 
 One of the punch-drinkers, who had somehow tacitly become the 
 second of Molyneaux, met and conferred with Cavendish, who 
 acted for Craven. 
 
 " Can we not adjust this matter without crossing weapons ?" 
 was the natural question of Molyneaux friend. 
 
 " I do not see how this is possible," answered Cavendish, with 
 English phlegm. " My friend has been subjected to a persona] 
 indignity. It is not merely a point of honor ; it is an issue of 
 blood." 
 
 " We then underlie your challenge," said the other. 
 
 Surely." 
 
 " Will the simple drawing of blood suffice ?" 
 
 " If it shall amount to the positive disabling of one or other of 
 the combatants ; not else." 
 
 " Then it is the combat a Voutrance" 
 
HOW CALVERT AND MOLYNEAUX MEET. 475 
 
 Cavendish bowed. 
 
 The rapier only." 
 
 " We have hardly any other choice at present." 
 
 u Pshaw, my dear fellow !" cried Molyneaux, staggering for 
 ward and interposing, "what s the use of this d d long pala 
 ver ? The fellow s got to fight, has n t he ; or has the feeling in 
 is nose quite worn off? Would he have me give him another 
 tweak ?" 
 
 After this, there could be no further preliminaries. Craven, 
 now keenly excited, confronted him. At once the weapons 
 crossed each other: a moment s pause, when they clashed, clung, 
 strove together, flashed in air ; and were then worked with thti 
 rapid evolutions known to practised swordsmen. 
 
 Craven was well taught in the science ; had been taught by 
 one of the best Italian masters of the time. Molyneaux had had 
 no such master. But he had been in scores of actual conflicts, for 
 life and death, with Frenchman and Spaniard, on decks already 
 slippery with gore. The one had the art in nicer perfection : 
 the other the fiercer passion for blood ; the Hunnish thirst for the 
 conflict ; the muscular power ; the eye that had learned to look 
 on death and ferocity with scorn ; the rage that makes battle with 
 an enemy a passion and delight. 
 
 If Craven had agility and art, Molyneaux had a reckless fury, 
 and a physical force, that may have matched them. Besides, the 
 degree of drunkenness which might have blinded and stupefied 
 another person of different temperament, was, in the case of his 
 Celtic blood, a positive assistance. It had not so far advanced as 
 to enfeeble his physique, though it staggered it. He had a formi 
 dable brain for punch ; and now, yawing still in sailor-fashion, 
 with his head rolling, but his eyes fixed with a steady, bright 
 glare, in which the ferocity rose almost to the expression of in 
 sanity and his rage, und r the existing conditions of his case, 
 was very like insanity it was astonishing how cool and collected 
 was his play. It was one thing for his brain and blood to be on 
 fire ; but his sword was as sober as it was keen : his practice was 
 positively refreshing in contrast with the evident fury of his blood. 
 He came on guard, passed, made his feints, recovered, with the 
 ease and simple dexterity of one refining in the schools. 
 
 Craven felt that he needed all of his own play. Though en- 
 
476 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 raged and indignant, he had none of that wolfish venom in his 
 blood, that tiger-like thirst, which had been all the while at work 
 with Molyneaux. He could be temperate, and was so, without 
 being frigid. He felt that so long as he could maintain his pres 
 ent temper, he was a match for his antagonist ; but he also felt, 
 after a few minutes play, that he had nothing to spare. 
 
 And the play went on. 
 
 But it was growing to be work. The steady glare of Moly 
 neaux eyes upon his own warned him that the other was prepar 
 ing for a vindictive passage. It came, with formidable force. 
 The Celt was pressing upon the Anglo-Norman : the latter re 
 ceded under the very tempest of thrusts put in receded, but 
 kept eye and sword firm and steady ; and, watching the first ces 
 sation of the shower, he himself now made offensive play ; and 
 succeeded, by an adroit management of one of his Italian master s 
 favorite feints, in a triumphant lunge which pierced the sword-arm 
 of his antagonist. 
 
 It was but a flesh-wound the hurt was slight, though sharp; 
 and, with a positive roar, like that of a wounded bull, now desper 
 ate, our Celt rushed upon the Englishman, beat down his guard, 
 had him at his mercy, was about to send the rapier home to his 
 heart, when he was suddenly caught, clasped by the body from 
 behind, his arms drawn back and fettered by a powerful gripe, 
 which not only prevented his thrust, but deprived him of all ca 
 pacity for resistance. Craven recovered himself, but lowered the 
 point of his weapon, and, with the instant spirit of the gentleman, 
 interposed : 
 
 " Why do you interfere, sirrah ? How dare you pass between 
 gentlemen thus ? Stand by me, my friends, and rescue Sir Rich 
 ard Molyneaux !" 
 
 " Sir Richard Fiddlestick !" said the powerful fellow who had 
 our lieutenant, struggling furiously, in his clutches 
 
 u Stand back, gentlemen, and do not let his majesty s servants 
 in the execution of their duty. I am Captain Florence O Sulli- 
 van, commander of the guard, and this is the famous pirate-captain, 
 Calvert ; I have the council s warrant for his capture, under hia 
 majesty s proclamation. Disperse, and leave this fellow in my 
 hands. You have done him too much honor, Mr. Craven, in cros 
 sing weapons with him." 
 
HOW CALVERT AND MOLYNEAUX MEET. 477 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! ho !" were the only ejaculations of Molyneaux, as 
 he heard these words. They caused him to renew his struggles 
 more violently than ever. Powerful of frame as was O Sullivan, 
 he had not been able to get him down. 
 
 Craven was reluctant to withdraw ; but Cavendish, seizing him 
 by the arm, forced him away. 
 
 " It is not well for us to be seen further in this business," said 
 he, as he drew him off. 
 
 Meanwhile, the punch-drinking companions of Molyneaux dis 
 appeared among the shrubbery the moment they recognised the 
 chief of police. Our Celt was abandoned to the officer of justice, 
 whose myrmidons, four or five in number, were now busy in help 
 ing to secure the prisoner. 
 
 But, with a surprise as sudden and unexpected as his seizure 
 had been to Molyneaux, the redoubtable Captain O Sullivan re 
 ceived a buffet under the ear from some unknown but well-prac 
 tised hand so well delivered, an upraking blow, of tremendous 
 force under which he dropped down as quickly as the bullock 
 beneath the stroke of the butcher, and lay perfectly insensible ! 
 At the same moment, a score of stout sea-dogs, cudgel in hand, 
 made in among the squad of local police, and, laying their staves 
 about them with hearty good will, dispersed Dogberry, Verges, 
 and the rest, in the twinkling of an eye. No need to show the 
 pistols to spring locks or pull triggers. 
 
 Molyneaux was rescued, but too much stupefied by these suc 
 cessive changes in his condition to understand a syllable as yet. 
 But he stood up, freed, and shook himself, even as a great New 
 foundland dog just out of the water. 
 
 The person who rescued him seized him by the hand : 
 
 " Come, Lieutenant Molyneaux, we have no time to lose. This 
 fellow will recover in a moment or two, and he might trouble us. 
 Let us away !" 
 
 " It is Captain Calvert," said the lieutenant, meekly. 
 
 There was no answer. Calvert, for it was he, led the way in 
 silence. 
 
 Molyneaux was becoming sobered and ashamed. 
 
 " Captain Calvert," continued he, apologetically, though with 
 gome effort, " I am ashamed, sir, of all this business " 
 
 " Let us not talk of it now." 
 
478 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " But I must talk of it, :ir. You have saved me from the gal 
 lows, I suppose." 
 
 " Very likely," answered the other, dryly. " But, come on !" 
 
 And he hurrie^Jforward, as if to escape any further explana 
 tion. 
 
 Molyneaux was piqued, but followed. What else could he 
 do? 
 
 They reached the edge of a creek. The solid citizens of the 
 present Charleston, when they look at the marble walls of the 
 new custom-house, will perhaps be surprised to be told that the 
 said creek ran into the city under the piled foundations of the 
 said fabric, and made its way, somewhat sinuously, into the very 
 heart of the town, finding its terminus not far from the present 
 massive structure called at this day the Charleston hotel. 
 
 Here, our rover and his lieutenant found a boat, with but two 
 rowers, though the vessel was large enough for a dozen. Into 
 this they got ; the captain taking the seat at the tiller, and sound 
 ing the little ivory whistle which he carried. 
 
 They may have waited some ten minutes before the seamen 
 began to appear. Molyneaux several times attempted to break 
 the silence, by apologetic and atoning speeches, but Calvert bluffed 
 him off. He sat moodily taciturn. The lieutenant gradually 
 sobered, and became moody also. 
 
 When all the sailors were reported, the boat put off without a 
 word. She was rowed out into the river, and headed up-stream. 
 After an hour s pulling, she was brought to, in-shore, at a point 
 subsequently well known as Hampstead. The whole party, two 
 excepted, went ashore, as if under previous orders of the captain. 
 Here they found themselves upon the banks of the stream, a tol 
 erably high piece of headland, with a thick wood of pines and 
 oaks contiguous. 
 
 Among the party here assembled were Jack Belcher and the 
 ancient Tom Bowling, Master Franks. They had, it appears, 
 brought the boat round, having the assistance of four other oars 
 men, from Ashley to Cooper river. It was the same boat which 
 had witnessed the fearful strife with the old pirate Fowler, and 
 his final surrender to the fishes. 
 
 When fairly landed, Calvert said, abruptly : 
 
 " Lieutenant Molyneaux, we must have some talk together 
 
HOW CALVERT AND MOLYNEAUX MEET. 479 
 
 Belcher, you and Franks take the men off; keep them distant a 
 hundred yards or so. If Mr. Molyneaux, after our interview, 
 comes out to you, take him aboard the ship. Do not inquire 
 whither I go. Belcher alone will follow, and find me out. He 
 knows what I design, and will act according to my instructions." 
 
 Belcher seized his hand and wrung it with a passionate grasp 
 of emotion, amounting to agony, while his eyes gushed with tears. 
 
 " Go, now, Jack, and remember ! Do as I have commanded. 
 You see that the thing is unavoidable." 
 
 Saying this, he shook off the faithful fellow, and led the way 
 to the edge of the woods now Hampstead, and woods no longer. 
 
 Molyneaux was mystified. He felt that something unusual was 
 about to occur, and his guilty conscience made him apprehensive. 
 But he followed doggedly. 
 
 When the two reached the edge of the wood, Calvert paused. 
 He was a man of terribly direct purpose no trifler. 
 
 " Lieutenant Molyneaux," he said, " we are now alone togeth 
 er. I need not say to you that we can no longer sail in company. 
 Your own conscience will tell you why. I scarcely need add, 
 that we are foes ; that you have long entertained a bitter hostility 
 to me, and that you have done me such wrong, and meditated 
 such further wrong, not simply to my life, but to my honor, that 
 the issue between us must be one of life and death." 
 
 " Do you mean, sir, that we are to fight ?" answered the other. 
 
 " Nothing less, sir !" 
 
 " I can not fight with the man who has just saved my life." 
 
 " That will not do, sir. I have saved your life before ; and, 
 even after this, you have entertained a design against my honor. 
 Remember, sir, the last speech you made to my wife, this very 
 night, in which you proposed my death as your dearest hope, and 
 brutally asserted your purpose to compel her to your wishes !" 
 
 " Has she told you this ?" asked the other, in husky accents. 
 
 " No, sir ; but I have been near her, all this night, as her guard- 
 an and protector, and she knew not, no more than you." 
 
 " Captain Calvert in the character of a spy !" said the other, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " When we have to deal with traitors, Lieutenant Molyneaux, 
 the spy becomes necessary to the safety of the captain, his ship, 
 his crew, his honor, and the well-being of the people he has in 
 
480 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 charge. Hear me, sir! I have done much for you. I liked 
 you ; promoted you ; paid you well ; fostered you ; would have 
 made a man of you. Your wretched vanity would not be content 
 with a part you craved all ! You were not content to be sec 
 ond officer ; you wished to be first. You were not content that 
 your captain s purse was yours ; you attempted his honor. You 
 have wronged me, and insulted my wife. I need not say, after 
 this, that there is but one necessity before us." 
 
 " Why did you save me from the officers of the law, having a 
 purpose yourself to slay me ?" 
 
 " I saved you from the law, because I had, in some degree, con 
 tributed to bring you within its jurisdiction. I saved you, as I 
 would save, or try to save, the meanest scullion on board my ship. 
 You yourself, it is true, by your own disobedience of orders, 
 brought yourself into danger ; but I brought you within the sphere 
 of temptation. I knew your weakness, your vanity, yet left you 
 in possession of a degree of liberty and power inconsistent with 
 your judgment. I have done my utmost to save you from the 
 consequences of your folly. This done, I propose to give you a 
 chance for escape from other punishment. You have been pleased 
 to avow your hate of me your desire to destroy me and can 
 not complain that I now afford you the opportunity that you 
 crave, on equal terms, your sword to mine." 
 
 " I can not draw sword upon you, sir : you have just saved my 
 life." 
 
 " Think again, Lieutenant Molyneaux. Think that the same 
 vigilance that has watched over your conduct and safety this 
 night, has been equally exercised in regard to the ship, and that 
 nothing has escaped the eyes of one who feels himself conscien 
 tiously bound for the safety of* the meanest cabin-boy that works 
 under his command. I know all, sir." 
 
 " I know not what you mean, sir." 
 
 " God ! that a brave man should lie ! Know, then, sir, that 
 Fowler, this night, has paid for his crimes with his life ! that I 
 well know all the details of that foul conspiracy by which you and 
 he agreed to seize the ship, and supersede the flag of England 
 by the bloody banner of piracy ! You were to run up the Jolly 
 Roger" 
 
 " Enough ! enough ! It is, indeed, your life or mine !" 
 
HOW CALVERT AND MOLYNEAUX MEET. 481 
 
 And Molyneaux, drawing his rapier in an instant, rushed upon 
 his captain. 
 
 The other was not unprepared. The fight was short, but ter 
 rific. Molyneaux was run through the body after a few passes. 
 He lay weltering in his blood on the ground, but he had his 
 senses, and, with his senses, a return of proper feeling. 
 
 " Forgive me, Captain Calvert, forgive me ! I am rightly pun 
 ished. I have been an ass, sir; a d d peacock ; a fool, sir 
 
 what a fool ! I see it now. Ah, it is all over ! What a fool I 
 have been !" 
 
 "I am sorry for you, Molyneaux very sorry ! I would have 
 saved you. But your death was necessary to the safety of the 
 crew. You would have led them to piracy and the gallows. I 
 would save them from both. But, in honor, I felt bound to give 
 you the one chance for your life, which your personal hostility to 
 me seemed to require. I have no enmities. I would save you 
 now, if I could. What can I do for you ?" 
 
 " Do ? Yes ! yes ! I have a mother I have sisters in Ire 
 land. Wexford Wexford! Give em what is mine. There 
 is money much enough for their wants. Tell them nothing. 
 Give them the money." 
 
 " It shall be done ! What more ?" 
 
 " Bury me in the sea ! not here ! Mattress me well. Well 
 shotted ; so that the d d sharks do not tear me to pieces !" 
 
 We spare the rest. So the fool died ! 
 
 Calvert joined the boat s crew, and the body of Molyneaux was 
 carried on board. That night, according to his wishes, in shotted 
 mattress, he was committed to the deep waters of Cooper river I 
 
 21 
 
482 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 
 " We give this pretty hostage to your keeping/ Old Play. 
 
 THE body of Molyneaux committed to the deep, at the moutli 
 of that bold creek which is now called Hog-island channel, the 
 boat of our rover shot downward, skirting the mud-reef on which 
 " Castle Pinckney" now stands. Here it was run up close to the 
 reef, and the party went on shore. A narrow stretch of shells 
 and sand afforded them solid footing ; and here, it seemed, Cap 
 tain Calvert proposed a temporary rest, with what object we shall 
 see hereafter. 
 
 The spot was a gloomy one enough. The moon was entering 
 a body of dark masses of clouds which were silently heaving up 
 from the west. The morning was close at hand. The tide was 
 at its ebb. The adjuncts of the immediate scene were well cal 
 culated to increase the solemnity of the hour, the gloom of the 
 events which had just taken place, and the situation of the party. 
 A ruined habitation of logs, the refuge of some lonely fisherman, 
 was the only sign of life that the spot afforded, and that was of 
 life departed. A more imposing structure, ominous of death in 
 its most terrible aspect, stood at the very verge of the shelly part 
 of the reef, in that gallows whose cruel uses, pointed out to Zu- 
 licme when she first approached the city, had called forth her ex 
 pressions of horror and disgust at the brute ferocity of the Eng 
 lish race. There it stood, in solitary significance, and a bit of 
 rope still hung dangling from the centre of the horizontal beam 
 Calvert surveyed the engine with a stern composure ; but, after a 
 moment, he said abruptly to his followers 
 
 " Is there an axe in the boat ?" 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 483 
 
 " There is, sir." 
 
 " Bring it, and cut down this gallows ! Let it no more disgrace 
 the approaches to a town which boasts of human ties and affec 
 tions. If the law requires human blood, let it not gloat over 
 mortal agonies ; let it not ostentatiously mock humanity with the 
 show of the cruel engine on which it stretches humanity for 
 death !" 
 
 And he stood, sternly watching the proceeding, while one of 
 the sailors, with vigorous arm and active stroke, smote the up 
 rights until ready to fall ; when, lending their united strength, the 
 party pushed the ominous fabric into the sea. It was a relief to 
 all when its skeleton frame no longer towered above their heads, 
 and they beheld it borne away by the billows, and whirling out 
 ward to the great deeps. 
 
 Here, in solemn brooding, with a mind intensely exercised with 
 the numerous and conflicting cares which still rose before it, Cal- 
 vert sat silent, a protracted watch, which none of his followers 
 cared to disturb. Some of them strolled along the reef, and con 
 versed thoughtfully for even the reckless sailor, in such an hour 
 and situation, can think deeply and sadly ; while others went on 
 board the boat, and lay at length upon their oars. 
 
 Suddenly, the attention of the party was sharply awakened by 
 the deep bellowing of a gun from the town. Another and another 
 followed, in quick succession. 
 
 " It is the fort at Oyster Point, sir," said Belcher to Calvert. 
 
 " Ay ! the ship is coming round." 
 
 " She will soon pass the fort, sir wind and tide are both in 
 her favor." 
 
 " Ay, they can scarcely give her more than a single round ; 
 and, unless some unlucky shot should cripple her masts, she will 
 suffer nothing. To the boat ! We must put off, and make the 
 signal." 
 
 " All hands aboard !" 
 
 The boat was off, a few minutes after, and rowing due south. 
 Soon the tapering masts and broad sheets of the Happy-go-Lucky 
 were seen sweeping round from west to east rounding the point 
 of shoal which, as " The Battery," is now the favorite drive, " Car- 
 rousel" or " Alameda" and promenade, of the present city. She 
 had escaped the shot of the fort with a mere rent in her rigging. 
 
484 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Send up the signal, Belcher, that they may know where to 
 look for us," said Calvert. 
 
 In an instant a light was struck, and a rocket of blue fires went 
 up from the dark bosom of the bay. It was soon answered by 
 another from the ship, which now shaped her course for the little 
 vessel. It was not long before Calvert, followed by the boat s 
 crew, ascended the sides of the Happy-go-Lucky, once more the 
 free rover once more sole master of his little world; and, as he 
 strode the quarter-deck, he was conscious of security, and a certain 
 degree of elation at having escaped more perils than we have 
 thought proper to put on record. 
 
 Eccles, now first-lieutenant, had proved faithful. His former 
 rank was conferred on young Hazard, the loyal emissary on board 
 when Calvert was absent from the ship ; a mere boy of nineteen 
 but precocious, ardent, full of enthusiasm as courage, and too 
 happy to be doing, to desire to do wilfully or mischievously. Cal 
 vert possessed a rare faculty in the knowledge of men. He took 
 no present heed of the seamen who had pledged themselves to 
 Molyneaux and Fowler. He well knew how they had been se 
 duced from duty ; and, their ringleaders cut off, had no reason to 
 doubt that the mere followers would sink back to their ordinary 
 tasks, and do them especially well, if only to prevent suspicion, or 
 investigation of the past. Besides, he was aware that all of the 
 guilty parties were known to Hazard. His eye would be upon 
 them for the future. 
 
 The Happy-go-Lucky, with a fair wind, at once put out to sea. 
 
 But, whither ? And will Calvert leave his work undone ? Has 
 he left the colony to its fate? left it to the savages to work out 
 their scheme of midnight murder ? left his wife to the tender 
 mercies of his enemies ? 
 
 Hardly ! We have known his character too long to suppose 
 that he will be unfaithful to any duties or any interests in behalf 
 of which he ?ias given his pledges in his cares. And, as yet, w 
 know not what his policy may be : but we may rest assured that it is 
 one founded on thought, experience, and a knowledge of necessi 
 ties which have not yet become clear to us ; in brief, of the best 
 human wisdom, in such a case as his, as it develops to his under 
 standing. Hitherto, he has proved himself equal to every emer 
 gency. 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 485 
 
 Leaving the rover to his own progress on the high-seas, let ua 
 look to other parties in the infant city. 
 
 Governor Quarry is somewhat uneasy. He has a guest whose 
 presence is annoying. This is Morton, one of the " proprietary 
 council." Other councillors are expected. Despatches have been 
 sent for Middleton and Berkeley. Morton has hurried down 
 from his country-seat, charged with the secret intelligence of Still- 
 water. He tells Quarry that, under the exigency, he himself has 
 taken leave to send express to New York for all such ships-of-war 
 as his majesty may ha^ j in the waters of that colony. At his re 
 quisition, Quarry has issued his proclamation against the pirate 
 Calvert. Florence O Sullivan has been commissioned for his ar 
 rest, with powers to call out the posse comitatus. It is positively 
 sworn by Stillwater, alias Sylvester, that Calvert is in Charles 
 ton. Nay, more ; there is an affidavit, by the same immaculate 
 patriot, that the pirate s mistress is in town, particeps criminis, 
 and vending contraband goods ! Poor little Zulieme a contra- 
 bandista ! and a warrant has been issued for her arrest, even 
 while she foots it with the cavaliers. 
 
 We need not wonder that Quarry is disquieted. No wonder 
 that he paces his library, at two o clock in the morning, very rest 
 lessly, Morton present ; uneasy, excited, yet compelled to aj.t 
 pear not only cool and determined, but especially loyal ; with a 
 holy indignation against pirates, and Calvert in particular, as the 
 prince of them ! He does not know what will be the upshot of 
 the business. The fact that Stillwater has travelled off to Mor 
 ton, argues for certain doubts, on the part of that worthy citizen 
 as regards himself. His own conscience assures him that these 
 doubts are well founded. But how much is known ? how much 
 suspected ? He believes that Morton regards him with suspicion 
 also. Altogether, his position is a disquieting one ; but he smiles, 
 is courteous, outwardly calm, and wonderfully loyal. 
 
 He has one little gleam of consolation. At twelve o clock, just 
 one hour before Morton s arrival, he had received a little scrap of 
 paper, on which he reads 
 
 " Have no fear, though events are ripening rapidly. I shall 
 make myself safe. There will be an uproar, but no discovery that 
 shall tro ible you. Do your duty as an official. Be no laggard. 
 Do you* vf-jiost. Anticipate any and every demand of the coun 
 
486 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 cil. Show yourself as earnest as you please. Issue your procla 
 mation your warrants. Seek no evasion. Be as hearty, in the 
 prosecution of the supposed public enemy, as my enemies desire. 
 Go beyond them in your endeavors. Nothing that you or they 
 can do will affect my safety. Do not let them affect yours. Be 
 the governor, in all respects ; as much so as the most bigoted pro 
 prietaries could require." 
 
 The paper was not signed, but the handwriting was known. 
 Quarry read, and at once consumed it in the candle. He thanked 
 Calvert in his heart. It was the only assurance that he had. He 
 obeyed his counsels ; and Morton, whom Sylvester had taught to 
 suspect the governor, was absolutely confounded at his ready loy 
 alty, and the eager earnestness with which he addressed his efforts 
 to the capture of ..the outlaws supposed to be in town. 
 
 The governor and his councilmen have done all that they could 
 do. They have sent forth their myrmidons, armed with the proper 
 warrants, and, as Sylvester supposed, with the adequate force to 
 carry them into effect. We have seen the issue of their strata 
 gems. It was somewhat later when the tidings reached Quarry 
 and Morton. Sylvester was the first to appear, his head broken 
 with a cudgel-stroke. He reported the facts, as far as he knew 
 them, and announced O Sullivan, the chef-de-police, as slain out 
 right. But, hardly had he got through his narrative, when O Sul 
 livan himself appeared, bloody at mouth and ears, but not mate 
 rially hurt. He could only report his failure. He had caught 
 the pirate-captain ; but he was rescued by superior force, and the 
 city police had utterly failed him. The town must be put under 
 martial law. It was evidently full of pirates. 
 
 Even while they conferred together, the heavy booming of the 
 cannon of the fort added new materials to the excitement. 
 
 " It is the fort ! The pirate is evidently passing. Heaven 
 grant that they sink her !" said the patriotic governor. 
 
 " The fort," replied O Sullivan, " is a mere pepper-box. It will 
 be only a lucky accident if they do her any damage. Tide s run 
 ning out like a mill-race, and the wind favors. Before they can 
 load up for a second shot, she will have passed them !" 
 
 " Who s in command, captain ?" 
 
 " Lieutenant Waring." 
 
 " Does he know what s to be done ?" 
 
HOW ZUL1EME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 487 
 
 " All that he can do, he will do !" 
 
 "Let us to the fort, Morton," said Quarry, buckling on his 
 small-sword. He was monstrously relieved by the intelligence 
 which was brought him. It confirmed all the assurances made in 
 his anonymous despatch. He felt now comparatively safe. 
 
 They reached the fort, only to obtain distant glimpses of the 
 Happy-go-Lucky ; her white sails spread for ocean, and already 
 six miles from the town ; tide and wind sending her out at ten 
 knots an hour. The fort, of two guns, had succeeded in firing 
 three shots quite an achievement : one shot had wounded the 
 ship s sails, and, it was thought, another her hull. In other words, 
 the fort was a a a (in modern parlance) a humbug ! 
 
 So Florence O Sullivan delivered himself: 
 
 " It s just of no use here, your honors ! It should ne yonder 
 on that island, covering the channel ; and, if one is put here, it 
 should be on the east bank. Here, you can "have but one fling at 
 an enemy, and there s an end." 
 
 It happened, not long afterward, whether from this event and 
 counsel or not, that, even as our chef -de-police suggested, the fort 
 was built on the island, and he himself put in command. 
 
 This was the original of Fort Sullivan, afterward Fort Moul- 
 trie which has a famous history of its own. 
 
 It was broad daylight before the party returned to the house 
 of Governor Quarry ; and, with daylight, began the beating of 
 drums, and the array of the posse comitatus, and the gathering of 
 the militia. The town was put under martial law. There was a 
 monstrous hubbub. 
 
 But something had been saved. The bet I masque of Mrs. An 
 derson had been not simply a success, but a sensation ! It was 
 the town-talk for long after ! 
 
 It rather dashed and daunted the fair and fashionable hostess, 
 however, when, just as her company had departed, and while she 
 was chatting gayly with Zulieme over the events of the night, the 
 door was rudely assailed by thundering raps ; and, as it opened, 
 the civil officers rushed in, laying rude hands on the fair Zulieme, 
 arresting her as a pirate s wife, and a contrabandista in her own 
 proper person. 
 
 Even as she was, caparisoned as Titania, mask in hand, the 
 dear, silly little creature was made to go, on foot, to the dwelling 
 
488 THE CASSTQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 of Governor Quarry, there to confront the said dignitary, with his 
 solemn proprietary council. 
 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson was not the w:>man to abandon her 
 guest. Whatever her vices and weaknesses, the woman had a 
 soul ! She accompanied Zulieme, resolved to share her fate if 
 necessary. After such a successful party, she felt no little of the 
 heroic in her ; felt grateful, too, to her guest, for having helped 
 to make her experiment a success ; felt outraged at the official 
 indignity put upon her, and was altogether in a condition of ex 
 altation to say eloquent things even to his sainted majesty him 
 self. 
 
 When first arrested, poor little Zulieme was confounded. Never 
 was young sinner so completely taken by surprise. Was it her 
 quaint garments of the Fairy Queen that were guilty ? What 
 was it ? 
 
 " But, I m a woman, sir !" said she to the officer, as if women 
 had some special immunities for evil. 
 
 " Oh, to be sure ! I know that ! That s what I rest you for 
 ca se you re a woman. Ef you was n t, would n t have nothin to 
 say to you, nohow." 
 
 And he chuckled with perhaps a notion of some fine official 
 humor in what he had said. 
 
 " What does it all mean. Charlotte ?" she asked, in her simpli 
 city. There was no terror. 
 
 " It means that the governor is a fool, and his council are foola 
 together ; that s what it means !" 
 
 " Well, that s comin it big, I must say ." exclaimed the cl/icer, 
 "But come along, miss, unless you wants me to pick you up and 
 carry you. You must go and see them same fools !" 
 
 " Must I go, Charlotte ?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear, we must go. I will go along with Jtu! It 
 amounts to nothing, I suppose. It is some nonsense of the gov 
 ernor and his council, who had better be in their beds, ar. so many 
 old women, than arresting young women as pirates !" 
 
 " Ah ! it is as a pirate that I am to go to the judge !* And, as 
 she spoke, the little creature rose into dignity and increase of 
 stature. She thought to herself: 
 
 " Ah ! they would seize Harry ! He never thought they would 
 seize me. And why not seize me as well as Harry ? I m Har- 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 480 
 
 ry s wife. I m as much pirate, I m sure, as he is! I ll show 
 him ! I m not afraid ! 
 
 So the thought ran through her little brain, conferring upon it 
 a certain increase of consequence. She would show Harry she 
 was no such child as he supposed ! 
 
 u Well, let us go, Charlotte !" 
 
 And she sank into silence, and passively submitted to the ar 
 rest. Not st the fair hostess. She was eloquent with indignation 
 all the way ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the whole town was astir. Everybody was abroad. 
 Everybody saw them in their state dresses. We really forget 
 what was the costume of Mrs. Anderson, but have a notion that 
 it was in the character of Zenobia that she did the honors that 
 night. We will assume that she then walked the street as 
 Zenobia, with the lovely little Queen of the Fairies by her 
 side. 
 
 The news came startlingly to the ears of our two cavaliers, 
 Keppel Craven and Cavendish. They were just about to disem 
 barrass themselves of their fine clothes. 
 
 " What, the senorita arrested? What nonsense !" 
 
 " And as the wife of the d d pirate !" 
 
 " A contrabandist^ /" 
 
 The silver-mines of the one, the ten thousand pounds of the 
 other, would not suffer them to sleep at such an hour. It might, 
 it must be, all nonsense some ridiculous mistake of the police ! 
 At all events, they must do their devoirs as cavaliers. They 
 must be at hand, watchful and ready to assist the demoiselle with 
 whom they have flirted ; pay proper homage to the hostess who 
 had entertained them so elegantly. So, changing the court for 
 mere city costume, they hurried off to the governor s dwelling. 
 
 When Zulieme and Mrs. Anderson reached the residence of 
 the governor, it was sunrise. Quarry and Morton were seated 
 in state, grave seigniors, in all the dignity of their official posi 
 tion, ready for their reception. There was a crowd already col 
 lected. Curiosity brought a goodly number. The police was 
 stronger in the governor s presence than they had shown them 
 selves in the field, and behaved themselves with much more dig 
 nity. There was a cloud of witnesses, each prepared to testify to 
 as many falsehoods as facts ; for, in such cases, men become so 
 
 21* 
 
490 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 enamored of their own conjectures, that the mind insists upon 
 them as facts, and the subservient memory will not discredit them. 
 There was the keen and restless Stillwater, alias Sylvester, prowl 
 ing about like a young shark hungering for his breakfast; and 
 there was Sproulls, whose bloody and bandaged head was a tragic 
 volume of evidence itself; and O Sullivan was there, with a cheek 
 monstrously blue and green of hue, and one eye so black and 
 bunged, that you might read the whole history of the night in it ; 
 and there were many others who had something to say or to 
 show. 
 
 The appearance of Zulieme made a decided impression on the 
 company. Her strange but appropriate costume ; her petite but 
 symmetrical figure ; her beauty ; and the very childish, infantile 
 simplicity of her features, now lifted into unwonted character by 
 the new sense of importance in her position were all calculated 
 to produce a sympathetic and friendly interest in her judges, who 
 regarded her with equal curiosity and satisfaction. The govern 
 or s courtliness and pleasant smile were not withheld ; and the 
 grave, saturnine Morton, lifting his dark brow, gazed intently and 
 with a mild interest on the stranger, who seemed indeed a fairy, 
 fresh from the forests, whom the sun had lovingly kissed, and 
 with whose wanton hair every breeze of heaven had toyed with 
 tenderness. 
 
 " Be seated, ladies," said the governor. " We are sorry to be 
 compelled to disquiet you ; but we are obliged, by a painful sense 
 of duty, to require the attendance of one of you, at least, in order 
 that we may ask you a few questions which concern the publi 
 welfare." 
 
 " Answer no questions, Zulieme," said Mrs. Anderson, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 Our trader s wife might have done well as a lawyer at this day, 
 when women are about to assert their rights in the courts, as well 
 as in courtship. 
 
 " You, Mrs. ; ah, Mrs. " 
 
 " Anderson, sir Mrs. Perkins Anderson," answered the lady 
 to whom the governor was addressing eyes and voice, while un 
 able apparently to recall her name. The lady was somewhat 
 piqued. Her name forgotten ! But it is a common trick with 
 the British, when they affect the aristocratic, to forget the names 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 491 
 
 of comparatively obscure people. His excellency knew that of 
 our hostess very well. Had not his wife, indeed, visited her at 
 least on one occasion ? But it was not simply an affectation of 
 vanity that prompted the governor to forget. It was matter of 
 policy that he should know as little as possible of the lady with 
 whom Zulieme dwelt. But the fair Charlotte did not give him 
 credit for his policy ; she ascribed it to official pride, and resented 
 it accordingly. She was wrong in this instance. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, Mrs. Anderson. How should I forget ! But, Mrs. 
 Anderson, permit me to say that we have no requisition on you." 
 
 " No, sir ; but the Senorita Zulieme de Montano is my guest, 
 sir ; and I certainly would not suffer her to leave my house, under 
 this most humiliating treatment, without giving her all the support 
 in my power." 
 
 " Right, madam," said Morton ; " and there is no reason why 
 you should not be present at this examination, which I trust \\H1 
 be found neither hurtful nor disagreeable. We only fancied that 
 an officer might have committed the mistake of doing more than 
 his warrant authorized." 
 
 The lady bowed, somewhat mollified. The governor proceed 
 ed : 
 
 " Your name is said to be Zulieme de Montano, young lady ? 
 
 Zulieme bowed. 
 
 " Pardon me, senorita, but you are a Floridian, I am told." 
 
 " A Spaniard, sirs. My father and mother were both of Cas 
 tile." 
 
 " But you are from the Spanish province of Florida?" 
 
 " My father has an estate in Florida." 
 
 " You are from thence ?" 
 
 " Last ! I was born, and lived long, on the mountains of the 
 isthmus." 
 
 " Suffer me to ask, senorita, if you have always borne the name 
 which you now bear?" 
 
 Mrs. Perkins Anderson gave Zulieme a look. It was enough. 
 A flush passed over the dark cheeks of the young Spaniard ; and 
 she rose q-iickly, but with subdued and quiet manner. 
 
 " Senores," she said, approaching the governor and his council 
 lor " senores, caballeros, you are gentlemen and lords. You 
 ask me questions which I do not want to answer. It may do me 
 
492 THE CASSIQUE OF RlAWAH. 
 
 hurt to answer them, and I will not lie. I do not know what you 
 wish to do with me. But if your laws require me to die, I can 
 die, though I am very young to die. But ask me no questions 
 to catch my tongue ! If you think harm of me, tell me what is 
 the offence I have been doing. I have been dancing a great deal 
 since I have been here, and did not know perhaps there is a 
 law against dancing ? Some people, here, tell me it is a sin, and 
 against the laws of God. I did not know that. I don t believe 
 it. Our people did not teach me so. But it may be against the 
 laws of your people ; and I must die for it ! I confess I have 
 danced a great deal. If there is anything else that I have done 
 against your laws, tell me, and I will answer. Do you speak to 
 me what you have heard against me, and what you think of me, 
 and what they tell you I have done. Tell me all, and I will an 
 swer you if I can. But I will not tell you more than I can, for 
 there may be some snare some danger to my soul !" 
 
 The simplicity of this speech, spoken in rather broken English, 
 had a wonderful effect. The governor himself smiled, very much 
 amused ; several of the bystanders laughed outright. Morton 
 looked with a greater degree of interest and pity on the young 
 creature than before. His stern visage had grown sadly sweet. 
 
 " Die !" said the governor " snare your soul, my dear young 
 woman ? What could put such a notion into your head ? As for 
 dancing, it is not yet a criminal offence by our laws ; though, I 
 believe, there are some who fancy that eternal perdition must fol 
 low the shaking of symmetrical legs to the sound of lively music. 
 No ! the charges brought against you and there are charges 
 are of very different character." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Tell her what is charged, your excellency," said Morton. 
 " There is no need of any art in dealing with such a child as 
 this." 
 
 The governor proceeded with his counts : 
 
 " It is charged, seiiorita, that you are concerned in a contraband 
 trade" 
 
 " Contraband ? What s that ?" 
 
 " That you bring goods into the town for sale, without first 
 paying to the government certain dues and duties, in violation of 
 our laws." 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 493 
 
 " I bring goods for sale ? Me ! Oh, sir, I never sold anything 
 in my life. What I have brought here, I have brought to give 
 away." 
 
 " I can prove that, your excellency," said Mrs. Perkins Ander 
 son. 
 
 " It is also charged, my young lady, that you are the wife, or 
 companion, of the notorious pirate, Harry or Henry Calvert, cap 
 tain of the cruiser called The Happy-go-Lucky, or The Al 
 meida, or the St. George s Dragon for by all these names the 
 vessel is reported to sail." 
 
 Then broke out the woman-soul : 
 
 " Harry a pirate ! You are a bad man, for saying it ! Harry 
 is a fighting-man, like all you English " 
 
 She was about to add " brutes," for it had become a somewhat 
 familiar epithet with her ; but a warning instinct arrested her in 
 the speech. But what she had said sufficed to effect an instant 
 change in all countenances. Mrs. Anderson clasped her hands 
 together in despair ; Sylvester and his factotum, the express, Fair- 
 child, lifted fingers and eyebrows in exultation ; the governor 
 looked aghast. In an instant, Zulieme saw these changes, and, 
 turning to Mrs. Anderson, she murmured 
 
 " Charlotte, what have I said ?" 
 
 " A few words too many, my dear." 
 
 ** Have I done anything to hurt Harry ?" 
 
 " Hardly ; but something, perhaps, to hurt yourself." 
 
 " Ah !" and she sighed as with a sense of relief. 
 
 The governor, remembering Calvert s private letter, put on a 
 triumphant air, and, turning to Morton, said 
 
 " It is hardly necessary to ask her any more questions." 
 
 " Hardly ; though, with the fact of her identity established, we 
 gain nothing. I know no law which makes the wife of a pirate 
 liable for his offences." 
 
 " Oh, no ! surely not," was the answer the governor secretly 
 leased tc see that Morton s sympathies were with the woman. 
 " Still, sir, we should probe the matter as far as we can." 
 
 The other nodded. " As you please." 
 
 " It is very clear, my dear young lady, that the Harry of whom 
 you speak, and Harry Calvert of the Happy-go-Lucky, are the 
 same person." 
 
494 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " I won t say any more ! I am a foolish thing, and do n t know 
 what I say. But if there s anything against Harry, I m ready 
 to answer it. If he s a pirate, then hang me, for I won t deny it. 
 Harry s my own, own husband. He s been married to me a 
 year ; and you may kill rne for him ! But he s no pirate ; but a 
 brave, fighting, good, brute Englishman just as good and brav 
 as any of you here ! There, now ! you may kill me when yoi. 
 like." 
 
 Craven and Cavendish looked at each other, and groaned 
 aloud. 
 
 " Ten thousand gone !" muttered Cavendish. 
 
 " D nation, yes ! and my silver-mines ! Let s be off, Cav 
 D n all Spaniards, and pretty senoritas, for ever ! * 
 
 And, following each other, as unostentatiously as possible, the 
 stole out of the apartment. 
 
 " We need inquire no further," said Quarry. 
 
 " Of her no ! Call up your other witnesses." 
 
 Sylvester, Sproulls, Gideon Fairchild, each gave his testimony 
 in turn. We know it pretty nearly as they delivered it, allowing 
 for certain natural exaggerations, in which they coupled with the 
 facts the usual modicum of conjecture. Zulieme listened to their 
 details without sign of interest or emotion. She did not see the 
 drift of much of it, and perhaps did not see the harm in any. 
 But when, on a sudden, Sylvia, the mullattress, who had been ar 
 rested, was also brought in, manacled for she had darted off at full 
 speed from the officer, and was with difficulty retaken and made 
 to confront her mistress, the little Zulieme rose again, and, look- 
 ing sternly upon her judges, said : 
 
 " This is my slave, my lords, caballeros, and gentlemen. What 
 has she done ? Why is she chained up ?" 
 
 " She s one of the witnesses," replied Fairchild. 
 
 " One of the best we have, too," added Sylvester. 
 
 "That s unfortunate," observed Morton, "if she be a slave." 
 
 " You a witness against me, Sylvia !" said Zulieme, with the 
 saddest reproach. 
 
 " Nebber, missus ! Who say dat ?" 
 
 " I say it," answered Fairchild. 
 
 " Missus, do n t b lieb dem buckrah ! Dey lie fas as squirrel 
 tlimb tree ! Look yer, missus dey catch and bring me yer, 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 495 
 
 I run ; but dey catch me, and put dese heaby tings on my ban . 
 I no want for come. Dey make me come. Ef you say so, I 
 won t tell em not ing." 
 
 " There s a way to make you," said Sylvester. 
 
 Zulieme looked mournfully at the mullattress, who was now 
 fairly stifled in a sea of sobbing, but she remained silent. Some 
 effort was made to move Sylvia to renew her revelations, but 
 without effect. She was resolved that the proper virtue lay in 
 emulating her lady in taciturnity. 
 
 " It needs not," said Morton ; " her statement will be valueless 
 as evidence. Let Mr. Fairchild state what he knows, and even 
 what he has heard. This is a purely desultory examination. 
 Stripped of all unnecessary matter, there may be, nay, must be, 
 something which shall be evidence. He can report all the parties 
 to his own seizure and confinement in the pirate-ship ; what he 
 saw there ; and what he heard the pirates say of themselves. If 
 he includes in it what the slave has said, it will not much matter : 
 let it go for what it is worth." 
 
 And Gideon Fairchild told his story. He was prolix in all his 
 details, with the exception of one class of them ; he suppressed 
 all the tender passages between Sylvia and himself. He reported 
 only what she had told him of ship, crew, and cargo. She was 
 the one who taught him the true character of the cruiser ; the 
 name of her captain ; the fact that his wife was in town, and 
 where ; in brief, all that she knew. 
 
 " O wretch !" cried Zulieme, with indignation. 
 
 The mullattress broke out with a cry : 
 
 " missus, de buckrah lie like book ! I nebber tell em not ing ; 
 only I bin so want for see you and be wid you ; and when he tell 
 me he will bring me to you, and den, when he promise for marry 
 me, and say he lub me so much " 
 
 Here Gideon broke out : 
 
 " It s a most infamous, lyin wench, your excellency ! Me 
 narry a nigger ! me ! And here everybody knows I ve got an 
 angel-wife of my own, and three of the beautifullest children! 
 The nigger s fool-mad, your excellency !" 
 
 Gideon was perplexed and perspiring. He looked about him 
 uneasily, lest Mrs. Gideon should be among the listeners. There 
 was a round laugh at his expense, especially when Zulieme, with 
 
496 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the prettiest expression of scorn an the world, said to the mulat- 
 tress 
 
 " And would you marry such a creature as that ?" 
 
 " Nebber, missus ! I spise de poor buckrah ; I spise em for 
 true. I only mek b lieb I guine marry em, cause I want em to 
 bring me to yer, missus." 
 
 There was another laugh. 
 
 " This looks serious, Fairchild," said the governor, appearing 
 ludicrously grave. " The negress is your own witness ! Do you 
 say, woman, that this man promised to marry you ?" 
 
 "To be sure him promise, maussa." 
 
 " It s nigger evidence, your excellency,* responded Fairchild 
 " she s the lyin est blackguard !" 
 
 " If we reject it on either score, Master Gideon, we must reje 
 all that we get from her. I am afraid we shall have to receive 
 it all. We shall have to turn you over to the tender mercies of 
 the churchwardens and your wife!" 
 
 " Do n t say so, your excellency !" 
 
 " Whether the negress, per prochein ami, would have an action 
 against Gideon for breach of promise?" 
 
 The governor was disposed to amuse himself. 
 
 Morton frowned, and showed impatience. 
 
 " Let us proceed, your excellency." 
 
 " We have got through got evidence enough, certainly, for 
 commitment." 
 
 " Commitment ! The point is one to require a law-officer, 
 confess, even the identification of this woman, as the wife of the 
 criminal, does not seem to me to establish any offence on her part. 
 I don t see how we can commit her" 
 
 "Except, perhaps, as sailing under the pirate-flag assisting, 
 abetting, aiding, counselling " 
 
 " We have no proof of that fact ! We do not find her sailing 
 under the pirate-flag. We find her in our municipality, and only 
 know not how she gets here. The statement of the woman Syl 
 via, a slave, is not to be regarded." 
 
 " But a fair and reasonable inference " 
 
 " None, such as this, can be considered in capital cases." 
 
 But we need not pursue the discussion, which was somewhat 
 protracted. While it was in full progress, Quarry affecting a 
 
HOW ZULIEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 497 
 
 very earnest purpose of severity and extreme strictness, Sir Ed 
 ward Berkeley made his appearance. 
 
 As she beheld him, Zulieme started with extreme emotion, and 
 whispered 
 
 " Charlotte, tell me, who s he ?" 
 
 " That s Sir Edward Berkeley, one of the councillors." 
 
 " He s so like Harry ! oh, so like ! I see he s not Harry 
 but" 
 
 " Certainly, a great likeness." And the ladies whispered to 
 gether. 
 
 The governor and his councillors retired to consult in another 
 apartment. Sir Edward Berkeley seemed as much interested in 
 the beautiful and artless little Spaniard as Morton had been ; and 
 when the governor repeated the suggestion of commitment, he was 
 indignant. 
 
 " Commit such a creature as that and to prison ! Fie, sir 
 fie!" 
 
 " Oh ! not to prison, surely," said the governor ; " but to some 
 custody, in which, while treated well, she will be under watch." 
 
 Berkeley shook his head. 
 
 " I see no use in it." 
 
 " I do not well see how we should do it, f observed Morton 
 " how we should be justified. There is positively nothing against 
 the woman. I have no doubt that she is Calvert s wife per 
 haps mistress but there is no reasonable ground for supposing 
 her to be an active participant in his criminal proceedings. She 
 is a mere child; is evidently without tact or cunning; and with 
 just as little faculty for business of any sort. To employ her, 
 even in the petty practice of the contraband service, would be just 
 as likely as not to ruin all the profits of the trade." 
 
 " Yet, you find," said Quarry, " that, at the very time she ap 
 pears in town, the town becomes flooded with foreign goods of 
 strange fabric and fashion ; while the West-India fruits, in great 
 abundance, are to be had when, as we all know, no West-Indian 
 vessels have come into port." 
 
 " I half suspect," rejoined Morton, " that, in the greater number 
 of cases, these make their way in, just as this pirate has done, and 
 lie perdu high up Cooper and Ashley rivers. This pirate evi 
 dently knew his ground the soundings, the channel, and the 
 
4 .) 3 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. ^ 
 
 proper places of concealment. We can build nothing against the 
 woman on this sort of evidence. Nay, more ; how idle to talk ot 
 this woman being the agent and emissary, when your own chief 
 of police and all his officers tell you of the town being full of pi 
 rates ! Your own proclamation of martial law is grounded upon 
 the necessity derived from this very evidence. And they tell us> 
 moreover, of boats arriving nightly this is the evidence of both 
 Sylvester and Sproulls both of whom, by-the-way, seem, in the 
 course of their practice, to have known rather more of these con 
 traband cruisers than becomes honest men." 
 
 "Ay, set a thief to catch a thief! But that reminds me to say 
 to you, gentlemen, that the warrant issued for the arrest of the 
 old sailor, Franks, has been returned non est. 1 He is off, and 
 all his chattels. His house, which was a sort of curiosity-shop, is 
 regularly gutted. He has probably transferred himself, bag and 
 baggage, to the pirate." 
 
 " We must not be surprised," said Berkeley, " that there should 
 be so many in the town who sympathize with these pirates. It is 
 a new thing, indeed, among us, to call them pirates. Hitherto, 
 they have been however in conflict with the laws of nations 
 the enemies of our enemies only, and sailing their craft under ab 
 solute commissions from the crown-officers. The public sympa 
 thies, in all the colonies, have been really and warmly with this 
 fellow Calvert, for his famous fight with the Maria del Occident^ 
 that very affair which the Spanish influence at the English 
 court has succeeded in making an act of piracy, bringing forth the 
 proclamation which we have just published. We must take for 
 granted that there are many here who sympathize with these 
 cruiser?. There is no doubt that the town has been full of them ; 
 and, with their boats here nightly their sailors, their agents, in 
 town it is not necessary that we should suspect this strangely- 
 beautiful little creature of any part in the business of the cruiser. 
 She is, no doubt, as she alleges, the wife of the captain, who has 
 presumed upon the sympathies of the citizens to bring her here, 
 that she might enjoy herself, while he and his men carried on 
 their unlawful operations by night." 
 
 " I fully agree with Sir Edward in these opinions," said Mor 
 ton. "Still, the question occurs, What are we to do with this 
 woman V There i? something in the idea of his excellency, that 
 
HOW ZULTEME BECAME A CAPTIVE. 499 
 
 we should keep her in some sort of custody, for awhile at least ; 
 in order, by this means, to obtain some control of her husband. 
 He will, no doubt, be coming to look after her. She is too pretty 
 a prize to be abandoned by a man of taste." 
 
 " But where to keep her ? Our prison " 
 
 " Oh ! do n t mention that, your excellency," interrupted Mor 
 ton. " We must not talk of prison for this young creature." 
 
 " I 11 take charge of her," said Berkeley, with a sudden im 
 pulse. " I 11 be her custodian, at my poor forest barony. It will 
 not be easy, on the part of the pirate, to seek her there ; and if 
 he does, I have a good stout force of laborers, all of whom I have 
 armed, and he will not find smooth sailing to make his approaches. 
 She shall* be treated with tenderness and care, but closely watched. 
 I confess, keeping her here in town, I should almost fear that this 
 pirate, who is bold enough for anything, would have her out of 
 your prison, or out of any private custody, if he had to bombard 
 the place for it." 
 
 "And we have seen with what scorn his vessel has passed our 
 fart, and of what small defence the fort is capable," responded 
 Morton. 
 
 " Really," said the governor to Berkeley, "your offer relieves 
 us from a dilemma ; for, though, clear that she should be kept in 
 custody for awhile at least I should be unwilling to send her 
 to prison, and should not find it easy to provide for her a proper 
 custodian." 
 
 " Well, you are agreed to accept my offer ?" replied Berkeley. 
 " I am glad of it ! I have somehow conceived a sympathy for 
 this strange little creature, and I should never consent to any 
 harsh means being employed. We must reconcile her to my 
 guardianship. Leave that to me, gentlemen, if you please ; and 
 I trust that she will be persuaded to accept my protection." 
 
 The council adjourned to the hall where the ladies and the 
 crowd had been left, impatient of the long delay. 
 
 Our cassique of Kiawah immediately joined the two ladies. 
 
 When Zulienif heard him out, she said to Mrs. Anderson 
 
 " I am to be a prisoner, Charlotte, for Harry ? Is that it ?* 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; not exactly a prisoner, if I understand Sir 
 Edward, but" 
 
 " No, my dear young lady, not exactly a prisoner ; but an in- 
 
500 THE CASSTQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 mate of my family, until the trouble of this affair shall blow 
 over." 
 
 "Zulieme looked up, simply, and said 
 
 " I will go with you, senor." 
 
 To Mrs. Anderson she added, sotto voce : 
 
 " I would not have gone with any other ! They should have 
 carried me! But I like his looks, Charlotte. He is so good 
 so sweet ! And he looks so like Harry !" 
 
ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF TFIE BARONY. 501 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIIJ. 
 
 ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF THE BARONY. 
 
 " These humors of the children be not strange." 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 IF we have properly considered the light, lively temperament 
 of Zulieme Calvert, and remember the child-life which she has 
 led, we shall probably be somewhat surprised at the quiet resig 
 nation with which she gave up her abode with the fashionable 
 Mrs. Anderson. One would think, seeing her deportment, that 
 she had made no sacrifice. She had no tears. She seemed to 
 have danced herself out. She was subdued and pensive, but very 
 calm. There was a secret power at work in the bosom of the 
 little woman, unfelt before, which sustained heTI* wonderfully. 
 Mrs. Anderson was quite astonished. She made many lamenta 
 tions. We could give a chapter of garrulous speech which she 
 poured forth to and at the council of the lords-proprietors, and 
 thrust specially into the ears of the cassique of Kiawah. But we 
 do not affect this sort of eloquence. Mrs. Anderson, judging from 
 Zulieme s seeming stolidity, thought her astonishingly cold. She 
 could find tears, as well as eloquence, at their enforced separa 
 tion ; Zulieme neither. What she said was curt and unostenta 
 tious, and she even appeared impatient to be gone. 
 
 " It do n t matter, Charlotte," she said ; " I do not fear what 
 they can do ! They can only put me in chains ! If they kill me 
 what then ? It 11 be just like youi \ rute English. But I won t 
 beg them or pray to them, and they sha n t see any tears of mine. 
 And I will take care how I talk. They sha n t hear a word from 
 me which shall bring trouble to Harry. He shall find that I am 
 a woman now." 
 
502 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 Mrs. Anderson began to think that Harry Calvert knew his 
 ridiculous little wife better than herself. Certainly, she showed 
 her a new phase of her character. 
 
 It was only when, just before the carriage of the cassique came 
 to take her away, that Zulieme showed anything like tears or pas 
 sion. But, though her anger was roused, her firmness was not 
 shaken even then ! The occasion was the sudden appearance of 
 Sylvia, the mulattress, who rushed out upon her, weeping and 
 shrieking, and imploring to be taken with her. Then the little 
 woman flushed up with something like fury : 
 
 " Take her away ! She shall never go with me again ! Oh, 
 the brute ! the liar ! To tell everything ! To try and bring 
 Harry to the gallows ! Do, Charlotte, have her flung into the 
 sea ! oh, do !" 
 
 " No, no ! not that, Zulieme !" 
 
 " Don t let her come nigh we/" 
 
 The mulattress flung herself at her feet, and renewed her cries 
 and protestations. The little woman seized a broomstick (what 
 a weapon for a heroine !) and, but for the interposition of Mrs. 
 Perkins Anderson, who was quite scandalized by such an unfemi- 
 nine demonstration, would, no doubt, have belabored the waiting- 
 maid soundly. 
 
 " "Well, takelier away send her off drown her in the sea 
 give her away take her yourself, Charlotte, if you will; but 
 never let her show herself to me again !" 
 
 And the matter was finally settled after this fashion. Mrs. 
 Anderson agreed, to oblige Zulieme, to accept the gift ; and the 
 affair being thus understood, Sylvia promised to silence her afflic 
 tion. She was not unwilling. In all probability, had Zulieme 
 been anxious to take her, she would have shown herself a discon 
 tent. Like her mistress, she preferred town to country life; 
 many people to few ; smart company, on terra firma, to tary sail 
 ors aboard ship ; and she was already prepossessed with Mrs. 
 Perkins Anderson, and had learned to fancy that Charleston was 
 a very tolerable place, though her tender affections had been so 
 grievously mortified in it by the loose principles of Gideon Fair- 
 child. 
 
 It was just as this affair was settled, that the stately carriage- 
 and-four of the cassique of Kiawah, bearing the family crest, with 
 
ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF THE BARONY. 503 
 
 its French motto, " Dieu avec nous drove up to the entrance 
 the cassique the sole occupant. There were two outriders in 
 livery. 
 
 It was a pleasurable reflection to Mrs. Perkins Anderson that 
 the carriage of one of the local barons should stand at her door, 
 no matter what the occasion. She contrived to delay its waiting 
 as long as possible ; and for long afterward it was her wont to 
 say, whenever the cassique was referred to 
 
 " Ah ! he was a fine gentleman. His coach was frequently at 
 my door. He was a favorite here ; and when he came, he seemed 
 quite unwilling to depart : he made long visits." 
 
 We need scarcely mention that, in removing Zulieme, the cas 
 sique " did his spiriting" with all courtesy and gentleness. He 
 could not altogether prevent her from feeling that she was some 
 thing of a prisoner. The fact was patent in that of her removal. 
 But, neither in look, nor word, nor action, did he suffer her to feel 
 that she was likely to be annoyed in her duresse, or that it would 
 be other than was quite consistent with her claims as a wife, a 
 woman, and a lady. He was tender and solicitous ; awaited her 
 moods with patience ; and, when he lifted her into the carriage, it 
 was with the studious observances of the nicest preux chevalier 
 of the time of Philip Sidney. 
 
 It is true that Zulieme was somewhat awed by this treatment, 
 and by the sad looks and dignified grace of the cassique. She 
 had been at first a little terrified, when brought before the coun 
 cil. It was only when she \vas taught how unwittingly her tongue 
 had committed her husband, that she recovered her composure, 
 and became lifted into resolution. Still she felt an involuntary 
 disquiet, under the eye of the cassique, which was accorded rather 
 to his individual than his official character. But this feeling had 
 no kin to fear. Having persuaded herself that she was a hostage 
 for Harry, and possibly might be a sacrifice, she rose to a sense 
 of dignity with the sense of danger, which changed, for the time, 
 her whole demeanor. Levity had given place to pride ; and it 
 was rather amusing than impressive, in the eyes of Mrs. Ander 
 son, to see the stateliness and dignity which now, in the bearing 
 of the little woman, took the place of her former kitten-playful 
 ness. It was really comical to behold such resolved looks, such a 
 lofty carriage, so much reserve and dignity, in the conduct of one 
 
504 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 so very petite, and whom she had been accustomed to see only in 
 the character of the ballet-girl. She could scarcely keep from 
 laughter as she saw it. She laughed -:\t it a thousand times after. 
 
 But the parting took place after many delays. Tears and many 
 words constituted the demonstration of the fashionable Mrs. Char 
 lotte. Zulieme had no tears, and but few words ; but these were 
 proper, simple, graceful, and dignified. She thanked her hostess 
 gratefully for her care and kindness, and promised to remember 
 all. As the two embraced, Mrs. Anderson whispered 
 
 " Oh ! what shall I say from you to Craven and Cavendish ? 
 They will be so wretched I" 
 
 " Say ? Nothing ! What have I to say to them, Charlotte ?" 
 
 " Ah, Zulieme, they were both so very fond of you !" 
 
 " They are both very foolish fellows, then ; for I have no fond 
 ness for them * Tell them nothing !" 
 
 And when she said this, her little, pulpy lips put on the smallest 
 possible curl of contempt, while her eye looked as coldly and in 
 differently into that of Charlotte as if she scarcely remembered 
 the parties spoken of. The amiable hostess sighed gently. Slie 
 felt that some of her calculations had been made in vain. Alto 
 gether, the little child-wife was a little problem. But the two 
 parted, tenderly enough. Zulieme had absolutely shared her 
 wardrobe with her hostess, who, whatever her weaknesses, what 
 ever the wickedness of her designs of which Zulieme knew 
 nothing had treated her with great and affectionate considera 
 tion of manner. They parted, and the cassique lifted Zulieme 
 into the carriage ; and, at a wave of the hand, the coachman 
 smacked his whip, postillion-fashion, and the carriage whirled 
 away in a cloud of dust the two outriders putting their horses 
 into a canter to keep up with the vehicle. 
 
 That night Mrs. Anderson received no company. Mrs. Calder 
 Carpenter did." But neither Cavendish nor Craven was present. 
 Of course, there was any amount of scandal and conjecture 
 touching the wonderful events of the previous night and iay ; 
 but the result of all was favorable to the Anderson. She had 
 certainly caused a sensation which is always the ne plus ultra 
 of the fashionable world for good or evil matters little ! And, 
 by-the-way, public opinion in Charleston was hardly so unfavor 
 able to Calvert, "the don-destroyer," as to suffer his little wife to 
 
ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF THE BARONY. 505 
 
 be disparaged. Zulieme had won upon the circles which she had 
 penetrated. 
 
 Poor Zulieme ! she sat back in the cassique s carriage, perched 
 proudly on her dignity ! Was she not doing penance for her hus 
 band ? Was she not a martyr likely to be sacrificed for him ? 
 The fancy made her very proud ! She was no longer a kitten ! 
 Let us add that there was another reason which must remain a 
 secret a little longer which added to her strength and dignity, 
 and which rendered her so indifferent, if not contemptuous, when 
 Charlotte Anderson reminded her of those two popinjays, Craven 
 and Cavendish. She brooded over this secret of her own she 
 never breathed it to her hostess even with no little satisfaction. 
 Briefly, she had made a long stride, in a single moment, from 
 girlhood to womanhood. But of all this, hereafter. It is a secret 
 that will keep. Zulieme will tell it to but one ! 
 
 The cassique of Kiawah is already known to us, and we may 
 well conceive that he bore himself toward the little wife of the 
 famous corsair with all proper kindliness. But it was only when 
 he felt the necessity of soothing her mind, and reconciling her to 
 her condition of captivity, that he began to perceive how awk 
 ward his situation was as custodian. What sort of custodian 
 could he be, with a household in such a condition as was his ? 
 His wife it was agony to think of her ! Her mother it was 
 with anger that he thought of her ! How could he make his cap 
 tive comfortable in such condition of his household ? He had not 
 thought of this before. Born to wealth accustomed to have his 
 will, and command the service, even as he wished it he sudden 
 ly felt that he had no service, no resources, to meet his present 
 requisition. His prisoner a woman, young, seemingly artless, 
 and of peculiar characteristics would almost be companionless. 
 He had spoken, in council, from a natural impulse, and without 
 due reflection. His instincts had moved him. He had been 
 touched by the child-simplicity of the young wife of the corsair, 
 and had undertaken to reconcile two objects : to keep her in secu 
 rity, from the possible attempts of the corsair himself who, it 
 was thought, would scarcely venture to penetrate the country ; 
 and to keep her from the humiliations of a common dungeon. He 
 was worried, in no small degree, at the task he had undertaken, 
 and the more he thought of it ; but, like a true knight, sans peur 
 
 22 
 
506 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 et sans reproche, he prepared to do his devoir, and leave the rest 
 to God s favor and the chapter of chances. 
 
 As a matter of course, he endeavored to beguile the route for 
 his companion, by gentle and courteous conversation. The region 
 through which they had to pass was not suggestive of agreeable 
 topics. As we know, however beautiful to the eye which is " to 
 the manner born," it was lacking in all salient essentials of the 
 picturesque. It was without form, though far from voi d. There 
 were no great heights ; no striking inequalities ; only vast tracts 
 of forest, with brief stretches of road, so closed in on every hand, 
 that there was no beyond. True, the season was one of flowers 
 and fruits. There are green leaves, a glorious foliage ; blossoms 
 that were sweet upon the air ; colossal trees, that made cathedral- 
 shadows all around ; dense masses of leaf and flower ; vines and 
 shrubs : but the eye naturally grew weary of the dead levels and 
 the uniformity, which finally showed as one great waste ! Yet 
 had he little else of which to speak ; and Zulieme, he soon found, 
 had no eye for scenery. Besides, she had seen the great mount 
 ains which divide the seas, Pacific and Atlantic. And he quickly 
 discovered that she had not the soul for that beauty which abounds 
 in the instincts of art. She had had no cultivation, and the origi 
 nal soil of mind had received no seeds from Nature which a genial 
 care could make to grow, as under the mere waving of the wand 
 of Thought. There was no possible point of contact between the 
 souls of the two. Zulieme had no thoughts, no imagination, hardly 
 any fancies ; scarcely more than the little bush-bird which hops 
 from twig to twig, and never feels an aspiration to soar. Curious 
 enough in respect to her husband, the corsair, our cassique was 
 yet too much of the gentleman to touch upon this subject. But, 
 as a gentleman, he wearied himself, sore and sick at heart as he 
 was, in the effort to amuse her. But all in vain. She looked 
 kindly into his eyes almost reverentially. Her own instincts 
 taught her that he was striving to please and amuse ; but she 
 could make no response ; and he asked himself 
 
 " How is it that education fails us, even when we aim to please, 
 and in the case of those who are evi lently so far below us in en 
 dowment and acquisition ?" 
 
 He did not remember that his own heart was ill at ease, and 
 that his labors were those only of the mind. He did not forget, 
 
ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF THE BARONY. 507 
 
 it is true, that there was another reason for his failure. He did 
 not dare to approach the very topics upon which her own mind 
 and heart were brooding. There is a point of contact for all hu 
 manity, which will, at some moments, bring together the loftiest 
 and lowest ; but this can only be found where the relations be 
 tween the parties are such as leave both in comparative freedom. 
 Here, and now, both were under constraint, and from a variety of 
 causes. At length the cassique gave up the effort, and sank back 
 in the carriage, silent and forgetful. In his forgetfulness he 
 sighed, and such a sigh ! No sigh that Zulieme ever heard was 
 more deep, more expressive of mortal anguish. She watched 
 him obliquely, with a growing sympathy ; and, with every glance, 
 she thought 
 
 " How like to Harry !" 
 
 She was awed by him, no doubt. A noble earnestness of char 
 acter, coupled with an evident sorrow, borne with manliness, must 
 always compel the respectful sympathies of the pure and ingenu 
 ous. She could give the cassique credit as a noble gentleman, 
 even while she remembered that he was her jailer ; and, in some 
 degree, she conjectured the truth that he had become her jailer 
 only to save and spare her those humiliations which must have 
 followed her detention in the town. She watched and studied her 
 companion in silence, but with a momently-growing sympathy. 
 He was so sad ; his looks were so grand, yet so gentle ; and he 
 was "so like Harry !" And, even as she watched and mused, the 
 cassique forgot that she was present that he had any compan 
 ion, any auditor ; and the deep sigh became a deeper groan, and 
 the bosom of the strong man heaved with sonvulsive emotions, 
 that distended his broad breast and shook his powerful frame; 
 and, in his anguish and oblivion, the big tears gushed from his 
 eyes, and lie moaned aloud in syllables that startled the keen, 
 quick consciousness of his companion : 
 
 " Olive ! Olive ! Would to God I could die for thee, Olive !" 
 
 " Olive !" murmured Zuiieme to herself, looking more earnestly 
 into his eyes ; " that name !" 
 
 Another big groan from the laboring breast; and the child- 
 woman forgot her curiosity in her sympathies, and laid her little 
 band upon t\e cassique s arm, while she said, in her softest man 
 ner 
 
508 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Ah ! senor, my lord I am sorry that you so suffer !" 
 
 He started wildly at the touch and voice. 
 
 "Me, child! Suffer! I suffer?" 
 
 And he tried to smile ; and, in the effort, he became conscious 
 of the big tears still rolling down his cheek ; and then his cheek 
 was flushed with shame. 
 
 " I have forgotten myself, my dear young lady. Pray, pardon 
 me. My thoughts wandered far away." 
 
 " Ah, sir, you groaned so bitterly !" 
 
 " It was not well to groan not wise, nor courteous, my dear 
 young lady ; and I feel ashamed that I could so entirely forget 
 your presence. Yet it is, perhaps, just as well that I should 
 do so. It enables me to prepare you for a sad household. I 
 have taken you with me, my child, not to a pleasant abiding- 
 place, but to a safe one one where you will find little to please 
 or to amuse you ; nay, where you may see things which shall 
 sadden your young heart : but you will find protection, and a ten 
 der care, which shall not wound or vex you, until such time as 
 the council shall choose to set you entirely free. I wish to be 
 kind to you, young lady, and to hold you under guardianship, 
 rather than in bonds." 
 
 " I think I know what you mean, senor, my lord," was the re 
 ply, in rather more broken English than usual, " and I thank you, 
 senor, and Harry will thank you too ; but tell me how long you 
 mean that I should stay with you." 
 
 " Ah ! that I can not yet say ; for it does not lie with me 
 wholly : but I will do my best, so that you shall be free as soon 
 as it is possible. The trouble lies in this : if free, whither would 
 you go? Your husband is under ban of outlawry. He will 
 hardly come hither. He knows not where you are. He will 
 scarcely venture again to visit Charleston, for the danger awaits 
 him there. Your case is one of great difficulty, unless he can 
 procure the king s pardon, which, for your sake, and somewhat for 
 his own, I shall strive to get for him." 
 
 " Harry will not wait for a king s pardon. He will come for 
 me anywhere. Harry does not love me much, but he will fight 
 for me. He is not afraid to come to Charleston. Why, if Harry 
 was so minded, he would bring his ship and fight all the town !" 
 
 The cassique mused at the little wife s confidence in her hu? 
 
ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF THE BARONY. 50& 
 
 band s courage and prowess ; but the more he mused, the moro 
 sure he felt that the corsair would not find it hard to pelt the walls 
 of Charleston about the ears of its people. But of this he said 
 nothing. Only, being something curious, he asked 
 
 " But why do you say that your husband does not love you 
 much ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose he loves me as much as he loves anybody" 
 then a pause " except one, perhaps." 
 
 " And who is she ? For it is a lady, I suppose." 
 
 Yes!" and, this said, the little wife looked into the eyes of 
 the cassique earnestly and sadly, then added "but I must not 
 tell her name to you" 
 
 She had almost told it. 
 
 " And why not to me ?" 
 
 " Nay, I must tell it to nobody. It is Harry s secret." 
 
 "I would I knew your husband, young lady. Though out 
 lawed, I like what I have heard of him. I like him for his 
 deeds." 
 
 " Oh ! I am glad to hear you say so. You would like him bet 
 ter if you knew him, though he is so grand and proud, and so 
 cold ! And then, he looks so very much like you, senor !" 
 
 " Like me ! Ah ! I would I knew him. I will try to get his 
 pardon, at all events." 
 
 " Thank you, senor ; but Harry will not wait for that ! He 
 will have me, I know it, as soon as he can find me. He will take 
 me out of your deepest dungeons." 
 
 " Oh ! you must not speak of dungeons at Kiawah, my child. 
 It is full of sorrow, and death hangs over it like" a thunder-cloud 
 ready to burst : but there are no bonds ; and you shall find noth 
 ing but tenderness, even if there be no love. . . . Ha ! look there ! 
 There is one of our dear little ones of Kiawah. That is my 
 wife s sister and mine our dear little pet, Grace Masterton. 
 She is a sweet child, but a child only." 
 
 And he pointed to a group Grace Masterton, and the Indian 
 hunter, Iswattee, with a fawn that they were taming by the road 
 side, within one of the first enclosures of the barony. 
 
 k < A child ! you call that a child ?" said Zulieme. " Why, she 
 is as big as me !" 
 
 The casrsique smiled sadly. 
 
510 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Yes, but a child nevertheless." 
 
 " Let me get out and play with her ! She s a beautiful crea 
 ture ; and the red Indian boy ; and the little deer ; oh ! thoy all 
 together look like a picture I have seen." 
 
 " It is, indeed, a picture," said the cassique ; and, at his com 
 mand, the carriage stopped. By this time, the rolling of the 
 wheels had reached the ears of the group ; and Grace had leaped 
 the fence, and darted toward it, crying 
 
 " Is it you, brother !" Then, seeing the strange lady, she hung 
 back, abashed. The young Indian did not move from his place, 
 but appeared to busy himself with his fawn. He did not even 
 look out toward the carriage, preserving well that stolidity of de 
 meanor that show of incuriousness which is the usual charac 
 teristic of the red man. But, from the corner of his eye, he had 
 already, at a single glance, taken in the whole party ; and even 
 before Grace had leaped the fence, he had seen that there was a 
 strange lady in the carriage. 
 
 For the first few moments, Zulieme had become a child again. 
 She had forgotten her dignity forgotten the pride which had re 
 minded her, ever and anon throughout the journey, that she was a 
 prisoner a hostage for her husband. The sight of Grace, a tall, 
 fair English girl, with bright eye and tresses floating free ; the half- 
 tamed fawn ; the Indian boy, in his picturesque costume fringed 
 hunting-shirt, mockasons, leggins, baldric over the shoulders, fur 
 cap and white eagle-feather, and the long, black, straight hair, 
 which hung down over his neck this group suggested to Zu 
 lieme the idea of play and sport. It was, at least, a relief to 
 escape from the close carriage, and feel herself on the greensward, 
 and under embowering trees; and she cried out 
 
 " Oh ! let me get out, if you please." 
 
 Then Grace seconded the entreaty, saying 
 
 " Oh ! yes, do, dear brother ; let the little girl get out and come 
 with me. I m so glad you ve brought her !" 
 
 The cassique good-naturedly ordered the door to be opened. 
 But Zulieme had changed her mind. She had resumed her dig 
 nities had been reminded of them all by the one little sentence 
 spoken by Grace. 
 
 " Little girl !" quoth she to herself, looking proudly. " Ah ! if 
 they but knew !" 
 
ZULIEME S FIRST SIGHT OF THE BARONY. 511 
 
 " Will you alight, my dear young lady," said the cassique, mu 
 sing upon the sudden change in all her features. 
 
 "No, thank you, senor; I will go on." 
 
 " If you will alight," said he, " the carriage will remain, and 
 bring you up with my little sister, when you are prepared to 
 come. It is now but a short distance to the settlement, and I 
 would walk among my workmen. I prefer to walk." 
 
 " Do so, senor ; but, if you please, I will not now get out." 
 
 Then, finding it of no avail to press her, the cassique alighted 
 himself, and lifted Grace into the vehicle, and bade her be good 
 friends of the young lady, who, he added impressively, " is the 
 wife of Captain Calvert." 
 
 " Wife !" murmured Grace ; and with a curious eye she regard 
 ed Zulieme as she took her seat beside her. And thus, the two 
 together, the carriage drove away. Then, as they rode, Grace 
 gently took the hand of Zulieme, and pressed it, and said : 
 
 " I am so glad that my good brother has brought you here ; for 
 I am so lonesome ! We will be so happy together !" 
 
 But, for a part of the ride, Zulieme would not look her willing 
 ness to be happy, and Grace began to think her strangely churl 
 ish. But the little wife thawed after awhile ; and, before the car 
 riage reached the dwelling, she and Grace had become very tol 
 erable companions : albeit Zulieme had sundry returns of her 
 pride and dignity, especially when she thought of her nice little 
 secret ; and when she remembered that she was at the barony on 
 compulsion, and as the hostage for her husband ! 
 
512 THE CASSTQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 ?f 
 
 CHAPTER XL IX. 
 
 ISWATTEE. 
 
 " How terrible this duty to be done; 
 This trial to be passed ! Yet must I brave it. 
 
 THE cassique, meanwhile, having alighted from the carriage, 
 approached the Indian boy, where he stood busy with the fawn, 
 whispering in her ear, and practising those arts of the woodman 
 by which he subdues the wild animal to tameness. And, as he 
 drew nigh, the cassique became suddenly conscious of a great 
 change which had taken place in the appearance of the youth. 
 He perceived that he was grown thin, even to meagerness ; that 
 his eyes, though very bright, as ever, seemed to shine forth out of 
 hollows ; and that his cheeks were greatly sunken. Now, this 
 change had been growing for some time ; but the cassique had 
 been too much busied with his own cares to note those of his for 
 ester. He had been content to believe that the boy had been 
 well kept and tendered, and that he performed skilfully his sylvan 
 duties ; so that he held it sure that all went well with him. In 
 sooth, if he thought of him, at any time, it was only to wonder at 
 the marvellous skill which he displayed in taking, snaring, or 
 slaughtering, his game. Never once, while he was with the cas- 
 ique, was the venison wanting to his employer s table ; and some- 
 imes he brought home great fat turkeys, and ducks of such size 
 and flavor as might not be equalled in all Europe. He wist not, 
 indeed, that the young man occasionally got help from his breth 
 ren ; for his sire, old Cussoboe, ever and anon, through some run 
 ners of his people, helped him to a buck, or a great turkey, and 
 to ducks which he had himself shot with his arrows, along ths 
 
1SWATTEE. 613 
 
 great bays and estuaries which lie, in this country, everywhere 
 close beside the sea. 
 
 But, now that the eyes of the cassique were suddenly drawn 
 upon the boy, and he saw truly his condition how meagre he 
 was of frame, how sunken of eye and cheek, and what a deep sor 
 row seemed to rest upon his visage he began to fear lest he 
 had suffered some despite at the hands of his people. So he said 
 to him : 
 
 " Iswattee, my lad, what ails you ? You look not well. Are 
 you sick? Is there hurt or grievance which I may redress? 
 Tell me, my good boy ; and remember, I must be to you a father 
 in the absence of your own." 
 
 So he laid hands upon the boy, and gazed kindlily into his 
 face ; and the tones of his voice were sweet and soothing, even as 
 his words were kind. But the boy cast his eyes down to the 
 earth, and did not answer him ; only the cassique noted, as if a 
 little shuddering had suddenly gone through his body. And the 
 boy stooped to the fawn, and busied himself with the silver collar, 
 and the bell, which Grace Masterton had put about her neck. 
 Then the cassique could well conceive that something had gone 
 wrong with him ; and he more earnestly, but with even more ten 
 derness than before, exhorted him to say wherein he ailed. To 
 this the boy replied abruptly, in the manner of his people, but not, 
 as we should deem, with any purpose to be rude. 
 
 " What should ail Iswattee ? Iswattee says not, Iswattee is 
 hurt Iswattee is sick ! " 
 
 Then he stooped and whispered something in the ear of the 
 little fawn, and at the same moment he pulled her by the forefoot ; 
 whereupon even as he had devised by the action the little 
 beast sprang away from him, and coursed with all its speed over 
 the meadows. Then the boy as suddenly sprang away after her, 
 leaving the cassique unanswered and alone. 
 
 And the cassique mused upon the strangeness of the proceed 
 ing ; for well he surmised that the boy had so trained the doe to 
 flight, by a trick of whisper, even as the Arab trains his horse. 
 And he said to himself, musingly : 
 
 " It belongs to the race ! There is a nature which the great God 
 of the universe designs for each several place and people. The wild 
 for the wild ; else would it never be made tame ! But when, in 
 
 22* 
 
THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the great forests, the wild beasts shall all be subdued or slaugh 
 tered, will the wild man rise to higher uses? Hath his humanity 
 a free susceptibility for enlargement and other provinces ? Shall 
 he feel the growth, in his breast and brain, of higher purposes? 
 Will his thought grow, and provide for newer wants of his soul ? 
 If it may not be thus, then must he perish, even as the forests 
 perish ; he will not survive the one use for which all his instincts 
 and passions seem to be made ! It is, perhaps, his destiny ! He 
 hath a pioneer mission, to prepare the wild for the superior race ; 
 and, this duty done, he departs : and, even as one growth of the 
 forest, when hewn down, makes way for quite another growth of 
 trees, so will he give place to another people. Verily, the myste 
 ries of Providence are passing wonderful !" 
 
 And, so musing, our cassique took his way to the openings of 
 the barony, where his workmen were all busy in laying off the 
 grounds making great avenues, and converting the wild for 
 ests into goodly woods. Meanwhile, the Indian boy had sped 
 from sight, wild as the deer himself, seemingly in pursuit of the 
 fawn. But her he soon whistled to him, so soon as he had sped 
 out of call of the cassique ; and he carried her back to the barony 
 in safety; and housed her in the neat little house which had been 
 made for her ; and, having brought her green food, he closed the 
 door upon her, and departed stealing away from sight so that 
 no one knew how he went and he hid himself in the deep thick 
 ets where stood the hollow tree which kept the war-arrows from 
 which "he broke the successive days" daily. 
 
 From the hollow he drew forth the sheaf, the arrows of which 
 had become but few. He counted them, one by one, with a sad 
 eye and slow hand ; withdrew one of them and broke it, and again 
 he counted them. He had not done this before. He had scarcely 
 need to do so now ; for the arrows were now so few, that he might 
 easily see, at a glance, that his own term of service was about to 
 close, and that the first fearful trial of his young life was approach 
 ing fast. Not two weeks remained to him ere that event. And 
 that event ! It was the thought the dread of its coming which 
 had made him thin and wo-begone of aspect ; had withered, as it 
 would seem, his young life ; had taken the lightness away from 
 his heart, and placed there, instead of it, a leaden sorrow. And, 
 by the sorrows which he shall show us to-night, shall we learn 
 
ISWATTEE. 515 
 
 what were those which have been robbing him of the healthy 
 vigor of his limbs, and the cheery brightness of his eye ! 
 
 It has been shown us that he has been consecrated by his sire 
 to a great purpose of his tribe. For this hath he been assigned 
 to a menial service in the dwelling of one whom his people se 
 cretly regarded as a public enemy. He is fully conscious of the 
 duty before him. It contemplates a national revenge. It in 
 volves treachery, havoc, and murder ; and he is put in a position 
 to minister to the terrible object by his keen subtlety and cunning 
 stratagem. 
 
 But his nature revolts at the work before him. He is some 
 what differently constituted from his people. Though the son of 
 a prince himself a prince, reared and trained with reference to 
 this very performance his soul, of less masculine nature than 
 that of his people, shrinks as he contemplates the results of his 
 action. He does not fear death or strife. But his moods are 
 naturally gentle ; his fancies are lively ; his susceptibilities large ; 
 his imagination lofty: he would better make the orator or the 
 poet of his people, than their sanguinary warrior ! The red men 
 make their mistakes, even as the whites, in willing a pursuit for 
 their sons which is inconsistent with natural endow r ment. Set 
 aside, suffered to go free, and work out the problem for himself, 
 independently of convention, and Iswattee " the tree put to grow" 
 might become something of a philosopher something higher, 
 perhaps a seer, a poet, gifted with prophetic foresight! Arbi 
 trarily decreed to be a warrior, and to steep his hands in blood, 
 as a sort of baptism of his opening manhood, he shudders at the 
 destiny before him ; which, as yet, he sees not how to escape. 
 
 His ordeal, which we have already described, has shown us 
 that the spiritual influences which have wrought upon his imagi 
 nation were not in accordance with the will of his father. The 
 images which wooed him in his dreams were not savage, but gen 
 tle and loving. Instead of the raging tiger, the stealthy panther, 
 the stealing and subtle, serpent, the thundering cayman, either of 
 which would have gratified his sire, there came to him a white 
 bird, which sweetly stooped to his ear, and whispered him with 
 love ! And anon, when he was first brought to the white cas- 
 sique, whom he was to requite with treachery, he beheld a fair 
 white girl, whom his lips unwittingly called " An-ne-gar !" whom 
 
516 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 his instincts taught him was the very creature which had been 
 imaged to his dreaming senses as the bird whose totem he should 
 bear ! 
 
 And, strange to say, this damsel of the pale-races attached her 
 self only to him ! Poor Grace ! she had no alternative. She 
 had no playmates, no companions of her own age ; her mother 
 scarcely noticed her ; and her elder sister, dying by sad degrees, 
 hardly conscious half the time, had no thought of Grace, unless 
 when she stood actually beside her ! 
 
 And so Grace and the Indian boy went together in the forests, 
 until she grew almost as wild as he ; and he brought her the 
 young fawn ; and he taught her his sylvan arts how to snare 
 the game and trap the bird ; and, in return, she sang for him, and 
 gave him the only lessons which he had, by which to articulate in 
 the speech of the foreign people. 
 
 And daily, if he grew not wiser in this strange speech, his heart 
 grew softer, his moods more gentle ; and then he began to feel, 
 more and more, how terrible was the duty which had been set 
 him by his sire ! And nightly as he came, as now, to do his task 
 to break the arrow, and mark the day which was spent; as he 
 came to see how rapidly approaching was the period when he 
 should be required to open the doors of the dwelling to the mid 
 night murderer to steep his own knife and hatchet in the blood 
 of the people who belonged to An-ne-gar, his white bird : nay, 
 when the teirible picture rose before his imagination, of that fair 
 creature herself reft of those beautiful tresses ; her white skin dab 
 bled in blood ; her bright, laughing eyes quenched in death 
 then the wretched boy threw himself, in his agony, down upon 
 the brown heather ; and, though he broke the arrow, he wailed 
 and bemoaned the destiny to which Indian boy had never before 
 proved himself untrue ! 
 
 That there should be one, unknown, who should supply, for a 
 time, the broken arrows, and thus compel him to mistake the ap 
 pointed time, he, of course, knew not ; but these substituted arrows 
 covered but a week of time : and now, as he looked upon the 
 sheaf, he groaned in despair; for he discovered that, by his count, 
 but thirteen arrows remained of all the sheaf which his sire had 
 given him but thirteen days of respite and then the wild cry 
 at midnight ; the whoop of death ; the sharp arrow ; the griding 
 
ISWATTEE. 517 
 
 knife; the cleaving hatchet; the wholesale massacie of those 
 whose bread he ate, whose care he felt, whose love he desired 
 most; the murder of the very bird of whiteness and ineffable 
 beauty, which the Great Spirit had commissioned him to take to 
 his heart as its tutelary genius ! 
 
 But thirteen nights, and then all these crowding horrors ! How 
 much more terrible would have been his anguish, had he dreamed 
 that even this respite was not allowed him that he had not half 
 this time ; that his strategy had been baffled by superior cunning ; 
 that half of the arrows remaining in his serpent-quiver were false 
 substitutes for others which he had already broken ! 
 
 But, even with his imperfect knowledge, his misery could 
 scarcely have suffered increase. Having broken the one arrow, 
 and restored the sheaf to the hollow tree, he cast himself down 
 upon the earth, face prone in the dust, and moaned audibly. He 
 could moan the red man can weep, moan, and laugh, like the 
 men of another race, if lie be alone. But his self-esteem, which 
 is always nursed by solitude, will never suffer a witness of his 
 tears ; hardly of his laughter. He is not adamant, though he 
 hides from the sight of the white man whom his instincts de 
 scribe to him as a mocking superior his passionate emotions, 
 his agonies, his fears and tears. 
 
 And hot and scalding were the tears which gushed from the 
 young eyes of Iswattee, and deep and sad enough were the great 
 sobs that shook his bosom and burst from his parted lips as, 
 throwing himself upon the earth, with face buried in the dust, he 
 prayed to the Great Spirit, the Almighty and Eternal Father, 
 whom he so ignorantly knew, to find him some way of escape from- 
 the task set him from the sire of his people! prayed him to 
 open a path, at least, by which to save the little White Bird and 
 her people ! And, might we now translate the language of his 
 prayer, it would be seen that nothing more fervent and full of 
 earnest passion ever flowed from the lips of Christian priest or 
 sinner ! 
 
 But he did not limit himself to prayer. The poor savage, with 
 heart thus growing white, had still a perfect faith in the supersti 
 tions of his own people. His faith required penance, an ordeal, 
 as well as prayer ; and. with the hope to receive a saving and 
 teaching inspiration, he imposed upon himself a renewal of that 
 
518 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 exhausting novitiate from which he had only just emerged, when 
 first brought to our knowledge. He had gathered a supply of the 
 bitter roots of the forest, emetic and narcotic, which the Indian 
 pharmacy had already taught him how to prepare ; and there, night 
 ly, in the secrecy of the thicket, he built his fires, and in his little 
 pots of clay he boiled his nauseous decoctions. Nightly did he 
 drink of the liquors, black and crimson alternately, purging his 
 blood and stimulating his brain ; and swallowing daily only such 
 small portions of the simplest food as should sustain life. Then, 
 retiring into still deeper thickets, he threw himself down in the 
 solitude and darkness, to sleep and dream, and win from Heaven 
 the much-desired inspiration. Let us not mock at the simple 
 superstition, in consideration of his simpler and much-confiding 
 faith. Alas, for the poor boy ! his visions now brought him only 
 to a bewildering confusion of the senses. The images that visited 
 his dreaming fancies were mingled wildly, and taught him noth 
 ing. Ever the white bird was present, conspicuous over all, but 
 it was amid the storm of a conflict, in which his sire and the bird 
 and himself strove at once together. There were raging wolves ; 
 there were lurking serpents ; the great black bear sometimes 
 would trample on his bosom, and the stealthy panther scream be 
 side his ear; but the white bird would come, even then, between 
 him and his fate, and in the flutter of her perfect plumage his 
 aching spirit would be lulled to sleep. But, from all his visions 
 he won no counsel ; and the morning found him, at every dawn 
 ing, as doubtful of his future, as unsteady of his purpose, as when 
 he had surrendered himself to sleep the night before. No wonder 
 ^he cassique was confounded at the wo-stricken aspect of the boy ! 
 Alas ! fearful as was the trial before him, he was not the only 
 sufferer under the bloody sweat of the spirit, struggling with the 
 fleshly destiny. The cassique must go through a like ordeal, though 
 under the guidance of a superior nature. He, too, must appeal to 
 the Great Spirit, and through secret prayer, and in the patient en 
 durance of a wo that knows no remedy that can not save that 
 feels how certain is the doom that crushes the beloved one out of 
 life, and denies that any arm shall save ! He knows that Olive, 
 his wife, is doomed. He deceives himself in nothing. He knows 
 that, without knowledge or evil purpose, he himself hath doomed 
 her ; his very love, which would have saved and nourished, and 
 
ISWATTEE. 1)19 
 
 crowned her, as his queen of love, of beauty, of song, and of truth 
 and purity, hath been the bane of her life, and the blast which 
 hath mildewed her beauty. He hath built, and hoped, and prayed, 
 and loved, in vain ; and not merely in vain, but mischievously. 
 And now he feels no more the heart to build, or the hope to save, 
 or the taste for the beautiful. His occupation is at an end. The 
 very being for whose blessing he had decreed that the wilderness 
 should blossom as the rose, can see no more, can feel no more, of 
 the charm that dwelleth in sky, or wood, or tree, or flower. The 
 blossoms have perished from her cheeks, and a premature autumn 
 is blowing its blight across her heart. 
 
 Yet, though he sees and feels all this, and though his own heart 
 is full of its own agonies, he must come before her with a brow 
 serene, if sad. She sits in a cushioned chair in her chamber 
 when he comes, clad in white, her hands clasped upon her lap, 
 her face wan as the moon upon a wintry night, yet her eyes shi 
 ning with a supernatural brightness. Her lips are bloodless 
 whiter than her cheeks. Her long hair falls upon her shoulders, 
 escaping from beneath the white cap, and rests altogether lifeless, 
 that was once all glow and sparkling beauty. And thus she sits 
 for hours, until, in her exhaustion, she will say, " Mother ;" and 
 when the miserable mother comes to her, she will only point to 
 the couch, and whisper, " Sleep sleep ! I must sleep, mother." 
 
 But now, as the cassique returns, he conducts Zulieme to his 
 wife s chamber, and finds her sitting up as we have described. 
 He has met her mother in the hall, who has much wondered to 
 see him bring the stranger, and one so beautiful and young. He 
 is brief in his introduction of Zulieme ; and the mother is suddenly 
 haughty. 
 
 " I see not," she said, in a half whisper, " how we are to enter 
 tain a stranger now." 
 
 " You are not required to overcome this difficulty, Mrs. Master- 
 ton. I beg you not to attempt it. I will instruct Mrs. Pond 
 my housekeeper as to what is to be done. I have considered 
 the whole matter." 
 
 " But you will not trouble Olive, in her present state, with this 
 woman s presence," she replied, in still subdued tones, seeing that 
 the cassique was actually about to do this very thing. 
 
 " It will hardly trouble her ; it may soothe. This lady is a 
 
 I 
 
520 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 married woman, though very young, and she will be my guest foi 
 awhile ; and, while my guest, it is fitting that she should see my 
 wife. I can not think that it will hurt Olive ; it must rather in 
 terest her. She may arouse and divert her thoughts. 
 
 The Honorable Mrs. Masterton lifted har eyebrows, and her 
 hands slightly, as the cassique turned away from her to Zulieme ; 
 and finally left the hall hurriedly, and procacded with all haste to 
 Olive s chamber. Here she had no sooner entered, but the ma 
 licious fool-woman exclaimed 
 
 "What do you think? he has gone and brought home a 
 strange woman a strange woman and a young one, too and 
 you, my poor Olive, so feeble so " 
 
 u Oh, I pray you, hush, mother !" was the plaintive appeal of 
 Olive ; which might not have availed to stop the beldame s tongue, 
 but that the cassique was so quick in following her footsteps. He 
 gave her but a look as he entered, and Olive saw that look, if 
 nothing else. The mother left the room. The cassique ap 
 proached his wife tenderly, and with a strange, sad humility of 
 deportment, as if he felt a fear. The look of authority, which had 
 awed the mother, was changed to one of the meekest and most 
 submissive gentleness and timidity. 
 
 " Olive," he said, i( I have ventured to bring you a young lady- 
 companion for awhile. You will make her welcome. She is 
 young and artless." 
 
 A sweet smile passed over the lips of the dying woman so 
 sweet, so soliciting, so bland and blessing, that it won Zulieme in a 
 moment to her side, where she suddenly knelt down and kissed the 
 wan, thin hands of the sufferer. Her quick eye caught instantly 
 the fearful intelligence of death in that strangely-sweet aspect. 
 She saw that the lady was fast escaping from earth, and that her 
 spirit was already sublimed for heaven by its own perfect con 
 sciousness of the truth. She saw, too, that the heart of the suf 
 ferer was desolate : but that, in its desolation, it had grown to ten 
 derness ! And the lady was named " Olive." How that name 
 haunted our little Spanish wife ! but, in this case, it was not with 
 any fear. Surely, this could not be the " Olive" that Harry used 
 to love ! And yet, how strange that the cassique should so greatly 
 resemble Harry ! Zulieme was bewildered, but not forgetful. 
 
 Olive suffered her to keep possession of her thin, wan fingers, and 
 
 j 
 
ISWATTEB. 521 
 
 smiled upon her the gentle welcome that her lips did not speak ; 
 and with this welcome the wife of our rover was content. 
 
 Olive Berkeley had fully recovered her senses. She had 
 passed through a fearful paroxysm ; but it left her brain free. In 
 degree as her infirmities increased, her mind had become clearer. 
 She had no more visions of Harry Berkeley. Once assured that 
 he was living once assured of his actual presence it would 
 seem that all the mists that had clouded her mental vision had 
 passed away, and the evening promised a sweet, mild, gentle sun 
 set. The skies were growing brighter as the earth grew dim. 
 Life had nothing to bestow, and all the love of which she was now 
 capable was perfectly free. Her spirit was at one with that joy 
 of peace which reposes on assured hopes and the purest affections, 
 and harmonizes every doubt in faith. 
 
 Zulieme was soon at home at the barony of Kiawah. She was 
 often with Olive, and talked with her, and grew fond of serving 
 her. She played with Grace, and became a child as she played with 
 the child. But she shrank from the stately mother, whose smile 
 of mixed scorn and vexation usually drove her to the chamber of 
 Olive, or to the playground of Grace, with whom she frequently 
 found the Indian boy Iswattee. But she somehow disliked this 
 boy. He was solemn without cause. She could forgive the grav 
 ity of the dying Olive ; but such gravity as that of Iswattee she 
 held to be an impertinence. What right had such a boy to look 
 so sorrowfully grand ? Alas for the poor Indian ! she knew nol 
 where his torture lay ! 
 
 Grace suddenly discovered, only the day after Zulieme s arri 
 val, that something ailed Iswattee ; and she said to him, abruptly : 
 
 " Iswattee, ar n t you sick ? You look so ! You must have 
 physic ! You must get well. You must go to brother, and get 
 some of that physic he gives to me. It always makes me well. 
 But, boy ! how it will make you tie up your face, it s so horrid 
 nasty! What !" as the Indian shook his head "you won t 
 go? But I will myself. I ll tell brother; and he ll mix the 
 physic; and I ll bring it; and I ll make you drink it, you foolish 
 fellow, and laugh to see the face you ll make! But twill make 
 you well, Iswattee." 
 
 Having now temporarily disposed of the cassique s household, 
 let us look to our rover on the sea. 
 
622 THE CASS1QUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 
 
 " Tins be one of your circumventions, forsooth ! I warrant you it shall 
 end in a broil." Old Comedy. 
 
 THE " Happy-go-Lucky" was once more at sea, " walking the 
 waters like a thing of life." But she did not walk according to 
 the desires of her captain. She had head winds. He desired to 
 run down south, but the winds blew from that quarter ; and, be 
 fore he had left the port of Ashley an hour, they came on heavily 
 to blow. To keep her from being blown north, was all that he 
 could hope for ; and the labors of the day were all addressed to 
 this object. Incessantly was the little cruiser put about, our rover 
 keeping his eye steadfastly in the direction of Kiawah. 
 
 He was troubled. His mind was full of deep anxieties. To 
 be thwarted, even by a straw, when we have set our souls upon 
 aft object, is to chafe and madden ! 
 
 " We have but few days left us," said Calvert to his favorite 
 follower, Belcher, as he strode the quarter-deck. " These ac 
 cursed savages will be upon them at Kiawah ! These murderous 
 Spaniards will be upon them at Beaufort! If this gale last 
 this wind continue from this quarter where shall I be ? Where 
 I can give them no succor !" 
 
 " But," responded Belcher, " have you not had advices sent to 
 Beaufort?" 
 
 " Yes, if any faith can be put in the promise of Governor Quar 
 ry ! But he made quite too light of the danger, as it seemed to 
 me, and has probably done nothing. That a butterfly should be 
 in commission when a mountain is to be heaved up !" 
 
 " Oh ! no doubt he has done it, sir. He could hardly, if he 
 promised you, have forgotten or neglected it." 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 523 
 
 " I could hope so deem so ; for I took care to urge the matter 
 upon him in no moderate terms of entreaty. Yet all will depend 
 upon his promptness. He would need to send his despatch by 
 water to Lord Cardross. One periagua might fail. I should 
 have, sent three, in swift succession ; so that if one were swamped, 
 or two, there might be a third chance. But and it is not easy 
 to say that any would be in season ! The Spaniards once upon 
 the seas, would take the wind, not heeding any appointed days with 
 the savages ; and this wind, now dead ahead for us, would bring 
 them rapidly on their way. They might capture and destroy the 
 settlement at Beaufort, without giving heed to the rising of the 
 Indians, even though they had concerted with them for a simul 
 taneous invasion. In the conquest of Beaufort they would need 
 no help of the savages. It would be an achievement wholly of 
 their shipping ; and, even with the advices of Governor Quarry, 
 Lord Cardross could not put the place in a state of defence. His 
 only hope of safety would be in its abandonment, and the escape 
 of his people to Charleston by land. Then would come the next 
 danger from the savages. O winds ! winds ! winds ! why do ye 
 baffle me at this perilous moment ?" 
 
 And he strode the deck impatiently, heedless of the storm and 
 driving spray. Then, returning to where Belcher stood, now 
 joined by old Franks, he said : 
 
 " And there is that danger, the uprising of the red men them 
 selves. We have but a few days more to spare not six before 
 their outbreak ; and, unless we can get back in season, the scat 
 tered settlements will all be destroyed, and their people massacred. 
 There is my wilfully-blind bro " 
 
 Here he checked himself, and looked sternly on his two listen 
 ers. Then, suddenly 
 
 " Does not the wind lull ?" 
 
 " Blows harder than ever, your honor," was the reply of old 
 Franks." 
 
 " What was I saying ? Ah ! There is the settlement of Kia- 
 wah, the new barony of Sir Edward Berkeley what shall save 
 it, and the thoughtless inhabitants, unless we can seasonably ar 
 rive ?" 
 
 " But, sir, I myself carried your instructions to Gowdey, and 
 the letter to Sir Edward, counselling him to be watchful." 
 
524 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " Ay, but suppose Gowdey could not get to Kiawah ? These 
 red men are now scattered over the face of the country. He 
 might find it impossible to make his way." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, I d stake ten years of my life on old Gowdey as a 
 scout." 
 
 " Perhaps ! But if the cassique will not hear him ? If, as 
 has been hitherto the case, he holds these to be vain apprehen 
 sions, and still persists in his belief in the good faith of the red 
 men ?" 
 
 "Then, "said old Franks, something vexatiously "then he 
 ought to feel their arrows ! Ef a man s so full of his own conceit, 
 that he won t hear to reason and ixperience, I m clear he ought 
 to suffer for it." 
 
 " Silence, old man ! you know not what you say ! It is a vir 
 tuous error in the cassique of Kiawah. It is an error, no doubt ; 
 but it is the growth of a noble heart. Let us not be too free to 
 use God s judgments ! Better that men should suffer, from too 
 much faith in humanity, than that faith should die out wholly in 
 the heart of man i No, Franks ! let us not speak thus, though 
 we feel that our fellow is blind and weak, and persists in a foolish 
 error. We must save men from their errors, if we can ; not aban 
 don them to Fate, because they are foolish." 
 
 " But who s the cassique of Kiawah, that he should refuse to 
 listen when wiser men tell him of his danger? He s but a new 
 comer among us, and pretends to know more of these red-skins 
 than anybody besides. He ought to have the decency to listen to 
 those who know em better. Why, sir, to believe in an Injin is 
 like trustin to a shark. He ll saw through you with his toeth 
 while you re a-ticklin in his ears. Everybody who knows the 
 breed, knows that you ve got to shoot as soon as you can see 
 enough of the copper of the skin to drop a bead upon ; ef you 
 stops to ax first what they re a-wantin , it s equal to sayin , Come 
 and take my sculp ! " 
 
 The captain strode to and fro in considerable vexation ; then 
 returning, said to Belcher: 
 
 " Do you know anything of one Ligon ? Gowdey lias engaged 
 him as a scout for me, between his castle, Kiawah, and the bay 
 where we harbored." 
 
 " And he couldn t have got a better, sir ; he s first rate : Frank* 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 525 
 
 knows him well. T was he that showed me the way over the 
 country when I came to Charleston first from Beaufort." 
 
 " He s good as a guide, then ? Knows all the country along 
 the Stono and Ashley V 
 
 " Like a book, sir." 
 
 " He is to meet us at our landing, and to serve us as a guide to 
 Kiawah from that point. We have to pursue the shortest and 
 most secret route, by the Stono upward." 
 
 " T ain t always the shortest that s the safest," 
 
 " No, indeed ! But these are the very objects that he is to rec 
 oncile. Gowdey tells me he can do it." 
 
 " Ef anybody can, he can. I d jest as lief have Ligon as Gow 
 dey, and I d as soon have Gowdey as any scout livin ." 
 
 " Well, if the winds will but chop round to east or north, we 
 shall do !" 
 
 And all parties, as if by a common impulse, proceeded, sotto 
 voce, to apostrophize the winds, after a well-known sailor-fashion. 
 But, though the gale subsided, the winds remained ahead all day. 
 The air was thick with rain, and so it continued till nightfall. 
 The rain ceased after night, but a heavy mist followed, which 
 continued till ten o clock next day. The cruiser had probably 
 been driven, in spite of all seamanship, some thirty miles farther 
 north. Such were Calvert s calculations. 
 
 At ten, however, the wind had slightly shifted, so as to enable 
 the ship to shape her course a few points nearer. But the airs 
 grew light and baffling. Suddenly, the lookout from the mast 
 head sang out 
 
 Sail ho !" 
 
 " Where away ?" 
 
 " Due east, sir." 
 
 Here was a new subject of concern. Was this one of the king s 
 cruisers from New York, obeying the requisitions of the council 
 of the lords-proprietors, and sent specially for the overhauling of 
 our rover ? It seemed probable. 
 
 " Sail ho !" was again the cry from the top. 
 
 <; Ha ! two !" exclaimed Culvert. His hands now promised to 
 be full. His anxieties increased. But the skies thickened again, 
 and into fog. The breeze grew more and more languid. A vast 
 curtain seemed dropped over the whole ocean ; objects could not 
 
526 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAii. 
 
 be discerned beyond the ship s length. The unknown vessels 
 were lost as soon as seen. They were probably but five miles 
 distant when first discovered. 
 
 " It is easy enough, perhaps, to show them our heels," he said 
 to Belcher, " for there are few creatures so swift of wing as our 
 little cruiser ; but we must make our port ! We can only run 
 certain distance. Kiawah must bring us up. We run for Stono 
 At all events, beyond Beaufort we can not go !" 
 
 " We can surely run out of sight of any British cruiser in these 
 waters," replied Belcher. 
 
 " Perhaps ! yet the Southampton is a fast sailer, and so is the 
 Swallow she is even faster." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but the Swallow can t weigh metal against ours." 
 
 " What, Belcher ! are you, too, thinking of fighting a king* 
 ship ? No, no ! we must run from them elude them, in some 
 way, and make our harbor." 
 
 It was neither the Southampton nor the Swallow that they saw 
 but vessels of even better speed and heavier metal the "Thun 
 derbolt" and " Dragon ;" the one commanded by Sir Everard Hol 
 ly, a sprig of nobility a baronet of late creation a creature of 
 the court, who had never been baptized in salt water, and knew 
 nothing of his business. The Dragon had quite another sort of 
 captain ; an old sea-dog, who knew his business thoroughly, but 
 had one infirmity : he sacrificed to Bacchus in the strongest wa 
 ters. The lookout of the Dragon had caught a glimpse of the 
 Happy-go-Lucky, and she signalled to the Thunderbolt, upon which 
 Sir Everard had his bath prepared and made his toilet. Captain 
 Pogson at the same moment went below, and swallowed a potent 
 goblet of punch. These were so many oblations to Fortune! 
 Both made all the sail they could under the circumstances, duly 
 stimulated by the reward offered for the capture of the famous 
 cruiser, and by the persuasion of prize-money besides. But the 
 fog soon covered the sea, for them us for the Happy-go-Lucky. 
 
 The fog lifted again at nightfall , the winds grew more favora 
 ble ; the stars gradually began to steal out. The Happy-go-Lucky 
 was at once upon the wing. Calvert walked the deck. Suddenly 
 the watch reported 
 
 " Lights !" 
 
 " Where away ?" 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 527 
 
 " Right astern ! about four miles." 
 
 " Shall we extinguish our cabin-lights, sir ?" demanded Belcher 
 
 "No!" 
 
 Belcher and Franks were somewhat surprised, and both ven 
 tured to expostulate. 
 
 " We are but drawing them after us, sir. They both sail well 
 With our lights in, sir, we might lose them." 
 
 " We shall be more likely to do so with lights shown. But 
 they will take the course anyhow. We must mislead them by 
 our lights." 
 
 The king s ships had first caught the favoring breeze. They 
 had gained accordingly; but Calvert soon found for they con 
 tinued to show lights also that they did not gain upon him. 
 
 " We can run out of sight of them, if we please ; but I would 
 rather beguile them into the gulf. I do not care that they should 
 reach Charleston until our work is over." 
 
 " Shall we clap on more sail, your honor ?" 
 
 " Not a rag ! We have enough for our present object." 
 
 " The dem d impertinent !" quoth Sir Everard ; " he shows his 
 lights, too ! He is very complacently dem d civil, and we shall 
 knock his dead-lights in for him, I deliberately determine ! Do 
 with your dem d sails what you will" to the lieutenant "but 
 put on all you can ; only do n t let that beast of a tar-coat, Pogson, 
 throw his skirt in our faces. I do not affect the odor from his 
 ship." 
 
 " He will pass us, your honor. The Dragon, on this wind, has 
 the heels of the Thunderbolt." 
 
 " And can you do nothing is there no way, by dexterously 
 working this implement here" pointing to the helm " or by 
 putting on sails, to get ahead of this unclean vessel ? She has a 
 savor such as the ark of Noah must have had, with its very-much- 
 mixed population." 
 
 The marine of England, in the time of Charles II., had fallen 
 into just such hands, with few exceptions. The Raleighs and 
 Blakes were extinct. 
 
 " We will try, your honor." 
 
 " You will greatly try my honor if you do not ; ay, and my 
 honor s nostrils, too ! Faugh ! what a most horrid, onion-like 
 
 aavor i 
 
 i" 
 
 
528 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 But the Dragon would pass the Thunderbolt. Both vessels 
 carried all the sail they could. And so the chase was hotly urged 
 until long after midnight ; the pursuing and pursued keeping up 
 nearly the same relative space between them as at first. 
 
 Shitting the scene to the Happy-go-Lucky, we find Calvert 
 still on deck, as the stars began to pale in the growing mists of 
 the morning. He seemed to drowse, so silent were his musings. 
 But never mind was more vigilant ; never eye more widely awake. 
 At length he said, referring to a previous order 
 
 " Belcher, has the boat been made ready, with the lanterns ?" 
 
 " All ready, sir." 
 
 " We have run so many knots the hour, have we not?" 
 
 " My count, sir, exactly." 
 
 " In an hour more we shall be off the opening of the Ston 
 It is yet three hours to daylight. The mists are thickening. It 
 will be dark enough for our purpose. Call Lieutenant Eccles." 
 
 The first lieutenant drew nigh. 
 
 " Lieutenant Eccles, you will please see to the launch. You 
 have stepped her mast ? And the lanterns are all prepared ?" 
 
 (l All right, sir ; all ready !" 
 
 " Have your tackle all ready to set her afloat when I give the 
 signal." 
 
 Calvert mused and strode the deck ; Eccles lingered. Soon 
 Belcher came forward. 
 
 " The wind will just suit us ; quite enough northing for an off 
 shore course, and the sea is smooth enough. If we can send them 
 wide, after a firefly, but for one hour ay, half an hour it will 
 suffice." 
 
 This seemed spoken in soliloquy, softly ; and no sooner was it 
 spoken, than our rover walked forward, looked over the bows and 
 gunwale, watched the run of the ship, stepped back to the binnacle 
 and noted her bearings, examined his watch, and then some 
 three quarters of an hour having elapsed since he first questioned 
 about the launch he said to Eccles : 
 
 " Now, lieutenant, our hour has come. Your launch is ready, 
 your lanterns hung ? Lounch the boat, and light them ; and you, 
 Hazard, with your own hands, instantly put out the lights of the 
 ship." 
 
 The thing was done with that regularity and promptness which 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 529 
 
 marks all the evolutions in a well-managed ship-of-war, and the 
 report made to the captain. In a few moments after, the boat, 
 with lighted lanterns at the top of her mast, was borne away, 
 glimmering and gleaming along the edge of the sea, like a star 
 rapidly losing its fires in the dawn. At the same moment, Cal- 
 vert seized the helm of the ship from the hands of the seaman, 
 and, under the sudden direction of his arm, she shot aside oblique 
 ly into the darkness ; shifting her course, and laying her head 
 landward, though as yet no outline of the shore was visible to any 
 eye. 
 
 " Our little f Firefly, " quoth Calvert to the group beside him, 
 " must make report for us to our pursuers. The wind, as it bears 
 now, and the drift of the sea (the tide now running out) will keep 
 her clear of the land. If she swims but a single hour, she will 
 do her work she will serve our purpose. We must do the rest. 
 You, Lieutenant Eccles, and you, Will Hazard, get into the rig 
 ging, and keep sharp lookout on either hand. You, Belcher, get 
 into the chains, and Franks watch amidships. We shall need all 
 our eyes in this navigation ; for though mine are good, and I have 
 been a pilot more than once in these waters, the work is sufficient 
 ly perilous and nice." 
 
 " Now I see it all," quoth Belcher to Franks, as the two made 
 off together. " These king s ships, ef they be king s ships, will 
 follow the Firefly ; and we ll slip into the Stono, and not draw 
 any eyes after us." 
 
 "It s dark enough for it," replied Franks. "It s a sort of 
 fightin in the dark, with the inimy up the chimney." 
 
 " It is that ! But the captain s got the eyes of an owl ! He s 
 great for pilotage. The place he s once seen, or the person, he 
 knows for ever. I ll risk anything on his eyes." 
 
 "They re better than mine." 
 
 " To your posts, men !" cried the captain. 
 
 They were off in an instant. 
 
 " Keep the lead going, Lieutenant Eccles !" continued Calvert. 
 " Let them make prompt report." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir !" 
 
 " Do you see the lights of the king s ships how they re steer 
 ing ?" whispered Belcher to Franks, as he mounted the gunwale 
 at the prow, and was stepping into the chains. 
 
 23 
 
530 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 " They re steering, I reckon, as before/ 
 
 Yes, I think so. Ef they should attempt to follow us, I reck 
 on we shall see them beached before daylight. And the Fire 
 fly ? " 
 
 " The critter s standin out to sea, and keeps her course like a 
 sensible thing. Well, Belcher, good luck to him that sees the end 
 of it !" 
 
 " Psho ! old fellow, you re scary ! I m never scary when the 
 captain s at the helm." 
 
 " By the deep, twelve !" was the sonorous cry of the sailor who 
 heaved the lead. 
 
 "She shoals mighty fast, I m thinkin , said Franks. 
 
 " Oh ! the captain knows jest where to put about. He knows 
 all the soundin s. But go you along the sides now, as he told 
 you. He ll know, ef you are not jest where he wants you." 
 
 And Franks went toward the captain. 
 
 " By the deep, twelve I"" 1 said the lead. 
 
 " Shoalin fast, captain." 
 
 " Just as I would have it, Franks. I think I know where I am 
 now ! Hark, Franks ! are you on the lookout there ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir !" 
 
 " And do n t hear the breakers ?" 
 
 " Not yet, your honor. But we shall soon, I reckon." 
 
 " Take the wax from your ears, old man ! I hear them now." 
 
 " Breakers on the lee-low /" cried Belcher. 
 
 Ha! Well, as I told you." 
 
 "Breakers to windward!" 
 
 " Good ! We are in the Gut !" 
 
 " By the deep, nine!" cried the lead. 
 
 " Look out, Franks, for the shore-line !" 
 
 "I can t see twenty yards ahead, your honor." 
 
 " Are you sure you ve got eyes at all ! Why, man, do you not 
 see the white line of the breakers on the lee-bow, here, not a hun 
 dred yards off? And here to windward do you not hear them? 
 The dogs are barking on both sides of us." 
 
 " Alas ! master, I ve no more eyes nor ears for good service." 
 
 " You have hands, however, and head, old fellow. Here, take 
 the helm, and work it, at a word, while I look out." 
 
 And Calvert ran up the rigging, to the windward side 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 631 
 
 * By the deep, nine /" 
 
 " Starboard your lielm !" 
 
 " Starboard it is, sir !" 
 
 "Steady so!" 
 
 Here an unusual swelling of the sea ! 
 
 " The cross-currents from inshore, of Kiawah, Stono, and Ede- 
 lano !" muttered Calvert. " What water have you got there, 
 Jack ?" 
 
 " By the deep, seven /" 
 
 " Ha ! touch and go ! We can spare little now. Starboard 
 your helm !" 
 
 " Starboard it is, sir !" 
 
 " By the deep, nine /" 
 
 " We shall do ! There are two more points that ask for seeing 
 and hearing, and we shall have a floating and free berth. How 
 lucky that the shoaling is so gradual all along this coast! It 
 needs but eye and ear, and tolerably smooth water, and one may 
 feel his way in safety. Now !" 
 
 " Breakers to windward P* 
 
 "Breakers to leeward!" 
 
 "Breakers ahead!" 
 
 " Ah, ha ! Merry dogs these ! all about us, fellows ! But 
 here is the worst passage. This cursed mud-flat lies just at the 
 channel s mouth ! Now, eyes, ears, all senses, do your duty ! 
 Port, there hard a-port !" 
 
 " Port it is, sir !" 
 
 " Helm, there ! Port !" 
 
 "Port it is, sir!" 
 
 " The old sea-dog, without eyes or ears, is yet all bone and 
 muscle. Once more ! " 
 
 " By the deep, seven I" 
 
 "Hold on! What water T 
 
 " By the deep, seven f" 
 
 " What water ?" 
 
 "By the deep, six!" 
 
 " Starboard !" 
 
 " Starboard it is, sir !" 
 
 "What water ?" 
 
 " By the deep, seven /" 
 
532 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 "What water? 
 
 "By the deep, nine!" 
 
 "Good! All s right now. The worst shoal and bar are 
 passed. We have but one other ugly spot, and now the light 
 thickens. I can see the whole line of breakers. I can trace the 
 shore-line. I note the sand-hills, and the woods. Ah ! here we 
 are, at the Marsh. Starboard steady ! Port steady ! Star 
 board ! Keep your course ! All s right. Let her head as she 
 goes." 
 
 Calvert descended from the rigging, and relieved Franks at the 
 helm. 
 
 " You have been prompt, old man, as if you were but thirty- 
 five." 
 
 "And you ve had the eyes of old Satan, Captain Calvert, 1 
 must say it, gittin through these cussed sand-banks as you did ! 
 And, even now, I can t see a good fifty yards before me." 
 
 " Never mind, old fellow. The simple secret is this, that your 
 eyes and ears have given out a few years before your hands, your 
 head, or your heart. You have been as quick to answer with 
 the helm as I to speak. But let me have it now. We are on 
 our course, just splitting the last two shoals, and all s plain sail 
 ing. But it needs some eye now, if not ear." 
 
 The little cruiser was soon established triumphantly in her har 
 borage. There was no more difficulty, and day was about to 
 dawn. Yet, perhaps, no man but Calvert, of all that crew of 
 ninety men, good seamen all, could have carried them through 
 that difficult navigation, in that thick atmosphere. Many times 
 did oil Franks and Belcher draw long and anxious breaths, at 
 certain points in the passage, even though both of them felt the 
 most perfect confidence in the captain. They were now all re 
 lieved. The little cruiser was in a well-known bay, with plenty 
 of water, and every feeling of anxiety was at end. 
 
 " And we have two good days to spare !" said Calvert, exultingly. 
 " But for that lucky shifting of the wind, Jack Belcher, I do be 
 lieve I should have gone mad !" 
 
 The Happy-go- Lucky was now land-locked. No danger that 
 the king s cruisers would attempt to follow, even if they had noted 
 her course, through the sinuous channels which the familiar eye 
 and mind of Calvert had enabled him to penetrate. 
 
THK DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 533 
 
 The Thunderbolt arid Dragon, pressing all sail, pursued the 
 false light, and gained upon it. 
 
 " Dem the fellow s impudence !" quoth Sir Everard ; "he s not 
 afraid ! He absolutely entreats us to close quarters, and holds 
 the light for us. Now shall we have fighting to our hearts con 
 tent ! But for the unpleasant smell, and the smoke, which occa 
 sions the rheum to affect my orbs of vision, I verily believe I 
 should enjoy fighting. I like to hear the guns roar, and see the 
 beautiful flashes ! Hark ye, Lieutenant Smudge, is everything in 
 readiness ? Have you the gunpowder and the balls, and are all 
 your monkeys in hand ? We shall have rare work to do, for, wot 
 you not, this pirate is an embodied devil in a fight ! He hath 
 conquered the biggest of the Spanish dons ; and, though I give 
 no credit to the Spaniard as a fighting-animal, yet shall we be 
 wise to blow this pirate to the moon at the first broadside. See 
 that you are prepared to do this ! I will, meanwhile, regale my 
 self with a quaint scene in my Wycherley. But, advise me 
 when we are upon him." 
 
 On board the Dragon, Captain Pogson was more emphatic and 
 more brief: 
 
 " We gain upon her ! D n and blast the fellow ! he means 
 to give us work ! To show his lights to the last ! Clear away, 
 and get ready for action ! We are almost within long shot, 
 now." 
 
 And he hurried below, to regale himself with a rummer of 
 punch. 
 
 Meanwhile, the pursuers clapped on every sail that could draw, 
 encouraged by that wandering light which flickered before them ; 
 tossing, ever and anon, drunkenly on the billows, but still gleam 
 ing aloft ; and steadily going, as if some human will and conduct 
 were guiding at the helm. The boat, thus drifting, swept away 
 along the isles of Kiawah, and by Edings s, even while the cruiser 
 was quietly slipping into her harborage at Stono. The currents 
 and winds favored its course along-shore, and almost within 
 soundings, until suddenly the pursuers beheld the light extin* 
 guished. 
 
 " Ha !" cried Pogson of the Dragon, which vessel was ahead 
 of the Thunderbolt, " the chase has doused her glim. She begins 
 to feel less saucy ! A sharp lookout now, fellows, at fore and top, 
 
534 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 and stand ready at your guns, every man of you, who would have 
 a hand in the gutting of the pirate !" 
 
 But neither boat nor light did they again behold that night ; 
 but they kept on, with every sail spread that could draw, the 
 wind speeding them with increasing force, now entirely favorable, 
 until broad daylight, when they suddenly found themselves in the 
 midst of a Spanish fleet of brigantines and guarda costas, which 
 had just emerged from the mouth of Port Royal ; and, though 
 the two nations were at peace, saluted them with a warm welcome 
 of broadsides. 
 
 Then the Thunderbolt, spite of her rosewater captain, dis 
 charged her levin ; and the Dragon spat her fires, not the less 
 freely because of Captain Pogson s rummers of punch ; and, never 
 unwilling, the Spanish craft closed in upon the two English ves 
 sels, and poured in their volleys from every side. There were 
 no less than a dozen of these cruisers constituting the fleet, which 
 had just finished its work of destruction upon the little colony of 
 my Lord Cardross at Beaufort. The Thunderbolt had her half- 
 score of assailants, and the Dragon as many ; and they hovered 
 about the two English ships as so many wolves about the wounded 
 buffalo. Fortunately, a sufficient space between the consorts en 
 abled them to work their guns without injury to each other ; and 
 never did the British bulldog show himself more eager, more 
 fierce, or more formidable, dealing with such unequal force. For 
 tunately, too, though so numerous, the Spaniards were of smaller 
 craft, and carried less weighty metal ; but the inequality was still 
 too great, unless with some equivalent odds of fortune. Sir Eve 
 rard was a fop and a fool, but he had nevertheless British cour 
 age ; and, though his olfactories revolted at the smell of gunpow 
 der, his nerves never shrank from the sound of shot. Nor did the 
 frequent rummers of Pogson render him less willing for, or per 
 haps less able in, the conflict. To it they went like tigers, ran 
 ging fearfully on all sides, the Spaniards standing up to their guns 
 like genuine salamanders, as they had been wont to do ere the 
 days of the Armada. They were encouraged by their numbers ; 
 and this reconciled other inequalities, as between the weight of 
 ships and metal. Three fine new brigantines, just out of Havana, 
 and a score of guarda costas, all well manned and armed, were too 
 much for the English ships. But the honor of Britain was not 
 in thrir kor-pinc* . N -VT >vi= fi<7M mrwn r> r /V|onc r < 1 ^ or 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 535 
 
 desperate. Sails and rigging were torn to pieces, the ships hulled, 
 guarda costas sunk, brigantines compelled to draw off and refit; 
 but still the Thunderbolt and Dragon roared and raged, rampant, 
 fearfully dealing their bolts, and using their teeth rending, ra 
 ging, destroying, though themselves on the verge of destruction ! 
 
 This the Spaniards well knew. They were, indeed, great suf 
 ferers ; but the question was one of time. Their numbers were 
 such that, just in proportion to the prolongation of the conflict, 
 were their chances of success. The English must succumb from 
 exhaustion. The light craft of the Spaniards could come on, or 
 sheer off, at discretion. There were always a sufficient number 
 ready to renew the game, and supply the temporary withdrawal 
 of others when the battle grew too hot. 
 
 And thus, for six mortal hours, did the conflict go on. Sir 
 Everard, properly caparisoned, in full uniform, stood the fire in 
 the most conspicuous situation. The powdered puppy, spite of 
 his eau de luce, and the surly bulldog Pogson, spite of his eau de 
 vie, kept their posts, notwithstanding their wounds. Sir Everard 
 was compelled to lie upon the deck ; but he had a mattress brought 
 up for the purpose, and from this he gave his orders. Fortunate 
 ly, he had but one order to give : 
 
 " Fight on, my good fellows, and who knows but you will all 
 be made gentlemen in time !" Pogson was more emphatic : 
 
 " Give em h-11 ! the bloody Turks ! What ! shall these blast 
 ed Spaniards pull down an English flag ? Pitch the shot into 
 em, fellows ! Plenty of prize-money and grog !" 
 
 The second officer in each ship was a staunch seaman, knew 
 his business, and had the requisite back-bone. But the fate of 
 the English ships was certain : they were doomed ! They had 
 been terribly handled. They had lost a large proportion of their 
 men slain outright, and many more, including their captains, were 
 Jwrs de combat from their wounds. They had beaten off and dam 
 aged several of the Spaniards. One brigantine had already struck ; 
 but was retaken, and drawn out of the melee, by the guarda cos 
 tas. They had slain of their enemies five to one. One stout 
 schooner or caravel had been sunk gone down in an instant ; 
 but, spite of all, the result was certain. The English vessels were 
 almost unmanageable. The sailors were nearly exhausted. The 
 work had been too heavy even for British bulldogs ; the inequal 
 
536 THE, CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ity too great ; and they now but feebly responded to the enemy s 
 fire. He was closing about them ; but, like true bulldogs, there 
 was no thought of surrender. They might be shot to pieces, but 
 were not prepared to haul down the British lion. 
 
 At that moment they had succor. A new champion came 
 into the field almost unobserved. The Happy-go-Lucky, with 
 the English standard flying fore and aft, darted in between the 
 Spaniards and their prey ! Her approach, such was the blind 
 fury of the combatants, had been unnoted, almost to the very 
 moment when she delivered her fire both broadsides ; and that 
 one lire, of itself, almost decided the conflict, so exhausted were 
 both the parties. But how came our cruiser here ? Let us look 
 back six hours. 
 
 Scarcely had she made her harborage in Stono bay, when the 
 watch cried out 
 
 "Boat ahoy!" 
 
 One boat, and then another, and another three, four all 
 full of wretched fugitives from the Scotch colony of Beaufort. 
 
 The Spaniards had sacked the place, and destroyed or dis 
 persed the colonists. Some had got safely from the island to the 
 main ; some were, no doubt, sheltered in the swamps and thickets ; 
 and others had fled, like these, with oars and sails, taking the in 
 land passage for Charleston. 
 
 By the time this news was digested, Harry Calvert was in a 
 stern passion, and it was broad daylight. The sails of the Happy- 
 go-Lu^ky, just furled, were once more spread to the wind. For 
 tunately, the wind was sufficiently favorable ; and, by noon, as 
 we have seen, the little cruiser had reached the scene of conflict, 
 and, as we know, not a moment too soon. 
 
 All hands had been sent to uiiarters without beat of drum ; the 
 guns shotted and run out ; everything made ready : and, as she 
 darted between the Spaniards and the two exhausted bulldog Eng 
 lishmen, who were the only parties that did not know they were 
 beaten, the effect was magical. Ranging alongside two of the largest 
 of the brigantines, she delivered her powerful broadside from her 
 big-mouthed brass pieces the Long Tom thundering over all 
 and through all, with terrific effect! Then, forging ahead, she 
 tacked in a twink, and poured in a second broadside from the other 
 battery, before the Spaniards could bring a gun to bear. Down 
 
THE DOINGS WITH THE DONS. 537 
 
 went royal, top, and mainmast; then crashed the timbers; then 
 rose up, in awful clamors, the cries of mangled men, while the 
 joyous shouts of the Dragon and Thunderbolt shook the welkin 
 
 The two ships, thus battered, lay almost as helpless as their 
 British enemies. The third brigantine sheered off, clapped on all 
 sail, and strove by agility to escape vengeance. But the saucy 
 cruiser was upon her next, and fastened to her as closely as the 
 remora to the whale. A sharp and sanguinary action followed. 
 The Spaniard showed good blood, but she had already been parllj 
 crippled by the Dragon, and she worked heavily. In twenty 
 minutes a cloud mantled her; then came a hiss; then a roar; and 
 the skies were darkened, and the deeps shaken to their very hol 
 lows, by the explosion ! She was blown to atoms ; and inconti 
 nently all the smaller craft, the guarda costas and caravels, were 
 in full flight, gliding off for the shores and shallow water. 
 
 Calvert ranged once more beside the two half-disabled consorts 
 of the perished brigantine, prepared to renew the punishment ; but 
 their flags came down at his approach ! Drawing nigh the Eng 
 lish ships, he demanded, through his trumpet, if they had men 
 enough to man the prizes, which were now drifting beside the 
 conqueror. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! give chase give chase ! was the answer ; while 
 both Thunderbolt and Dragon sent their boats to secure the prizes. 
 Calvert hauled off to a decent distance, and waited just long 
 enough to see that they had full possession, when ^le cried again, 
 through his trumpet 
 
 " Do you want any help ?" 
 
 " No ! thank you ! no ! But what are you ?" 
 
 " The Happy-go-Lucky privateer, of England, Captain Harry 
 Calvert !" 
 
 "The h-11 you are !" roared Pogson of the Dragon. 
 
 " Ah ! very curious very mysterious by my faith !" cried 
 Sir Everard Holly. 
 
 And both captains began to order their men to the guns, as 
 about ID commence a new action. 
 
 But the Happy-go-Lucky was again on the wing, in seeming 
 pursuit of the fugitive vessels of the Spaniards. But Calvert had 
 no real purpose of pursuit, and followed not far. He simply sought 
 to fetch a sufficient compass about the English ships to lose 
 
 23* 
 
538 THE CASSIQUE OF KTA.WAH. 
 
 them briefly so that his own course should not be conjectured. 
 He knew that the work of securing the prizes, and refitting, was 
 one to consume some time ; and naturally enough concluded that, 
 this done, the consorts would immediately proceed however un 
 generous the duty in pursuit of himself ! He ran out to sea, 
 accordingly, till fairly out of sight, and on the edge of the gulf; 
 then put about, and shaped his course, as fast as he might, for his 
 secret harborage in the Stono. 
 
THE NIGHT-MARCH. 539 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE NIGHT-MARCH. 
 
 " They pass from sight, but whither ? Let the stars, 
 That watch the march in silence, make report." 
 
 The Seminole. 
 
 CALVERT returned in season, as he believed, to his anchorage 
 in the Stono. The vessel was made fast to the shore. It was 
 night, bright starlight. Our rover lost not a moment in making 
 all his preparations for a night-march. He called his lieutenants, 
 Eccles and Hazard, into his cabin. Thither also, at his bidding, 
 came Belcher and Franks. The door of the cabin closed, and 
 all parties seated, Calvert said : 
 
 " Gentlemen, you are probably all aware of the task that is be 
 fore us. I have every reason to be assured of a rising of the red 
 men. I am satisfied almost of the very night which they have 
 agreed upon. I have made my arrangements accordingly, and at 
 two points at least I shall be prepared to encounter them. On 
 this business I shall speed myself. I shall take with me some 
 fifty of the crew. I shall leave thirty -five with the ship forty 
 all told. These will be quite enough for her working, and de 
 fence from any foe whom you will be likely to encounter in these 
 waters. When I depart, you will haul off from the shore, and 
 put yourself in cover from the sea, between the islets. There 
 you will escape notice from ships of size passing along the coast, 
 while you will be safe from all danger from the savages, unless 
 they venture, as is hardly likely, to attack you in their canoes. 
 Not only will they not dare this, while you are in deep water ; 
 but, as I have reason to think, there will be none but their women 
 left along the shores. The warriors will be busy enough with 
 the settlements. But this must not make you neglectful. You 
 
540 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 will need to watch just as closely as if you had a present foe 
 threatening you from every quarter. We know not, indeed, but 
 that the Spaniards have left a large force in periagtuu, after the 
 destruction of the Cardross colony, to penetrate the bays and in 
 lets, and co-operate with the savages even to Charleston. In that 
 event, you will be directly in their route. With thirty-five good 
 men, and in deep water, you will be quite equal to all their peri- 
 aguas. I know that you have the strength and courage. It is 
 for you to show that you have the vigilance and intelligence also. 
 You are young men both, and the whole future reputation, honor, 
 and profit, of your lives, may depend upon the independent com 
 mand which, for these three or four nights following, I shall trust 
 to your hands. I hope to be absent no longer. We shall run up 4 
 to-night, as far as the Wappoo entrance, after I have taken on 
 board a guide who is to meet me here within the hour. Thence 
 when I have landed, you will return to this bay, and take you) 
 position as I have counselled. My signal, when I return, shall 
 be three muskets ; and, if at night, three rockets also. The men 
 whom I leave with you shall be all true men. I shall take with 
 me all (as far as we know them) of those whom Fowler had se 
 duced, in the hope that they will feel the need to do good service, 
 to wipe out old scores of ill conduct. 
 
 " And now, gentlemen, there is one thing further. The expe 
 dition upon which I go will necessarily be one of peril. It may 
 be that I shall never return. In regard to my own fate, I have 
 contemplated all the results and necessities. Let us now consider 
 yours. I need not tell you that our present commission, as a pri< 
 vateer, has been revoked by the king ; nay, more : under the ma 
 lignant influence of Spain, and his own weakness, he has made 
 that pursuit a crime which he had once authorized as a duty. It 
 behooves me, therefore, if possible, to place you in such a condi 
 tion as to enable you to return with honor to the service of Eng 
 land, and to escape all evil consequences from the king s late proc 
 lamation. Take these letters. They are addressed one to Sir 
 William Berkeley, my uncle ; one to Sir John Colleton, who was 
 my father s friend ; and the third to Sir Edward Berkeley, the 
 cassique of Kiawah, in this province, who is my brother." 
 
 The young officers both started with surprise. He proceeded, 
 without heeding their looks of inquiry : 
 
THE NIGHT-MARCH. 541 
 
 " These facts, hitherto, were only known to my faithful friend 
 and servant, Belcher. I do not wish them to be made known 
 now to any but yourselves, nor until I shall have failed to return. 
 Should this happen, you will communicate immediately to Sir Ed 
 ward Berkeley, if he should be living ; for this adventure, which 
 involves my danger, will in like manner involve his. Should he 
 perish, then run over to England, without fail, and rely upon these 
 documents to plead for your safety, and secure your future em 
 ployment under the crown. You will carry with you a sufficient 
 argument besides. You will, of your own free minds, make a 
 gift of a noble ship, and of a brave crew, and good officers, to the 
 royal marine. I hold these documents which contain a full nar 
 rative of our adventures, and a complete statement of our case 
 to be ample for your security, though they might not be for mine. 
 I can do no more. The rest is with you, and in the hands of God ! 
 And now, gentlemen, see to the ship as if she were the apple of 
 your eye : I must proceed at once in my own preparations. Bel 
 cher will call off, by name, all the marines that are to go with me. 
 Let ten of them carry muskets, all of them cutlasses and pistols, 
 and a fe\v tomahawks." 
 
 He dismissed them with an affectionate embrace. Will Hazard, 
 with tears in his eyes, entreated to accompany him ; but Calvert 
 was firm in his refusal. 
 
 " No, my good boy, you are better here. Eccles may need all 
 the help you can give him ; and I feel that I can trust your vigi 
 lance, no less than your skill and honor." 
 
 When they were gone, he had a long conference with Belchei 
 and Franks, in respect to Zulieme and other subjects of interest. 
 Neither of them knew that Zulieme had been withdrawn from the 
 city, and been confided to the custody of the cassique. So far as 
 she was concerned, Calvert felt himself secure. The only ques 
 tion was, how she should be got away from Charleston ; and it 
 was arranged that Franks, who was to be left with the ship, 
 should contrive it, by a midnight expedition, in a boat through 
 Wappoo. She was then assuming that Calvert was no more 
 to be carried home to the hacienda of her father, on the isthmus. 
 Briefly, every arrangement was made for each necessity and ob 
 ject which human forethought could conceive. Old Franks, by- 
 the-way, did express the suspicion that Zulieme might be impris- 
 
542 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 oned for her husband, if suspected ; and that the cunning of Syl 
 vester might lead him even to this. But Calvert dismu ^ed the 
 suggestion with a 
 
 "Pshaw! What! the council of the lords-propriety/ s seize 
 upon a woman, and on such pretext ? Impossible !" 
 
 And no more was said. Calvert at once went on 7/iJi his 
 preparations. He clad himself in the hunting-shirt ?//! leggins 
 of the backwoods hunter, with cutlass, pistols, and tomahawk. 
 Belcher was likewise habited. Similar suits of b?m homespun 
 were provided for all the party, the better for concealment in the 
 woods. Nothing was allowed to be worn which could attract by 
 glare or glitter nothing white, nothing shining. The men were 
 all ready, and even eager. They always relished a eruise on shore, 
 even though a battle stood aw r aiting them in the h .ghway. 
 
 In less than an hour, there were certain hoots of the owl, and 
 certain sounds as from the gong of a night-hawk, that signalled 
 them from the shore. Then did Calvert know that Ligon had 
 reached in safety the place of appointment. So it was : the guide 
 awaited him. He was taken on board, and the little cruiser vun 
 up the Stono to its junction with the Wappoo. Here the party 
 landed, and the cruiser put about after an hour, the tide then be 
 ing at its turning. But Calvert and his company were gone from 
 sight before the vessel left the place. They were soon buried in 
 the thick darkness of the night and forest. But Ligon was such 
 a guide as few could equal in the country, and went forward with 
 ease and confidence. 
 
 He brought little news, but this was interesting. The Indians 
 were about in small parties, all tending to one or more centres of 
 gathering. One had attempted entrance at Gowdey s castle by 
 artifice, but the old sailor was too much for them. He found out 
 that they were eighteen or twenty in number ; but they made no 
 absolutely hostile demonstration unwilling, perhaps, by any pre 
 mature showing, to put their victims on their guard. But that 
 they would ultimately attempt the castle, and all other exposed 
 settlements, there was no doubt. Such was Gowdey s own opin 
 ion ; but the old sailor-hunter was, as he deemed, well prepared 
 for them. Of what was doing in the town, Ligon knew nothing. 
 He had heard that there was much military stir, and that Flor 
 ence O Sullivan was preparing to build a small castle on the isl. 
 
THK NIGHT-MARCH. 543 
 
 and, at the eni ranee of the harbor, which was to carry heavy can 
 non against shipping. This was to be held by O Sullivan himself, 
 who was a doughty man of arms, a Celt of characteristic courage, 
 nowise bashful, and by no means wanting in skill and cunning 
 for deeds of war. Beyond this news, Calvert got little from his 
 guide. 
 
 But we must not linger. The night-march sped. Ligon, the 
 guide, spite of the darkness, went forward with sufficient boldness ; 
 the whole party moving silently, and in the well-known order 
 called the " Indian file," a mode of progress natural to the forester, 
 where the path is at once single and narrow. It is, indeed, be 
 cause of this narrowness of the beaten road in the thickets, that 
 the red men set their feet down in a right line with the body, the 
 toes rather turning in than out ; and not because of any peculiar 
 formation of foot or ancle. Dark, indeed, and dense was the forest 
 through which our party had to march. It lay in the original con 
 dition of Nature ; at least of a growth which had been unbroken 
 for five hundred years. Great oaks, each spanning its half-acre ; 
 gigantic pines, that seemed to rush up into the very heavens ; 
 magnolias, quite as gigantic, and more beautiful from their depth 
 of green, and the rich varnish of their leaves, now covered with 
 their great snow-white flowers ; and a vast variety, besides, of 
 other trees, each the noblest of its kind, all now thickly spread 
 with the green garniture of spring advancing to summer; and 
 woven together, as by veins and arteries, with enormous vines, 
 that wound about their boughs, and bound them as in loving em 
 brace of leaves and blossoms. The atmosphere was thick with 
 the scent from shrubs and flowers, " too numerous and too humble 
 to have names." 
 
 It required no ordinary skill to pilot our party through such a 
 wilderness. But Ligon had learned to thread his way through 
 this and other like regions, in the darkness as in daylight ; so that 
 he had won the sobriquet, among the Indians themselves, of 
 " The Horned Owl." He was an old hunter and scout, though 
 not yet an old man. He was silent, and cold, and stern, like the 
 red men ; had fought them in various forests, and entertained for 
 them a mortal hatred, which was due to a history of most bloody 
 massacre, in which his younger brother, a mere boy, had perished 
 and lost his scalp. Many and as bloody revenges, had Ligon 
 
544 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 taken for this massacre ; and now he never forewent the opportu 
 nity to deal sharp and sudden judgment upon the red-skins. But 
 of all this history Calvert knew nothing ; and perhaps Gowdey, who 
 had sent him to Calvert, was just as ignorant. All that he knew 
 was, that Ligon was a scout of the greatest excellence and skill ; 
 and this, in Gowdey s judgment, was being a person of most ad 
 mirable virtues. 
 
 Leading the way, with Calvert following close, and the whole 
 company keeping together, though in a long, single line, Ligon 
 made a rapid progress through the wood, as he well might, turn 
 ing neither to one side nor the other. But, at length, as the 
 night advanced, he beheld a great light, as of a fire shining 
 through the thickets on the right ; and this was at a point nearly 
 the same distance from Gowdey s castle as from the barony of 
 Kiawah, and lying somewhat below them, and near the course 
 which the party had to pursue. The guide stopped them where 
 they stood. 
 
 " Now," said Ligon, " you must stop here, captain, while I go 
 and reconn itre. You must keep the men still." 
 
 This was the custom ; and the party of Calvert shrouded them 
 selves in the woods, well hidden, and mute as mice, while Ligon 
 went forward. He was gone, perhaps, the most of an hour. 
 When he came back, he said : 
 
 " Now, captain, we have a good chance at these bloody red 
 skins ! There s some thirty of the cussed savages ; and they Ve 
 been drinkin and dancin , as is the way with em, when they git 
 a chance at the liquor, and are in high hope of somethin better. 
 They are camped on the side of a thick bay, full of water ; and 
 they are, by this time, pretty well rum-fuddled. We Ve only got 
 to fetch a compass round the bay I ll show the way how and 
 we kin have em in a net, and not a fellow go off without losin a 
 sculp." 
 
 " Have they any prisoners among em ?" asked the captain. 
 
 " Not as I see," was the answer. 
 
 " Then we will let em alone. We have too much at stake now 
 to risk anything." 
 
 Ligon was discomfited by this reply. Surprise of an enemy 
 was, to him, an always-pleasant performance. He walked about 
 a little in a sort of reverie ; but anon he spoke :-^- 
 
THE NUiHT MARCH. 545 
 
 " Let me go take another and closer look at em, captain. Ef 
 ihey have prisoners, I did n t see em ; but I did n t look for em. 
 It may be they have some prisoners in the thick of the camp. 
 I 11 take a sharper look, ef you say so." 
 
 " Go !" said Calvert. " If they have prisoners, we must rescue 
 them at all hazards. But bestir yourself, and waste no more time 
 than is necessary." 
 
 Ligon set forth again without delay, and was soon out of sight. 
 He was absent this time quite an hour. He had seen and done 
 something, during this interval, of which he made no report to 
 Calvert. But there were no prisoners. Ligon had approached 
 so nigh, that he could see the whole camp, and was able to hear 
 the cries of the warriors, but not to distinguish their words. 
 There were no women among them. But they were very merry, 
 nevertheless ; full of strong waters and sanguinary appetites. The 
 rum had been asserting itself with no little potency ; and, as Ligon 
 had suggested, it would have been easy to have surprised and de 
 stroyed the whole party, which had no reason to apprehend any 
 hostile force near them, and was accordingly careless of any 
 watch. There was merry laughter and jest among them, uncouth 
 dances, and wild song. Some had stretched themselves out for 
 sleep, the Jamaica having had its full effect. These were the 
 older men. The young were still drinking, and gaming with 
 acorns, a sort of game carried on by guessing, and called in their 
 tongue " Kerakec-lakee-kee" "The Cheater," or "The game that 
 cheats." On this game they were betting fox and deer skins. One 
 young fellow, at length, jumped up from the ground, and flung a 
 skin, which he had lost, to another opposite. It was his last, yet 
 he gave it up good-humoredly. Then stretching himself, with 
 arms aloft, he began to sing the famous " Crow-song of the Yem- 
 assee, as he walked off from the crowd, approaching the very spot 
 where Ligon was crouching in watch, and singing as he went: 
 
 " Ackelcpatee madee, 
 
 Indewanta chaoboo : 
 Opamola indola, 
 
 Kittee hana sapawak 
 Caw-chec-chow chow ! chow ! chow ! 
 
 Caw caw caw ! chow ! chow ! chow 1" 
 
 Thus singing, the young warrior passed into the thicket, quite out 
 
546 THE CASSIQUE OF K1AWAH. 
 
 of sight of his companions, who still kept on their play. You 
 could hear their voices, dealing in execrations, or exultation 
 and laughter, as the parties severally won and lost. He drew 
 nigh to Ligon. The scout quickly detached his couteau de chasse 
 from his girdle, a heavy and sharp instrument, and stood up close 
 beside a great oak at the edge of an old path. Here he waited, 
 while the red man strode on, still singing his catches and bits of 
 song. Ligon suffered him to pass, then made a single evolution 
 of his arm ; and the young warrior, with a solitary gasp, fell for 
 ward on his face. He sang no more ! There was a sound, as of 
 a heavy body falling upon the dried leaves, that made the players 
 in the camp lift their ears, look up, and listen. They spoke to 
 one another ; but soon resumed their game, and finally, one b 
 one, stretched themselves out for sleep. Ligon returned to Cal 
 vert as quietly as when he had gone forth. He reported the red 
 men to be sleeping, and with no captives. He had nothing more 
 to communicate. 
 
 When the savages awoke next morning, one of their number 
 was missing. This was the young warrior who had gone forth 
 into the thickets from the camp, singing the song of the crow. 
 They wondered a little at his absence. He should not be absent 
 at such a time, as he was one of their " braves ;" and, after a brief 
 search, they found him, lying along the " path," about eighty 
 paces from the camp. He was quite dead, and his scalp gone 
 so dexterously taken off, that it might have been the work of an 
 Indian. He had been slain by a broad knife, with a single, well- 
 directed thrust, right through the heart. The murderer was 
 never known. Ligon kept his own counsel. He had no passion 
 for fame, but was making privately a collection of scalps. 
 
 The march proceeded, without further incident. But day 
 dawned, and the party was still some distance from the barony. 
 Calvert led his men into a close swamp-cover, where, having first 
 set watches all about the encampment, they proceeded to take 
 very necessary rest, in a dense wilderness, quite impenetrable t 
 any passing espionage. Here they slept for several hours, and 
 ate with good appetite at awakening. It was not till night that 
 the progress was resumed ; but, long before midnight, the party 
 had reached the barony of Kiawah. 
 
 Having covered his men temporarily in the woods, Calvert, nc- 
 
THE NIGHT-MARCH. 547 
 
 compani ?d only by Belcher and Ligon, all well armed, approached 
 the open grounds. The place lay fair in the bright starlight, and 
 silent as the grave. There were no sentinels. Not even a watch 
 dog bayed. A light faintly shone through one of the curtained 
 windows of the dwelling; but there was no sign of anything stir 
 ring. All was calm and peaceful, as if Massacre were not gliding, 
 by hourly approaches, with the step and cunning of the tiger, to 
 the unconscious household. Calvert tried the fastenings of the 
 house. The bolts were shot, it is true ; but they were slight. 
 From the main dwelling he proceeded to one about a hundred 
 yards distant. This was a " block," windowless, and with but a 
 single door. The fabric was small and square, but lofty. 
 
 " This," said he, " is the armory and magazine. To make it 
 securely accessible in the event of danger, there should have been 
 a covered way to it, of pickets, from the dwelling. The pickets 
 have been begun, but are unfinished ; they are useless. An ene 
 my could cover the space between, and cut off all connection with 
 the house. You have brought the key, Belcher ?" 
 
 Belcher produced it a skeleton or master key, devised cun 
 ningly for the purpose of opening any lock. Calvert was as well 
 prepared to be a housebreaker as a pirate. Belcher applied the 
 key ; and the lock, which was large enough, was not intricate : it% 
 wards readily yielded. A ship s lamp, which Belcher carried 
 with him, enabled them to see some fifty stands of arms, good 
 English muskets, a few cutlasses, a score or two of pistols, and as 
 many small barrels of gunpowder. There were bullets, also, 
 ready cast. 
 
 " A pretty good armory," said Calvert. " We must take pos 
 session of it. Go, Ligon, and bring the ten men whom I set aside 
 with Craig. You see that the walls are pierced for musketry on 
 all sides. Ten men can keep the house, unless fire shall be used 
 upon the roof. This is the point of most importance." 
 
 Ligon brought up the men, and they were posted ; food was 
 supplied them, and a means of egress ; but they were bade to be 
 close, and keep unseen. 
 
 " Now," continued Calvort, " we must see to the laborers. They 
 occupy a building on the other side, some two hundred yards off. 
 We must put them in condition to make a defence. In all prob 
 ability, they have taken no precaution, and sleep with open doors ; 
 
548 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 but take the key along, Belcher : we must put them in a state of 
 preparation." 
 
 Sure enough, as Calvert conjectured, some twenty workmen 
 slept in a building, remote from the mansion as the arsenal, and 
 with open doors. But their house was a strong block, pierced for 
 musketry also, where a good defence might be made. Calvert 
 suddenly appeared among the laborers, rousing them from sleep. 
 
 "Who is the chief man among you?" he demanded, as they 
 started from their beds. There were five, or more, sleeping in 
 the same chamber. The house consisted of four apartments. 
 Never were people more surprised. Had the red men been the 
 visiters, not one of them would have saved his scalp ; and Cal 
 vert could not but meditate seriously upon that amiable insanity 
 of his brother, which, because of his humane theory about the 
 Indians, had exposed all these people to be butchered in their 
 sleep. 
 
 A sturdy English laborer came forward strong, well built, 
 and no doubt courageous who proclaimed himself the foreman 
 of the people. His name was Grandison, possibly a descendant 
 of Sir Charles : such are the reverses of fortune. 
 
 Calvert made the danger apparent to him in few words ; made 
 jpim get his people dressed, and, conducting them to the block 
 house, supplied them with the necessary weapons. 
 
 " Everything must be kept secret," said he. " We are to be 
 prepared simply for whatever happens ; all your people every 
 quarter of your house. It is pierced, I see, for musketry ; and 
 you will assign each man his weapon. You have a certain num 
 ber to each chamber?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ten to two ; and six in each of the others." 
 
 " But one half must go to work to-morrow ; and they must 
 carry pistols, well concealed. The other half must be on the 
 watch, to give their succor at a moment s warning. The red men 
 may attack to-night or to-morrow. The dawn is a favorite time 
 with them. Or they may attack at " nooning," when nobody is 
 prepared ; or they may defer the assault till night. I am sure 
 that they will be on you some time within the next thirty-six hours. 
 See that you follow my directions ! I am Captain Harry Berke 
 ley, the brother of your master, the cassique." 
 
 The workmen touched their heads. Calvert continued : 
 
THE NIGHT-MARCH. 519 
 
 " I shall be at hand to succor you. I have fifty men within 
 hearing, all well armed. So, fear nothing, but do your duty, like 
 good Britons, according to your best manhood; and one thing 
 should you see the red men running, under your fire or ours, 
 do not seek to pursue ! Keep your post. If they are to be pur 
 sued, our foresters, who know the woods, are better at that game 
 than you. Be prudent. I shall probably see you again. But 
 put yourselves in readiness now ; and, if you sleep, fasten your 
 doors and windows, and set a watch first, to give you warning, 
 whatever happens. The night may possibly pass off without 
 alarm. If so, to-morrow, or to-morrow night, is the time of dan 
 ger. But you are warned in season." 
 
 With this, Calvert left the workmen, and, with Belcher, made 
 his way back to the block-house, where he had already installed 
 the ten musketeers. Having seen this done, he took possession 
 of the carriage-house and stables, both log-houses, where in the 
 loft he established another squad of ten. These were all to lie 
 perdu, and to wake only at the proper moment. Calvert then 
 returned to the woods. These he well knew. He had explored 
 them often enough. His solicitude now was, that the Indians 
 should not get into the rear of his party ; and some time was con 
 sumed in calculating the probabilities with regard to the route and 
 manner of approach of the red men. He took for granted that 
 the course of Cussoboe would be from below, and that, fetching a 
 circuit about the settlement, he would proceed directly to the tree, 
 in the hollow of which the sheaf of arrows had been deposited. 
 They would tell their own story ; and, no doubt, by their numbers, 
 embarrass the old warrior. Of course, he would infer his son s 
 neglect of duty. To place his men in such position as would en 
 able them to cover the open grounds and buildings, yet keep them 
 from discovery till the last moment, was Calvert s object, and one 
 of some difficulty ; but the points were finally chosen, after duo 
 consultation with Ligon and Belcher. This and many other mat 
 ters having settled, he said to Belcher : 
 
 " I must now seek and see my brother. I leave the charge of 
 the men to you and Ligon. Keep them from straggling. I shall 
 be with you before daylight." 
 
 He took the skeleton-key from Belcher, and left him, pursuing 
 the straight route to the mansion-house. 
 
550 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER LIT. 
 
 WHAT THE SAD HEARTS SAID TO EACH OTHER. 
 
 " How the notes sink upon the ebbing wind !" SHELLEY. 
 
 THE cassique of Kiawah was perhaps not the only sleepless 
 watcher that night in his mansion-house. He was, for some time, 
 however, and at the period when we prefer to look in upon him, 
 the only one who sat watching in the chamber of his wife. Her 
 condition, now utterly hopeless, rendered that sort of watch unne 
 cessary which is expected and needed to afford occasional succor 
 and relief. She was dying, certainly ; but by those slow and al 
 most imperceptible degrees which belong to most cases of irreme 
 diable decline. The strife was over with the hope ; and, if her 
 assured fate had not produced a feeling of perfect resignation in 
 all hearts, it had yet brought to every head in the family a full in 
 stinct of submission. Nothing more could be done for the sweet 
 victim, but to tend upon and simply note her successive changes ; 
 and, slight though they were, the cassique did not fail to discern 
 and to feel them all. She herself appeared to be something more 
 than resigned, in her perfect consciousness of her hopelessness. 
 It would seem as if her spirit had become altogether satisfied ; as 
 if the brain, no longer fevered, had subsided into calm. She had 
 certainly become freed from all that spasmodic and excited im 
 pulse which had caused her uncertain moods and restless energies 
 before. Her exhausted physique did not now permit her to wan 
 der about, even if her mental nature had still occasioned the de 
 sire. But such was no longer the case. Her mind had become 
 comparatively placid ; her temper serene and sweet. There was 
 now no impatient, discontented thought ; no lingering, living hope, 
 striving at satisfaction, and refusing to be comforted, seeming to 
 
WHAT THE SAD HEARTS SAID TO EACH OTHER. 551 
 
 exist in that soul which was simply hovering on the confines of 
 life, and needing but the severance of a few strings, to soar to 
 abodes of sweeter peace and happier existence. Her conscious 
 ness was clear ; had been growing clearer for some time ; even as 
 her frame had been sinking with exhaustion. She no longer sang 
 those fitful snatches of song which formerly burst from her in spas 
 modic gushes of pain, or passion, or a maddening fancy. The 
 delirium had gone off entirely, and all her faculties seemed to 
 grow bright as she drew near to the close of her sorrows. Her 
 eye was strangely brilliant ; her voice was low, but how exquis 
 itely sweet in all its tones ! Her skin was transparent ; the blue 
 veins as clearly drawn upon it as if defined with the pencil. Her 
 hearing had become wonderfully acute. She could distinguish, 
 from a distance, the approaching footstep, however lightly put 
 down. Nay, she could say who it was that came. All now 
 knew that she was dying. Even the mother, who had deceived 
 herself so long in regard to her daughter s condition, had resigned 
 all hope ; and the final issue was simply* a question of time, and 
 that short, as between one hour and one week ! How long could 
 that exhausted and attenuated frame hold the struggle with the 
 mighty enemy who had already taken possession of all the strong 
 holds of her life who was in her heart, as in the citadel of her 
 strength, undermining all its props and powers ? There were mo 
 ments when, so still she lay, with eyes closed, and lips scarcely 
 seeming to breathe, though parted, that those around her fancied 
 the event had taken place, and that she had sunk into the sacred 
 slumber, as suddenly and quietly as the child, after a violent play v 
 sinks into natural sleep. But, as they drew near to see, then 
 would her eyes open with that marvellous brightness of gaze; 
 then would the faint smile mantle over her pallid lips, as a sudden 
 sunbeam flushes with color a curl of drifted snow. 
 
 This night, after long-protracted watching, the mother had fallen 
 asleep beside her couch at an early hour of the evening. She 
 and the housekeeper were both exhausted. The cassique gently 
 awakened them, and persuaded them to retire. Olive understood 
 him, and laid her thin, wan fingers upon her mother s head, and 
 smiled her wishes, as in support of his ; then murmured them, to 
 the same effect. 
 
 The cassique was left alone with the dying woman. When all 
 
552 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 were gone, and the room was silent, she motioned him beside her; 
 then said, in a whisper : 
 
 " Will you raise me a little, Sir Edward ? another pillow, if 
 you please." 
 
 Never did loving hands more dutifully or gently minister than 
 did his. 
 
 " Sit beside me, Sir Edward, if you please, a little while." 
 
 He would have restrained her from speech. 
 
 " You will fatigue yourself, dear Olive. 1 
 
 "No, my husband not so. Sit quietly, and let me speak. I 
 must speak now, if ever !" 
 
 "You know how I should love to hear you, dear Olive how I 
 have always loved to hear you ; but you are so feeble now 
 BO" 
 
 " I am strong as I shall ever be, dear Sir Edward." And her 
 voice now grew louder, though still low " You do not deceive 
 yourself, you can not deceive me, as to my fate ! What strength 
 is left me I must use, to" acquit myself to you, and to entreat your 
 forgiveness for my most unfortunate offence !" 
 
 " Oh Olive, my forgiveness ! Dear wife, you need make no such 
 prayer to me ! Alas ! it is your pity, your forgiveness, which / 
 should implore ! I who " 
 
 He could not finish the sentence, save by sobs. His voice fal 
 tered, ancF he laid his head down on the couch beside her to con 
 ceal his emotions. Her hand gently sought his head, and she 
 suffered it to rest beside rather than upon it, detaching a lock of 
 his long hair, and holding it between the fingers. A deep sigh 
 followed a brief pause and then she spoke, in low, sweet, mur 
 muring, but decided accents : 
 
 " No, Sir Edward, the wrong is all mine. It was not for me 
 as a maiden not now for me as a wife to reproach him who 
 sought me with love, and who has striven to nurture me with 
 love ! It was for me to have said frankly, and with all the bold 
 ness of an earnest passion : This heart is wedded to another 
 it is not mine to give ; it can never be thine ! " 
 
 " Ah ! would to God, dear Olive, that thou hadst so spoken !" 
 ejaculated the cassique, with a deep groan. 
 
 "I was a child weak where I should have been strong and 
 I yielded to a mother s prayers, when it would have been a thou- 
 
WHAT THE SAD HEARTS SAID TO EACH OTHER. 553 
 
 sand times better to have yielded to God ! And yet, Sir Ed 
 ward, I yielded not against my own will. If it had been pos 
 sible that my heart should have gone to another, having lost the 
 one to whom it had been consecrated, it had gone to you in pref 
 erence to that of any other mortal man. I could love you, Sir 
 Edward I do love you, next to him whom I loved first and best 
 of all, and more than I have ever loved any human being. As I 
 am living now, Sir Edward, though so very soon to die, I pray 
 you to believe what I tell you !" 
 
 He caught her hand in his and carried it to his lips, covered it 
 with kisses, and sobbed over it convulsively, replying with a cho 
 king and husky speech 
 
 " Oh, how I thank you and bless you for this, dear Olive !" 
 
 " Yes, it is true, Sir Edward ; never speech from woman s heart 
 more true ! In so much did you resemble him; in form and face ; 
 in look and action ; in tone and thought ; in the generous warmth 
 of your affection; in the lofty disinterestedness of your love oh, 
 I should have been worse than blind and foolish, dear Sir Edward, 
 could I have been insensible to your virtues, your devotion, your 
 generous forbearance, your kind indulgence! I felt it all ah, 
 my husband I call you so now I felt how near I was to lov 
 ing you, at the very moment when I most shrank from contact 
 with you !" 
 
 " I understand it, Olive ! Oh, yes, I have long understood it." 
 
 "But you were not he! alas, no! and I felt that I could not 
 love you enough not as I ought and that I had deceived you. 
 I still too much loved another. I had done you wrong." 
 
 " No, no, no ! Say not that, Olive !" 
 
 "Yes! oh, yes! For, Sir Edward, I still loved him still 
 thought of him still moaned for him with a heart as much dis 
 satisfied as was my conscience, which perpetually chicled me, as a 
 wedded wife, for the passion which I could noUhelp but feel for him ! 
 My heart was making my conscience daily more and more dissat 
 isfied. I felt knew very soon, that something had not been 
 told you, which ought to have been told ; which I should have 
 told you, if nobody else had done it, before I consented to become 
 your wife. But, indeed, dear Sir Edward, I thought it had been 
 done. Forgive me, my husband, that I did not assure myself of 
 this that I spoke not till it was too late !" 
 
 24 
 
554 THE CASSigUK OF KfAYVAH. 
 
 " Not too late Olive !" 
 
 " Alas ! yes ; too late for both of us too late for all three!" 
 
 Great tears gathered in her eyes, and for a brief space she was 
 silent. The cassique strove, meanwhile, to murmur out his bro 
 ken assurances to soothe after a fashion, and console ; and per 
 haps he was successful in due degree, as his own emotions for 
 bade that he should be coherent in his speech. When he was 
 silent, she resumed : 
 
 " O Sir Edward, judge of the sense of guilt and remorse of 
 useless repentance in my bosom, by the agonies I have endured ; 
 by the temporary madnesss which I suffered ; by the rapid wast 
 ing of strength, youth, and health ; by the wreck, so soon to be 
 utter ruin, of what you see before you ! If I erred, dear Sir Ed 
 ward, the error has been fearfully atoned. And I did err ! Oh 
 weak, weak ! very, very weak !" 
 
 His groan alone answered her. 
 
 "Yet, I was so young am so young; and and and he! 
 Oh, forgive me, my husband, that I am forced to speak of him !" 
 
 " Speak of him, dear Olive, with all your heart ! Oh, my poor 
 Olive, do believe me, that if, by my own life, I could give you 
 back your youth, and put you where you were before the cruel 
 Fates had made me your fate, I should now know no greater glad 
 ness than to die for you, and in the last moments of consciousness 
 to be able to place your hand in the hand of Harry, my brother 
 my noble brother whom, as well as yourself, I have so cruelly 
 but unwittingly destroyed ! Yes, on my life, on my soul, Olive, 
 this would I do, and die ; though, even in doing it, Olive, I should 
 still be free to tell you that the heart of Edward Berkeley was no 
 less sworn to you than that of the more fortunate Harry." 
 
 " I believe you, my lord my husband ! It is so sweet, now, 
 though so late, that we understand each other ! We can sit in 
 the darkness together, dear Sir Edward. Do cover that light. 
 Let there be no light. Sit here, then, and we will commune fur 
 ther. You will not see my face ; and I shall hear you just the 
 same." 
 
 He obeyed her covered the light in the chimney, so that it 
 shed no gleams over the chamber ; then came back and resumed 
 his seat beside her : and she feebly put forth her hand and grasped 
 hi*, somewhat nervously, between her attenuated fingers. 
 
WHAT THE SAD HEARTS SAID TO EACH OTHER. 555 
 
 "And now, dear Sir Edward, I have a prayer to make to you 
 in behalf of my mother. Her love for me her desire to see me 
 well established these have led her into grievous error, which 
 has hurt both of us to the soul. But she meant me good ; she 
 designed you no evil : she has only been guilty of a very sad mis 
 take. It is one upon which I do not wish to dwell. It is the 
 saddest of all my thoughts. I feel sure that no words of mine 
 can express fully my own sense of her shocking error. Perhaps 
 you will feel it even more painfully than I do. But, nevertheless, 
 I pray you, at this moment, when my little lamp of life is about 
 to be extinguished I pray you to forgive her! " 
 
 " I do ! I do, Olive my poor Olive ! I do forgive her, though 
 she has crushed us both !" 
 
 " Do I not feel it? Never was so fatal an error ! Thanks for 
 this mercy this kindness ! May I plead for more, dear Sir Ed 
 ward?" 
 
 " Speak, Olive. Your prayers shall be my laws !" 
 
 " I would rather have them your loves." 
 
 " Loves they shall be to me, and with perpetual regard to you, 
 Olive !" 
 
 " It is enough ! You will shelter her, Sir Edward ? She is 
 p Oor has no resource now but in your bounty; and, unhappily, 
 she is one of those who live in that foreign world which rather 
 asks a palace for the eye than a home for the heart." 
 
 " I know ! I comprehend you, Olive. Say no more. She 
 shall be well provided for. Briefly, dear heart, I will do for her 
 as if she were my own mother. She shall return to England " 
 
 Ah ! And you ? " 
 
 " Will remain here, Olive, where I will make my temple and 
 my tomb ! Your mother will not need me, nor I her ! In Eng 
 land she shall have The Willows during her life ; and I shall 
 make such provision for her there, that there shall be no lack of 
 means essential to that social position which she has always so 
 much valued." 
 
 "Alas! yes!" with a deep sigh. "I could hope no more, 
 dear Sir Edward; I did not dare to ask so much. Thanks 
 thanks !" 
 
 " What more, Olive ? Speak, dear wife, and do not fear. Be 
 lieve me, I so thoroughly understand all your necessities, that 
 
556 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 I never loved you more than at this moment, when to speak o? 
 mortal love is such a mockery !" 
 
 " Say not so, dear Sir Edward, when we feel how sweetly it 
 harmonizes hearts between which the chasm has been hitherto so 
 deep and wide ; when it strengthens me to speak with a courage 
 such as I never knew in the days of my health and youth ; when 
 it moves you, who have been so sadly wronged, to be so merciful 
 
 so nobly loving with such magnanimity and grace! Ah! 
 how" 
 
 " No more, Olive, I pray you ! I " 
 
 " Suffer me, Sir Edward ! Yes, on the edge of the precipice 
 on the verge of the grave I must plead for the beauties of that 
 mortal love vanishing as it may seem which I hold to be 
 etill sweet, however faint it gleams from that fountain of Immortal 
 Love which is promised to the pure hearts in a sphere where 
 there can be no loss ! I believe in my own heart, Sir Edward, 
 and in yours, and in his your brother s! I believe that yours 
 and his have been equally capable of that heart-sacrifice upon 
 which Love hath need to feed for life ! And I may say some 
 thing for my own ! O Sir Edward, I am now dying for it !" 
 
 Mis head bent over, and was hidden upon the shrouded bosom 
 of the speaker. She resumed : 
 
 " I shall die happy, knowing this ! This love, which mortal 
 life has never satisfied could never compensate must be im 
 mortal ; for there must be, under a God of love, justice, meicy, a 
 necessary principle of compensation. How I loved Harry, your 
 brother, HE, the good God, alone can know ; how Harry loved 
 me, I have felt and feel ! And, dear Sir Edward, I know your 
 heart how true, how pure, how constant, how magnanimous, in 
 all its dealings with mine ; and, at times, when it was impossible 
 for me to plead, or you to comprehend, the miseries and the mys 
 teries of mine ! Only believe now, my lord and husband, that my 
 heart would have been quite satisfied with yours, would have 
 been devoted to yours, had it not been for the earlier call of love 
 which it first heard from his ! And had his not continued to call 
 
 as I deemed, from spirit-lands I had probably as gladly 
 yielded my affections to you as I should have done to him. But 
 there was a power it is so strange to think of it! a perpetual 
 voice, as from the tomb, appealing to my heart, and suggesting 
 
WHAT THE SAD HEARTS SAID TO EACH OTHER. 557 
 
 the doubt nay, the absolute denial of his death! Was it his 
 voice ? Kow could it be ? He was living, and perhaps thou 
 sands of miles away ! Whose was it, then ? There is a won 
 drous mystery in it, Sir Edward ! Surely, there must have been 
 a spiritual presence here, admonishing me of the truth, against all 
 mortal evidence ! What else should I believe, or think ? Then, 
 he came in sooth, was living; had me in his embrace; and 
 but you know all !" 
 
 " All ! all ! Say no more, Olive, my wife ! And yet, but for 
 your feebleness and pain, I would have you speak on for ever !" 
 
 " Alas ! it can not be. It requires some effort to lift my voice. 
 Yet our boy our Harry! I would " 
 
 Her voice faltered. 
 
 " What, my Olive ?" 
 
 " Oh, I would have our Harry beloved by him, your brother ! 
 Do not let him avoid or dislike the child. Pray him, for my 
 sake, dear Sir Edward, to love your child and mine !" 
 
 And, with a sudden burst of sobbing, the dying woman sank 
 back exhausted ! The cassique was terrified, thinking the mo 
 ment of trial had come. He called loudly ; and from an adjoin 
 ing chamber, Zulieme, who had promised Mrs. Masterton to as 
 sume the watch at midnight, suddenly made her appearance, and 
 brought some drops which had been provided for these exigencies. 
 The little wife of the rover had all at once begun to be useful 
 nay, to feel a sort of pride and pleasure in proving so. Olive 
 soon revived under her ministrations ; but, as she kept her eyes 
 shut, and appeared desirous of repose, the cassique left her in Zu- 
 lieme s charge, and proceeded to the hall, where, all in darkness, 
 he threw himself upon the sofa, yielding himself up to the sweet 
 and bitter thought which naturally grew out of his situation. 
 
 Here a sort of oblivion of all things seized for the time upon 
 his senses. He had watched nightly ; had toiled daily ; was en- 
 "eebled by fatigue. He had brooded, as he thought, for a long 
 ime, in the darkness and solitude of the hall meditating the 
 mysteries of that chamber which he had so recently left. Perhaps 
 he slept ; but he could scarcely persuade himself of this. He was 
 awakened. He fancied he heard the shooting of bolts, but he 
 stirred not. At length, he detected a footfall slight, like that 
 of a woman. He thought of Olive. She might be dying. She 
 
058 THK CASSIQUK OF KIAWAH. 
 
 might be dead. He started up and rushed into the passage-way 
 whence he would have made his way to her chamber, when lie 
 felt himself encumbered clasped firmly in the hands of a strong 
 man. His instincts prompted the instant use of his muscles. He 
 would have thrown off the intruder, but found himself firmly 
 held ; while a voice, which he at once knew though subdued to 
 a whisper said, hurriedly : 
 
 "It is you, Edward I am Harry. Do not be excited. I 
 come with love with a brother s love. Conduct me to a private 
 room, and bring a light !" 
 
 " Harry, my brother, you come at an awful moment !" 
 
 A id I am glad that I come at a moment when Edward Berke 
 ley acknowledges awe. But lead me, and get a light. I have 
 Ithat to say which will suffer little time." 
 
 Taking him by the hand, the cassique led his brother into the 
 hall which he had just left, and conducted him to the sofa. Here 
 he seated him, while he went to bring a light. We can easily 
 jonjec ,ure how Harry had effected his entrance. 
 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 "Look ! look } One fire burns dim. It quivers it goes out !" 
 
 Thalaba. 
 
 THE cassique was not a little surprised by his visitor. As re 
 quested, he procured candles, two of which Calvert lighted in 
 stantly, and placed in front of a window which was visible from 
 the forest where Belcher and Ligon had been left with the ma 
 rines. He then proceeded, as briefly as possible, to report to his 
 brother the affair which had brought him, the danger as it ap 
 peared to his mind, and the force which he had arrayed to meet it. 
 It is probable that, filled with the peculiar griefs which then dis 
 tressed him, the cassique would have given little heed to his broth 
 er s apprehensions. He was quite as favorably disposed to the 
 red men as ever ; it was difficult to disabuse him of his impres 
 sions ; but when he with some degree of indifference began to de 
 clare his doubts, the other said abruptly, and somewhat impa 
 tiently : 
 
 " Edward Berkeley, you have no right to trifle with other lives 
 than your own. You have been so long in the habit of indulging 
 in your passion of philanthropy, that you fail to see things with 
 your natural good judgment. But, the danger is no longer ques 
 tionable. It is not now a thing of speculation, but of positive evi 
 dence. I have myself made a circuit, only last night, of a camp 
 of fifty warriors, all well armed, and not quite twelve miles from 
 you. The place is evidently a rendezvous, where, by this time, 
 there may be from two to five hundred more ! There has btan 
 a gathering of a thousand on the Savannah river ; and are you to 
 learn, for the first time, of the utter destruction of the settlement 
 
560 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 of Lord Cardross, at Beaufort, by the Spaniards, no doubt assisted 
 by the Indians?" 
 
 " Good God ! is it possible ?" 
 
 " True, every syllable ! These things are certain. But where 
 is your Indian boy the hunter? Is he on the premises?" 
 
 " I suppose so. He has a little lodge to himself, within fifty 
 yards of the dwelling, where he sleeps." 
 
 * Ah ! does he sleep ? We must see if he is in it." 
 
 " But, what of him ? He is a mere boy." 
 
 " So is a powder-monkey : but he may fire a magazine ! He 
 has been put with you, by old Cussoboe, for this very purpose. 
 He is a spy ; something more, indeed, if my suspicions be well 
 founded. By his hands, no doubt, your keys, especially of you 
 armory and arsenal, are to be delivered to Cussoboe, at midnight 
 when you all sleep !" 
 
 The cruiser then narrated all that he knew of the habits of the 
 boy of the concealed sheaf of arrows, and how he had supplied, 
 on several occasions, the place of the arrows which had been 
 broken, so as to disorder the mutual calculations of chief and 
 boy. 
 
 "The keys!" the cassique hurried away to hunt them up. 
 " They are all here," he said, returning. " And when do you 
 expect the savages ?" 
 
 " This very night, according to the original count of arrows, or 
 to-morrow night at farthest. It must be one or t other. Not 
 knowing whether the arrow first broken was counted inclusively, 
 or from, it is not easy to say positively which is the night. "We 
 must prepare for both." 
 
 " To-night ? Why, it is already midnight." 
 
 " True, but the ides of March are not over ! It is at the very 
 hour of the dawn that the red men most frequently choose to be 
 gin the attack. But never you fear" seeing that the cassique 
 was starting away, full of excitement "I have anticipated their 
 movements quite as well as you could have done, had you known 
 sooner of the affair. I had, indeed, made preparations that you 
 should know. Have you not heard from Gowdey ?" 
 
 " Not lately. He gave me some warnings, some time ago ; but 
 J made light of them." 
 
 " You were wrong. Gowdey is an authority, in his province, 
 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 561 
 
 who might save all your governors and councils. But, did he 
 send you no letter from me ?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 " It is well, then, that I relied upon no other agency than my 
 own. Had your governor done as I counselled, Cardross and his 
 colony would have been saved. It is lucky I am not too late 
 here." 
 
 The cassique was now quite willing to listen to his brother. 
 
 " Before disturbing you," continued he, " I made all prepara 
 tions for your defence. I have brought a strong force with me ; 
 have taken possession of your armory, which I have garrisoned 
 with half a dozen stout fellows. I have converted carriage-house 
 and stables into fortresses also. I have roused your laborers, and 
 armed them ; given them instructions what to do ; and these lights 
 are designed to apprize a party, which I have in the woods, that 
 you are ready to receive a score of well-armed men in your man 
 sion-house. You have a closed basement, I perceive, which I 
 take to be unoccupied. We must put them there, without their 
 presence being known. I will now withdraw the lights. They 
 have served their purpose. My men will be here in a few min 
 utes more." 
 
 The cassique was full of wonder, but he had hardly time to ex 
 press it ; a muffled sound, as of heavy footsteps, at that moment 
 being evident without. Stealthily the door was opened ; and, in 
 as much silence as possible, Belcher entered with his squad. Not 
 a moment was lost in hurrying them down into the basement. 
 
 " And, now, see if the hunter-boy is within-doors within his 
 cabin," said our rover. " Possibly he is, for my substitution of 
 the new for the broken arrows will have probably deceived him 
 thoroughly as to the time for the rising. He may be there, but 
 it is just as well to see." 
 
 The two went forth together. Twenty minutes sufficed for the 
 examination. But the boy was not in his cabin. This was con 
 ceived to be, in some degree, a confirmation of our rover s sus 
 picions. But it did injustice to the boy. He, poor fellow, was at 
 that moment buried in the deepest slumbers of an exhausted frame, 
 scarcely a hundred yards from the spot where Ligon and the rest 
 of the marines and sailors were crouching out of sight, in closest 
 harborage. Iswattee had been pursuing his regimen for more 
 
 24* 
 
50 2 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 tlian a week ; liencc the appearance of illness which had so im 
 pressed the cassique and Grace Masterton. His bod} 7 " had be 
 come enfeebled by potent draughts of his bitter-root decoctions ; 
 while his mind, as he slept, was disordered by wildest dreams, 
 the result of his equally potent narcotic beverages, through which 
 he expected to obtain his revelations from the Great Manneyto, or 
 Master of Life. Alas, for the poor, simple savage ! shrinking 
 from the cruel duty imposed upon him, from which the red boy 
 was seldom known to shrink stubborn, usually, as the Spartan ; 
 and recoiling with horror from those sanguinary deeds which his 
 imagination had so vividly painted to his thoughts ; too gentle a 
 nature for the destiny before him ; assigned by the Fates to an 
 ordeal for which they had failed to endow him with the requisite 
 characteristics of a wild and savage blood, and a cold, obdurate, 
 inflexible heart and will ! 
 
 Will the Great Spirit help him in this ordeal ? Will he de 
 scend with shadowy wings upon his slumbers, and so clear his 
 vision and arm his will as to enable him to find a way out of the 
 deadly labyrinth the snaky folds of his destiny? His trial is 
 near at hand ! Let us leave him where he sleeps, and follow 
 those only who are all awake to the exigencies of the time. 
 
 The cassique, now made fully conscious of the perils of his sit 
 uation, roused up all his energies, which, once afoot, were as stir 
 ring and pressing as those of his brother, whom he so greatly 
 resembled. 
 
 " My poor Olive !" he exclaimed ; " and at such a moment ! O 
 Harry, she is dying ! Your Olive ! my Olive ! Perchance this 
 very night this very night ! " 
 
 He could say no more, but fell into his brother s outstretched 
 arms. For a moment the two clung together a life of meaning 
 in the deep silence which followed. Neither had speech. Nei 
 ther saw the other s tears, or heard the suppressed sobbing. He 
 only felt his own ; and the deep throes of his heart stifled all 
 hearing. 
 
 For a moment! And then the cassique drew himself up, and 
 out of our rover s embrace, and said : 
 
 " We must be men ! But, Harry, it is terrible to think that, 
 in the midst of strife, and storm, and bloodshed, her pure, sweet 
 spirit shall go out ! " 
 
VOICES OF THE NfGHT. 563 
 
 " Edward, enough ! Let me close these shut .ers. Go you to 
 Olive s to your wife s chamber and close in every shutter. 
 Gently ! No noise ! We must, so far as we can, spare her every 
 sound of strife without. Let this he your present task. Take no 
 further care or trouble touching this danger. I have prepared 
 will prepare for it all. See to her; cling to her side ; let her 
 not lose you" a long pause "lose you, at the last!" 
 
 " Nor you ! Harry, it is your right, even more than mine !" 
 " I will be here, Edward ; and, if it may be so, will be there 
 also. We know not yet at what moment we may be summoned 
 by the cry> of battle without the cry of death within ! Go, now, 
 and see to all the fastenings : close all the windows in Olive s 
 chamber." 
 
 The cassique again clasped his brother in his arms. 
 " Alas, my brother, that we should meet thus !" 
 " As God wills ! And we are stronger for this meeting, even 
 thus ! The terrors of the grave, which surround us, are only 
 so many clues to a wondrous mystery, to which heart, and 
 soul, and mind, must equally rise, if we would assert a proper 
 manhood. Go, now, my brother, and do as I have toldtyou. 
 If we are to be assailed to-night, the moment of trial can not be 
 far off." 
 
 The cassique was about to go ; but was arrested, even at the 
 door, by a third party coming upon the scene. Let us, to explain 
 the interruption, anticipate his visit to his wife s chamber. We 
 a^e summoned thither. 
 
 It will be remembered that, when the cassique withdrew from 
 the chamber, he had left the little Spanish wife of our rover in 
 charge of Olive. She was joined, in a while after, by the Hon 
 orable Mrs. Masterton. This maternal lady would have dismissed 
 Zulieme to her chamber. But the latter would not consent ; pro 
 fessed her anxiety to remain, and declared that she had had sleep 
 enough for the night. The mother was talkative, and, after a 
 gpace, Olive became restive. Mrs. Masterton approached her 
 bed: 
 
 " What can I do for you, my child ?" 
 " There are footsteps voices : some one comes !" 
 "No, my beloved, there is nobody. The house is perfectly 
 still." 
 
564 THE CASSJQUE OK KIAWAH. 
 
 The mother smiled shook her head and tried to soothe 
 her. 
 
 " I can hear, mother. There are voices. Where is my hus 
 bandSir Edward?" 
 
 " He has gone into the parlor, dear senora," quoth Zulieme. 
 
 " It is there I hear the steps the voices. * 
 
 " Impossible, my child ; you have dreamed it. I rather think 
 Sir Edward has gone to lie down." 
 
 "I have dreamed nothing. I see everything. Life itself is 
 but a dream with me now ; but it is such a dream as makes me 
 see and hear more than ever. It is as I tell you, mother : there 
 are footsteps voices." 
 
 " I think I do hear voices," said Zulieme. 
 
 " No !" sharply rejoined the mother. " It is all a notion. The 
 house is perfectly quiet." 
 
 "Ah ! quiet quiet! That is death ! Death is a great quiet, 
 mother. But I know that there are men moving and talking in 
 the house. Ah ! lift me a little. Hark, mother !" in a whis 
 per ; and, as her mother bent to her, she said, " He is here !" 
 
 " He ! Who, my child ?" 
 
 " Harry Harry Berkeley !" 
 
 "My dear child, I tell you, you are only dreaming. It is im 
 possible." 
 
 " And I tell you, mother, that I know he is here ! I hear his 
 voice " 
 
 " What ! when we can hear nothing ?" 
 
 " I hear his footstep !" 
 
 The mother smiled, shook her head, and tried to soothe her. 
 
 " I feel his presence, mother ! He is here ! Will you not go 
 and see, and bring him to me ?" 
 
 " Bring him, my love ?" 
 
 " Ay, bring him !" 
 
 " Impossible ! Why, my child, only think ! " 
 
 " Think ? How think ? Why should I think ? Why should 
 you not bring him ?" 
 
 "What! after all? " 
 
 "Yes; after all! That is the very time after all ! There 
 can be no doubts or suspicions now. Do you still think of such 
 a life as this, that I am leaving ? Do you not see that I am no 
 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 565 
 
 more one of you? that the world is going from me? that life, 
 society, all those things that made us ever so sadly think, are de 
 parting? I beg you, mother, bring Harry hither. Bring my 
 husband with him. They are there together. I feel it almost 
 see it hear his voice know his step ! Ah ! why will you deny 
 me?" 
 
 " But, my child, I assure you that there is no stranger in the 
 house." 
 
 " As if Harry should be called a stranger ! But he is here !" 
 
 " Let me go see, senora," said Zulieme to the mother. " It can 
 do no harm." 
 
 " No, no ! you are right, my dear girl," murmured the sufferer ; 
 " it can do no harm. Go see ! go bring him !" 
 
 * Well, go if you will !" replied the mother, a little too impa 
 tiently for such a scene and situation. But she had taken a sort 
 of dislike to Zulieme, from the first moment of her coming, and 
 this was her mode of expressing it. And Zulieme went. 
 
 She opened the door of the hall, at the moment when the broth 
 ers .were embracing, as if the better to share their sorrows. The 
 lights had been placed in the chimney, when Calvert had taken 
 them from the window. At the opening of the door, the brothers 
 turned their faces to the intruder ; and, even as he turned, the 
 gleams from the candles were thrown full upon the face of the 
 rover. His air, figure, face, were unmistakeable by one who so 
 well knew him as Zulieme ; and, forgetting every consideration 
 but the one vivid memory and feeling, she sprang upon him 
 with no power of self-restraint threw herself upon his bosom, 
 her arms almost vainly stretching up toward his neck, and cried 
 aloud : 
 
 " O Harry ! you great brute of a Harry, you are come for me 
 at last !" 
 
 The rover was as much confounded as the cassique. He lifted 
 her in his arms, till her lips were on a level with his own, and 
 ghe smothered him with kisses. The cassique recoiled in conster 
 nation. The rover said 
 
 "Why, Zulieme! you here, child?" 
 
 " Didn t you know it ? Haven t you come for me ?" 
 
 " N o ! not exactly ! But, it s just as well. I am glad to find 
 you here. It saves me much pain and peril." 
 
560 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 "What s just as well?" she demanded, quickly. 
 
 He did not answer her ; but, still holding the little woman close 
 ly to him, with much more apparent tenderness than we have seen 
 him show before, he said to his brother : 
 
 " Go, Edward, and see to the windows. All this shall be ex 
 plained hereafter." 
 
 The cassique disappeared, leaving the parties, but only for a 
 brief space, together. When he reached Olive s chamber, and 
 heard from Mrs. Masterton what a wild notion his wife enter 
 tained of the presence of Harry Berkeley in the house, he was 
 astounded. He could readily conceive how acute might the senses 
 become, where the heart was deeply concerned ; but that the soul 
 should be so quickened, while still holding possession of its frai 
 tenement of clay should so quicken the sensibilities was 
 mystery of marvellous significance. As he paused in silence, 
 suddenly struck with the wonder of the thing, Olive said to 
 him: 
 
 " Surely, it is so, Edward Harry is here ?" 
 
 " He is, Olive ! Shall I bring him to you, my love ?" 
 
 " If you please. He has come in time." 
 
 " He belongs to us both, Olive : he shall come to you." 
 
 " It will kill her, Sir Edward !" murmured Mrs. Masterton, in 
 tones which, as she thought, were inaudible to any ears but his. 
 To her terror, Olive said : 
 
 " Have you anything to make me live, mother? Bring Harry 
 to me, Sir Edward, if you please." 
 
 The cassique obeyed her. The scene had occupied but a few 
 minutes, and he returned promptly to the hall where he had left 
 Harry and Zulieme. A few words sufficed to say what was want 
 ed, and our rover hastened to obey ; the little wife still eagerly 
 hanging on his arm, and whispering : 
 
 " I see it all now, Harry. This lady was your Olive !" 
 
 " Hush ! child hush !" he whispered in reply, pressing her 
 hand, and passing on, while the cassique led the way. At the 
 entrance of the chamber, Zulieme, with a certain vague instinct 
 of propriety, held back ; but, this time, our rover detained her 
 hand, as if to say, " You shall see and hear all." Then he en 
 tered, closely following the cassique, who went at once to the bed 
 side. So did Harry ; and, without a word, he knelt down beside 
 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 567 
 
 the dying woman. Her eyes were closed she did not look at 
 him but she knew he was there; and stretched out her thin 
 fingers, which he took within his grasp, and carried to his lips. 
 Then she said : 
 
 " You are here, Harry ! I am glad ! I shall be happy now ! 
 
 My husband, Sir Edward " 
 
 The cassique leaned over her ; and, possessing herself of one 
 of his hands, she laid it in that of Harry. 
 
 "Am I right?" she continued. "Brothers always brothers! 
 Love me both when I am gone ! In that world to which I hasten, 
 I .shall love you both, over all living men ! I shall watch your 
 loves ! You have been very dear to me both. Oh, be always 
 dear to one another, in remembrance of my love !" 
 
 The brothers were now both kneeling beside her. Their grief 
 was swallowed up in silence. The mother, however, suddenly fell 
 into a passionate sobbing, which once more aroused the dying 
 woman : 
 
 "O mother!" she exclaimed "peace, now! God is over 
 shadowing us with his mighty presence. If you could see, as I 
 see, who are about us, you would grow dumb you would shut 
 all your senses ! Do not do not !" 
 
 The cassique tried in vain to pacify the matron ; but, finding 
 words unavailing, he led her from the room. She struggled fee 
 bly, but finally submitted. When she was removed, he returned 
 and closed the door. None but Harry, himself, and Zulieme, 
 were now in the chamber. Zulieme was kneeling at the foot of 
 the bed. Harry remained beside Olive close by, on one side 
 
 her hand still clasped in his. The cassique knelt opposite. 
 Her eyes were now shut. There was no pressure in her fingers ; 
 but her breathing was audible, though faint. By this only did 
 they know that she still lived. She seemed to slumber like an 
 infant. Not a word was spoken for many moments. The silence 
 was full of sacredness and awe. Yes ! they all felt that the over 
 shadowing presence of a mighty Spirit was there, sovereign over 
 pain, death, and the grave ! And under his wings they were 
 subdued into silence ; each seeming to hold his breath, as if wait 
 ing for some signal, significant of that approaching Power whoso 
 potency they already felt ! And, even as Olive seemed breathing 
 herself gently away, as the zephyr dies along the empurpled 
 
568 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 waves of a retiring sea ; even as they held their own breathing 
 suspended with a hush, waiting upon hers there was a signal 
 a fearful one in that hour, and under such influences but not 
 that for which only they then looked and listened ! 
 
 Wild was the cry which suddenly echoed through and shook 
 the chamber! It was the war-whoop of the painted savage, 
 howled forth, as by a thousand wolves, raging furiously around 
 the dwelling. 
 
THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 569 
 
 CHAPTER LIV 
 
 THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 "Ring out the alarum ! for the foe is on us." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE harboring-place in which Calvert had posted Ligon, with 
 his remaining body of marines, had been chosen with singular 
 circumspection ; at once with reference to concealment, and to the 
 maintenance of a watch upon the hollow tree in which the sheaf 
 of arrows had been hidden. He well apprehended that the first 
 visit of the old chief, Cussoboe, would be made to the tree, to as 
 certain if his commands had been obeyed by his son ; and, proba 
 bly, with the hope to meet him there, bringing the keys of the 
 barony and of all its offices. 
 
 Ligon, an old Indian-fighter as well as scout, lay close, grim as 
 death, and not so impatient for his prey as to peril his prospect 
 by any premature exhibitions. He had distributed his men along 
 and within a thick piece of underwood which formed a boundary, 
 as it were, between the original forests and the opened grounds 
 of the barony. He could there behold all who emerged from the 
 former, and yet obtain sufficient glimpses of the latter. His peo 
 ple crouched low, or lay at length, in a line, almost within touch 
 of each other. It may be that some slept, in the two or three 
 hours of watch and weariness which they were compelled to en 
 dure. 
 
 But Ligon himself never closed an eye, but kept scouting in 
 short circuits, as the panther does about the farmyard. None of 
 his own men knew when he departed or when he returned, so 
 stealthy was his footstep ; but in these circuits, which he continu 
 ally enlarged, he came upon the sleeping boy, Iswattee. The 
 
THE GASSJQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 starlight, feebly penetrating the massed boughs overhead, enabled 
 him to discover the prostrate boy only when he stood beside him ; 
 for it was to one of the deepest covers of the thicket that the 
 youth had gone in which to pursue his regimen. Perhaps Ligon 
 would have failed to detect him when he did, had he not set his 
 foot down upon a small pile of smouldering ashes which were still 
 warm, and overturned the little earthen pot in which Tswattee had 
 made his root-decoctions. This led our scout to a close scrutiny, 
 and conducted him to the Indian boy, who was wrapped in sleep, 
 and murmuring in some fearful dream. 
 
 The first instinct of Ligon was to brain the sleeper with his 
 tomahawk ; but he paused, reflecting that this stroke might lead 
 to a premature exposure of his presence and his party, and possi 
 bly defeat the purpose for which his ambush had been set. Be 
 sides, he knew not how many more sleepers might be found in 
 the same dense harborage. A stroke which should merely hurt 
 one cry of the wounded youth would awaken all ! Our scout, 
 governed by these considerations, forebore the stroke, and con 
 tented himself with removing the hatchet, knife, bow and arrows, 
 which lay beside the sleeper. These he bore away with him, 
 moving back to his ambush with as much caution as before, but 
 with more decided steps, as he discovered that the boy was sleep 
 ing uneasily, had shown some restlessness while he was with 
 drawing the weapons, and would probably soon awaken. Our 
 scout regained the copse in which his men were crouching, and, 
 with a touch of the hand on each shoulder, roused them to prepa 
 ration. He naturally fancied that the red men were all about in 
 the forest cover ; and waiting, as is their wont, for the near ap 
 proach of dawning, to begin the assault. As the morning hour 
 is usually that when the deepest sleep falls upon men, so do they 
 train themselves to waken at that hour, the better to take advan 
 tage of their enemies. 
 
 It might have been three quarters of an hour after this event, 
 when a dry branch was heard to break, and the dry leaves to 
 crinkle, as under an approaching footstep. Soon, Ligon beheld a 
 warrior, fully equipped, Indian fashion, for strife and massacre, 
 emerging from the shade and passing over a brief open space in 
 the woods, in the direction of the hollow tree. He was followed 
 by thiee others, who came out severally from the forest. The 
 
THE BATTLK OF KTAWAH. 
 
 first who appeared was old Cussoboe himself; the others were all 
 of them chiefs, and one of them his brother, well known to the 
 whites of that day for his prowess. This was Ocketee. He has 
 left his name to a swamp and river. 
 
 The old chief searched the tree, and uttered an exclamation of 
 rage and disappointment. He had grasped the remaining arrows 
 in his hand, six or .seven in number, and held them up to his com 
 panions. A perfect torrent of execrations, in the dialect of his 
 people, burst from his lips. A long and animated discussion fol 
 lowed between the party ; but, though Ligon knew the language, 
 he was not sufficiently near to distinguish the words. He could 
 only h jar the sounds ; and these, he observed, were warm, violent, 
 and very savage. The old chief crushed the arrows in his hands, 
 and dashed them to his feet. Then, as if the conference had 
 reached a conclusion, he put his hands to his mouth, and uttered 
 a deep, wailing cry, like that of some sea-fowl, in unison with its 
 own melancholy, and its wild abode of foam, and storm, and 
 ocean. 
 
 Such a cry, at once deep and shrill well mistaken for that of 
 a sea-bird might reach the barony, and the ears of all its in 
 mates, yet occasion no surprise to senses not familiar with the 
 capacity of the red men for imitating the cries of beast and bird, 
 and their habit of employing these as signals in stratagem and 
 war. Ligon readily concluded that the cry had some such sig 
 nification. It was easy for him, where he stood with his men, to 
 have rushed out upon the chiefs and butchered them, or to have 
 shot them down ; but he knew not how many savages were har 
 bored in the woods, and was well aware that the first sound of 
 strife would bring forth all their myrmidons, supposing them to 
 be at hand. He itched to be busy with them, but had schooled 
 his passions to a wonderful patience and forbearance. 
 
 The cry of Cussoboe brought forth his warriors, perhaps two 
 hundred painted savages in all, and one group dragged along with 
 them the boy Iswattee, whom they had stumbled over, as Ligon 
 had done, and in less than half an hour after he had left him. 
 
 Iswattee came forward staggering, feeble with his regimen, and 
 perhaps half stupid still from his narcotics. He was bewildered, 
 but approached his father, who, at first, seemed not to know him. 
 Som one said, " Iswattee !" At the word, Cussoboe caught up 
 
5<2 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the broken arrows, still in the sheaf of rattlesnake-skin, and thrust 
 them in the very face of the boy ; then, ere any one could con 
 ceive his purpose, or interpose, he raised his hand suddenly and 
 smote him on the head with the hammer of his stone hatchet, 
 bringing him to the earth at a blow. He was about to repeat the 
 stroke, when Ocketee, the uncle of the boy, darted between, and 
 defended the body. Some sharp words passexl between the par 
 ties, and there was every chance of a violent quarrel, for old Cus- 
 soboe raged like a tiger; but several of the other chiefs put in, 
 and appeased the disputants. Three of the red men took up the 
 senseless boy, and, after searching him as Ligon supposed, for 
 the keys of the barony they bore him away from his father s 
 sight, and hid him in the thickets, where one of them remained 
 with him. 
 
 A hurried consultation then followed among the chiefs, the re 
 sult of which was that three of them, old Cussoboe still in the 
 lead, emerged from the forest, taking the direction of the woods 
 and grounds about the barony. Suffering them to go ahead some 
 hundred yards, the main body of the red men advanced also, and 
 planted themselves along the very edge of the open grounds, 
 gradually spreading out on each hand; so that, at a given signal, 
 they might contract their wings, and cover every point of the set 
 tlement. 
 
 Watching every movement, and suffering the whole force of 
 the enemy to leave the forest, Ligon set his own squad in motion, 
 but halted them as soon as he had got them in line and order, 
 keeping them close in hand and still in cover. He then stole for 
 ward himself sufficiently far to ascertain that the red men were 
 still in the wood, just on its edge, and perfectly concealed in its 
 shadows from the settlement. Subsequently, when they advanced 
 toward the houses, as they did at the signal of the chief, he brought 
 his men forward, so as to occupy the very place they had left, 
 on the edge of the woods, the background of shadow giving them 
 ample security from sight. Here he examined the priming of 
 every musket and pistol. All had been provided, from the cas- 
 sique s armory, with guns. Their pistols and cutlasses they had 
 brought with them from the ship. 
 
 " And now," said Ligon, with a low chuckle, " ef we have n t 
 got these rascally red-skins in a tight place, then I never seed a 
 
THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 673 
 
 wolf in a steel trap. Only go to it, fellows, with a will, and you ll 
 see the red feathers fly !" 
 
 Old Cussoboe, with his two companions, proceeded to the ex 
 amination of the several houses of the settlement. They stole, 
 like ghosts, silent as the grave, from tree to tree, always taking 
 shrewd care to secure a cover when they could. They went 
 round the armory, which was to them a special object of attention. 
 In the rear of it they had a long consultation, which the marines 
 within could hear, but riot comprehend. They tried at the lock, 
 but it was fast. There was also some heavy weight, some bulky 
 article, against the door. This was a surprise to them. It ar 
 gued that some one slept within ; more than one was not thought 
 of. There were holes in the sides of the building, which was 
 pierced for musketry ; but no windows, no outlet but the one door. 
 After some minutes spent in consultation here, they stole, in like 
 cautious manner, to the d\velling-house, and that of the workmen. 
 The carriage-house and stables were left unexamined. They 
 seemed to know the grounds well, and up to a late moment had 
 evidently had their spies upon it. They found all the buildings 
 securely fastened ; that is to say, so securely as to require some 
 degree of violence to break in. But they also found all silent as 
 death or sleep could make them. They could see no lights, ex 
 cept in one chamber of the main dwelling, and this gleamed only 
 through a crevice in the shutter. It was in the chamber of Olive ; 
 the windows had been quietly fastened by the cassique, at a mo 
 ment when Harry Calvert was kneeling by Olive s bedside, after 
 his first arrival. 
 
 As if satisfied with what they had seen, the old chief, Cussoboe, 
 gave a signal which brought up his men, two hundred at least, 
 who came forward into the open grounds as cautiously, one by 
 one taking the trees severally for cover, the fences and houses 
 as if their leaders had not already felt the way. They divided 
 into three parties, under as many chiefs. One party completely 
 encircled the dwelling, and squatted close to the basement around 
 it, waiting the word ; another surrounded, in like manner, the build 
 ing where the workmen were stationed ; while a third, old Cusso 
 boe at their head, placed themselves about the armory. This 
 ouilding was especially their object, and here they made their 
 first demonstration. There was a small party that squatted be- 
 
574 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 side the line of unfinished pickets, which formed the beginning of 
 the covered way from the dwelling to the armory ; and others, 
 again, individuals, occupied here and there a tree. After a few 
 words, three stalwart Indians advanced from Cussoboe s division, 
 and with their hatchets began to work, as quietly as possible, 
 upon the fastenings of the log-house. They had scarcely com 
 menced, however, when a pistol blazed through one of the musket- 
 holes, tumbling one of the three incontinently over. 
 
 Then rose the whoop from the whole band, as if by a common 
 instinct that fearful whoop of death, which had so suddenly 
 startled all in the chamber of the dying Olive, as we have already 
 seen. She had not so completely sunk into the lethargy which 
 was overspreading all her faculties, as to be unconscious of those 
 fearful bowlings which had sent a thrill of horror through all the 
 rest. She started from her seeming sleep for sleep she did not: 
 her eyes were only shut, while her mind enjoyed a sort of sweet, 
 dreaming reverie, strangely sweet and peaceful, as assured that it 
 was Harry Berkeley s hand which held her own. And, in this 
 consciousness of her mind, her fingers had failed to note that the 
 hand had been withdrawn. She started, and cried aloud : 
 
 " Oh, that horrid noise ! Ah, Harry, Harry ! where are you ? 
 Do not leave me, Harry ! not now ! Hold me still, Harry !" 
 
 He was already at the door. He could hear, though the tones 
 were very feeble. One sad look did he give toward the couch ; 
 then, dashing his hand across his eyes, he hurried away to the 
 basement. The cassique followed him as rapidly as possible. 
 
 " It is no time for tears, Edward. Yet, oh the horrors of such 
 a conflict, now now! That such a blessed angel should take 
 her flight from earth in such a tempest !" 
 
 " Happy that she flies from all tempests, my brother !" answered 
 the cassique, solemnly. 
 
 At that moment Zulieme, who had followed both, caught our 
 rover s arm. 
 
 " Harry, is it the red savages ?" 
 
 " Yes, child ! But get you back, out cf danger, and keep away 
 from the windows. Do not leave Olive now, if you love me." 
 
 "And you wish me to love you, Hany?" whispered the littlo 
 wife, pulling him down to her, while she threw her arms round 
 his neck and kissed him. 
 
THK BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 575 
 
 " To be sure, child ! Yes, yes, Zulieme ; if I have heart for 
 anything now, I love you." 
 
 And, as if suddenly reflecting that, in the vicissitudes of thfc 
 night, he might be cut off, he was even tender in his embrace 
 more tender than we have usually seen him ; and when he pui 
 her away, it was with a kiss. 
 
 " Now, back with you. child, and cling to Olive ! You know 
 all now. Go, if you love me, and cherish her with love to the 
 last; and catch her dying words, her dying breath, and bring 
 them to me hereafter." 
 
 She obeyed him without pause was now quite satisfied to 
 obey. Poor little urchin ! love even her brute-husband s love 
 was fast growing to be a necessity with her heart ; a great cra 
 ving, at all events. 
 
 This episode occupied but a few seconds. When she was gone, 
 the cassique said : 
 
 " I know none of your plans, Harry. There must be hundreds 
 of these savages, from that whoop !" 
 
 " There are ! My arrangements are very simple, but, I think, 
 sufficient. We have, as so many citadels, your house, the armory, 
 the house of your laborers, and the carriage-house and stables. 
 These are all made tolerably secure, and each has its well-armed 
 garrison : judge if the Indians can penetrate here, without suffering 
 great slaughter. In addition, I have at least twenty sailors in the 
 woods, well armed with musket, pistol, and cutlass. The red men 
 have no firearms, unless they have procured them by some dep 
 redation. They are not yet skilled in the use of them. Our 
 various posts cover all the space between the several houses. 
 Our force in the woods will reserve their fire to receive them, 
 when we shall have beaten them off. They know nothing of our 
 defences, and it must be rather a massacre than a fight. But it is 
 better that it is so. We must fill them with sudden terrors, by a 
 terrible punishment. Sharp punishment, at first, will shorten the 
 war. And now, leave it to me, Edward. I would beg you to go 
 and keep with Olive, but that I know 
 
 " How can you propose such a thing, Harry !" 
 
 " I do not propose it. I know that to propose it, to a man of 
 character, would be an insult. I should so hold it myself. What 
 I mean is this: that everything has been so thoroughly arranged, 
 
576 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 you are not needed. I, in fact, am scarcely needed, bu*. I .v! to - 
 nalling." 
 
 " Hark ! they are hammering at the entrance ; and, save that 
 single shot, your men do not give fire." 
 
 " I have ordered it so. I wish them to come on in body. 
 Your door is well bolted and barred now ; though, when I first 
 came, it was so simply locked, that with a key I found entrance. 
 They will hardly find entrance so easy now. But they need to 
 be watched. Do you keep and watch the passage, while I go 
 below. If you find them making any rapid progress, which they 
 could only do with a two-pounder or a battering-ram, let me know. 
 Watch here, Edward, where they seem to be at work." 
 
 Our cruiser went below, leaving the cassique in the passage. 
 The latter was armed had caught up pistols and gun ; his sword 
 was at his side. He was eager for strife, if only to escape from 
 thought ; the silence of his wife s chamber still as solemnly calling 
 to him as did the clamors of the savages without. He was impa 
 tient of the inaction which his situation forced upon him ; and, for 
 awhile so feeble was the agency employed by the assailants of 
 the door they made no seeming progress. The door was a pan 
 elled one, but heavy, and made of hard pine. The Indians, smi 
 ting with their stone hatchets, did not aim, as the white men would 
 do, at the panels ; but struck without discrimination, here and 
 ;here, and as frequently upon the cross as the panel. The door 
 was secured by a bar of lightwood as well as by the lock. But a 
 white man, with axe or hatchet, could have hewn it through in 
 twenty minutes. Our cassique listened to the strokes with grow 
 ing impatience ; and, as if to answer his impatience, it was soon 
 evident that new assailants had come to the work. The blows 
 were now harder, made with a heavier implement, and delivered 
 with more judicious aim upon a single panel at a time. Watch 
 ing this progress, he at length hastened below, where the whole 
 body lay perdu, grimly silent, waiting their moment. Harry Cal- 
 vert met him at the door, and they spoke together in whisper. 
 The cassique said : 
 
 " Their hatchet-strokes are telling above. The splinters begin 
 to fly. They have already beaten a hole through one of the 
 panels." 
 
 " Ah ! well, I am rather glad of that, for we may soon get a 
 
THE BATTLE OF K1AWAH. 577 
 
 chance at them, which we have not here. Situated as we are, we 
 do not command the immediate entrance, only the space five or 
 six feet from it. See here ! " 
 
 And he took him to the front, and, through a crevice, just wide 
 enough for the muzzle of a blunderbuss, he showed him the area, 
 where the red men were sufficiently visible, and scattered, skip 
 ping about the scene, dotting the grounds in all directions between 
 house and arsenal, and in perpetual motion. 
 
 " You see," said the cruiser, " that we should shoot unprofitably 
 while they are thus scattered. We have too few shot to throw 
 away any. We must make each bullet tell. I wait to see them 
 massed together. They wait to gain some advantage to effecC 
 an opening ; and, this done, you may look to see them rush, it 
 headlong crowds, to the point. That will be our time. It is foi 
 this we wait. Now, I shall be quite willing that they shall beat 
 in the panels. It will have two good results : we shall be able to 
 crack at them through the opening, and from the passage, where 
 for the present we can do nothing; and it will bring on their 
 masses tumultuously. Once let us have them massed ! See this 
 blunderbuss ! it carries a pound of slugs. I have another like it 
 here. Two blunderbusses and ten muskets, all crammed with 
 slugs, will be apt to create a sensation among the rascals." 
 
 " Good heavens, Harry, it will be a massacre !" 
 
 " Exactly ! If we do not make it so, we are lost ! They can 
 overwhelm us with numbers fire the house above our heads 
 utterly destroy us unless we can make it a massacre ! We can 
 not afford to fight with them man for man. No ! our hope is to 
 bring them on in masses, assailing every one of our garrisons at 
 the same time. With this object, I have specially instructed our 
 several leaders to reserve their fire, or so to fire as to persuade 
 the wretches that we have but a man or two in each. Now, let 
 them gain an opening, or get the promise of one, and they grow 
 mad with excitement ; and you will see in what swarms the red 
 devils will rush toward us ! Then, they shall have it !" 
 
 And he slapped the great brass barrel of the blunderbuss which 
 he carried, with an exulting and determined action. 
 
 " The miserable wretches !" groaned the cassique. 
 
 " Hark ye, good brother of mine, none of your philanthropy 
 now ! Blood is the law of battle ! We must show tooth and 
 
 25 
 
578 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 nail. We must bite and rend. Get you above, Edward, and 
 report progress. Or, stay here, and keep my place, while I go 
 see." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, he stole up-stairs, advancing 
 cautiously along the passage, until he sheltered himself in the left 
 corner near the door, his right hand free. The passage was ai- 
 most wholly dark, save a little gleam from an opening which the 
 assailants had beaten through one panel. They were still at 
 work upon a second, which was yielding in splinters under their 
 stone hatchets. Calvert watched his moment, and lifted his blun 
 derbuss ; but he instantly put it down. 
 
 " Not this !" he muttered to himself. " I must not waste its 
 contents upon a man or two." 
 
 He pulled from his belt one of the ship s pistols, thrust it sud 
 denly forward, and drew the trigger. Down went the stalwart 
 savage who had been hammering at the door, with a brace of bul 
 lets through his head. He was dead ere he fell ! 
 
 What a yell followed from a hundred throats ! There was a 
 rush of a score or more, some of whom eagerly seized the corpse 
 and bore it off, while others darted with their shoulders against 
 the door, as if to break in by the mere weight of their bodies ; 
 and others, again, with their hatchets, renewed the strokes upon 
 the panels. 
 
 To two of these sturdy assailants the rest yielded the labor. 
 Only two could work profitably at the spot. But the crowd had 
 increased without. Enraged by the loss of one of their stoutest 
 warriors, they were yet encouraged by the fact that only a single 
 shot had been fired. This argued the presence of but one de 
 fender, and perhaps but a single weapon. They had cut off the 
 connection with the arsenal and the house of the workmen ; and, 
 though seemingly well aware that the garrison of the latter was 
 strong, they counted upon the helplessness of the two other places. 
 This emboldened them in their attacks. Calvert congratulate 
 himself on the approach of the moment when he could effect th 
 havoc which he desired. 
 
 " Thick grass," he said, as he again went below using the 
 very language of the Hun against Rome "thick grass Is easiei 
 cut than thin." 
 
 He said to the cassique, as he got below : 
 
THE BATTLE OP KIAWAH. 579 
 
 " Now, Edward, get to your post again ! Keep in cover, and 
 use your pistols only, and only when you can make your mark. 
 I have had a chance, and have used it. These red rascals will 
 be apt to come on now. They are thickening ; they are getting 
 feverish and impatient. Just so soon as they get thoroughly en 
 raged, shall we have them on us ; and then ! But go ! Keep 
 in cover, for these fellows will deliver their arrows through a key 
 hole." 
 
 The cassique promptly obeyed. Though quite as brav^, as his 
 brother, he yet, with all others, tacitly felt and acknowledged that 
 superiority of resource, that authority in command, which, in the 
 case of the latter, was the fruit of a long experience in strife. 
 Calvert had a motive for hurrying the cassique back to the pas 
 sage, the entrance to which he saw would, for some while yet, 
 baffle the assailants. But he also foresaw that the red men could 
 not much longer curb their impatience, and that they would al 
 most unconsciously accumulate about the several points of attack, 
 in numbers, irrespective of the commands of their leaders. They 
 were hammering at the door of the arsenal, even as at that of the 
 mansion. They had simply been stung and irritated by the sin 
 gle shot from each, which had taken down its victim. Calvert 
 felt sure that he would soon enjoy his desired opportunity, in de 
 livering all his fire upon their masses. 
 
 " Two blunderbusses," he counted again and again to himself 
 " two blunderbusses and ten muskets !" He did not desire his 
 brother to be present at the discharge. He respected the error 
 (as he held it) of philanthropic tenderness for the red men which 
 the cassique entertained. He whispered all around among his 
 men : 
 
 " They will soon make a rush ! Wait my orders, and fire low ! 
 You are on a line with them ; your muzzles range with your 
 hips, and will cover their bodies. That will do. Shoot exactly 
 level, and just where the crowd is thickest. Blunderbuss" to 
 the fellow who carried this second formidable weapon " fire last, 
 and as they scatter !" 
 
 He had hardly spoken, when the rush was made, at once upon 
 dwelling-house and armory. The crowd pressed the persons be 
 fore them, mounted the steps of the dwelling to the door, and the 
 rear still kept thrusting on the front. There was a great shouting 
 
580 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the war-whoop a flight of arrows at every windcw, and tom 
 ahawks were hurled against the shutters, in their rage. Calvert 
 watched every movement impatiently. His moment came at 
 last! 
 
 " Now," said he, " let them feel you ! Give it them !" 
 
 And, as he spoke, a burst of fire followed, which was echoed 
 seemingly from the several garrisons. 
 
 It was no echo ! Each of these places had been assailed, in 
 the same manner, at the same moment ; and each had poured 
 forth its treasured volley among the swarming assailants, with 
 like terrible effect. It was the first notification that the savages 
 had of any formidable force in preparation for them. They were 
 confounded. For a moment all was confusion and consternation. 
 One universal groan went up ; cries of pain ; shrieks of terror 
 while, in front of each of the garrisoned places, lay one or more 
 piles of slain and wounded : the slain, prostrate on face or back ; 
 the wounded, writhing to extricate their limbs from incumbent 
 bodies, and draw themselves, if possible, out of the melee. Ocke- 
 tee, the chief, had fallen, slain outright. Cussoboe, however, was 
 unhurt ; and he came on again, raging like a tiger, and striving to 
 bring up his warriors a second time to the conflict. 
 
 But this was no easy matter. The red men quickly feel their 
 losses. They count a single warrior slain, as a defeat. They 
 stood appalled. They now felt that the barony had been pre 
 pared against them, and with such a force as they hardly believed 
 to be anywhere embodied in the colony. But, as the cries of the 
 sufferers reached their ears ; as the wounded dragged themselves 
 out of the scene, and became known to them ; as they counted 
 and missed the persons slain they grew furious; smote their 
 enemies in the air ; howled to their gods in imprecation ; prac 
 tised a thousand contortions ; and strove to work themselves up to 
 a renewal of their frenzy, and a repetition of the attack. 
 
 Suddenly, a wild woman came among them from the rear, an 
 howling with the fury of a demon. She had followed or accoin 
 panied the party, and her son was among the slain ; and, with 
 dismal shrieks and imprecations $he rushed among the combat 
 ants, exhorting them to havoc ana revenge. She was powerfully 
 seconded by one of their fawas, or priests a conjuror, a magi 
 cian who. gashing himself with a huge ocean-shell, and drawing 
 
THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the wofullest sounds from a great conch, invoked upon their heads 
 the terrors of all their savage gods if they did not wreak vengeance 
 on their white enemies. 
 
 The appearance of this lawa was frightful in the extreme. He 
 was of immense size and stature, nearly seven feet in height, mus 
 cular and well limbed, but of little flesh, and he wore a head 
 dress of buffalo-horns in a fillet of feathers. His age was greater 
 than that of any of his people, yet not one exhibited such won 
 derful agility, was so lithe, rapid, and powerful of limb and move 
 ment. His contortions, savagely frantic and fantastic, as he threw 
 his hands up in air, and whirled through the masses, gashing his 
 breast till the blood issued from every part of it, struck awe and 
 terror even into the souls of those who had been wont to behold 
 his previous displays, and who had long been familiar with such 
 savage rites. With the woman as a Fury, such as haunted the 
 footsteps of Orestes, and the lawa as a terrible necromancer, call 
 ing up the dead and dismal inhabitants of the infernal abodes, we 
 may not wonder that a sort of madness seized upon the warriors 
 as they heard their invocations ; and they rushed headlong, as it 
 were, upon Fate ! 
 
 But what could their stone hatchets, macanas, or war-clubs, 
 avail against the defences of the white man ? Again did the fiery 
 vengeance, from mansion-house and arsenal, hurtle terribly through 
 their ranks, rending, maiming, and destroying ! The savage wo 
 man, rushing desperately to the front, as the warriors came on, 
 was among the first to perish ; falling, with one wild shriek, upon 
 her face, while the torrent of warriors, passing over her body, 
 trampled out what little life remained in her. 
 
 " It is a horrid massacre, Harry !" said the cassique, as it seemed 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Can we escape it, brother mine ?" 
 
 u No ! I see no way. Nevertheless, it is horrible 1" 
 
 " Very ! But it is their bl^od or ours ! Give it them again 
 men ! Now rake the line of pickets, where you see them hud 
 dling together! One more round, and we shall disperse the 
 wolves !" 
 
 And it blazed that fiery tempest blazed, charged with scores 
 of smiting bolts, from gun, and blunderbuss, and pistol, that swept 
 through the line of crouching savages, sending those who wen 1 
 
582 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 not stricken down, scattered and screaming over the area ! An 
 other broadside from the arsenal ; a third from the fortress of the 
 workmen ; and the affair seemed to be at end. All was disorder 
 and panic among the savages. 
 
 Then it was that Cussoboe, that fierce old chief, who had hith 
 erto escaped every shot, though as much exposed as the meanest 
 of his followers, came rushing among them, perilling his person 
 everywhere, reckless of danger, and even smiting down the fugi 
 tives with his stone hatchet as sternly as he had smitten down his 
 son ! In his own wild gutturals, he cried to his people : 
 
 " Ha ! do you fear the white man ? Do not be afraid. Be 
 strong ! be strong ! Kill ! kill ! Let us drink the blood of the 
 pale-faces ; let us tear off the scalps from their skulls ! Kill ! kill !" 
 
 But his appeal helped them little failed to restore order; and 
 they were still scattered and without purpose, until the savage 
 conjuror, the great lawa of the tribe, reappeared upon the scene, 
 howling and practising those grotesque, almost demonic contor 
 tions, which usually excited them to madness. Armed, now, with 
 an enormous macana, or war-club a huge mace, five feet long, 
 of the hardest wood, into the sides of which were let, nearly its 
 whole length, double rows of sharp flint-stones, like arrow-heads, 
 but thrice as large and quite as keen he led them himself 
 against the dwelling-house, from which so many fearful stream! 
 of fire had issued, and, darting against the door, smote it with 
 thundering effect for entrance. 
 
 " We must get rid of that conjuror," quoth Calvert to his men. 
 " Pick him out ! give him half a dozen of your muskets at once !" 
 
 The fire was delivered ; but the conjuror seemed to bear a 
 charmed life ! He stood unmoved, tall as a tower, among the 
 crowd, smiting still as fearlessly as ever ; and ever and anon cry 
 ing out to the band to avenge their gods and people. At that 
 moment, there rose a shout among the savages, as if stimulated 
 by some new cause of hope ; and Calvert saw with anxiety a run 
 ner approaching from the rear, who carried aloft a ball of blazing 
 tow, coated in the gum-turpentine, fastened to the end of a 
 epear, and burning furiously ; while another followed him, with a 
 bundle of arrows similarly dressed with gum and tow, not yet 
 lighted, but ready for use ! 
 
 Our cruiser at once understood what these preparations meant 
 
THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 583 
 
 " See that every gun and pistol be charged," he said to his men, 
 " and be prepared to follow me !" 
 
 Then, taking off hfs hunting-shirt, he made one of the sailors 
 wrap it tightly, in several folds, about his left arm. This done, 
 he grasped a heavy tomahawk, and, bidding all his men follow, 
 ascended from the basement to the passage-way. Here he met 
 Ihe cassique, to whom he said : 
 
 "We have a new danger to contend with, and the worst yet! 
 The rascals are about to assail the house with burning arrows ! 
 We must end this matter as soon as possible, and by a desperate 
 effort, or we are lost !" 
 
 " What do you propose to do ?" 
 
 " Make a sally. We must now make these red rascals feel us, 
 hand to hand ! We might destroy many of them, shooting from 
 our defences, yet not prevent others from sending their flaming 
 arrows to every roof in the settlement. There is but one way to 
 prevent that. This conjuror, who seems to defy our bullets, must 
 be met. If we can slay him, we shall probably disperse the rest. 
 At all events, we can only disperse them by a concerted charge." 
 
 " I will go with you, Harry !" 
 
 " You shall not ! Who will defend the house, close the door, 
 make good the entrance, if you leave it ? No ! you must stay, 
 and keep the garrison. Remember Olive ! . . . . When I have pal- 
 lied out with these men, secure the door after us, as before. Then 
 use your judgment for the defence ! And God be with you, 
 my brother !" 
 
 They embraced. It might be a final parting. The cassique 
 chafed; but there was no remedy. He felt that he could not 
 leave the dwelling. He shed bitter tears at the necessity. He, 
 too, was ready for death. 
 
 " Where is your horn ?" said Calvert to one of his men. He 
 produced it from under his arm. 
 
 "The moment we sally forth," continued he to the fellow, "do 
 you sound it thrice, with all your wind ! Now be ready to 
 second me ! I will grapple with the conjuror. Do your work 
 among the masses. When you have delivered your fire, rush on 
 them with your cutlasses." 
 
 The three bugle-blasts were a signal, agreed upon before, an 
 nouncing a common sally from all the garrisons. In a moment, 
 
584 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 and while the lawa was still thundering at the door with his ma- 
 cana, the bar was quietly removed, the bolt shot back, and the 
 door thrown open the lawa staggering forward, only to receive 
 a heavy blow from Calvert, upon the shoulder, which drove him 
 out again. 
 
 Then the two met in conflict, at the very entrance, and upon 
 the steps of the house. The macana swung in air, a terrific 
 weapon, but difficult to manage. Calvert kept his enemy at close 
 quarters, the better to prevent its stroke, and for the more effect 
 ual use of the short-handled tomahawk which he ^ore. It was in 
 vain that the lawa receded, in order to deliver his blows. Our 
 rover clung to him closely, and drove him before him, with sharp, 
 sudden blows, frequent but slight, as not given with the full swing 
 of his arm. And this difficulty was one not easily overcome 
 since, to avoid the formidable macana, Calvert, who had no shield, 
 but the coat wrapped about his left arm, was required to employ 
 his agility to the utmost, either by getting within the length of his 
 enemy s arm, or by dodging his club in its descent. One well- 
 aimed stroke from such a mace, falling upon head or arm, would 
 slay or disable him for ever. It was a battle of the middle ages. 
 The lawa was no match for him in agility, however he might be 
 in strength. Calvert pressed him with his keenest purpose, re 
 strained simply by the necessity of keeping the closest watch, and 
 eluding every blow : no easy task, amid the din, the imperfect 
 light, and the sudden glare in his eyes from the blazing tow-balls, 
 which were now to be seen waving in several parts of the area. 
 
 But the single combat between the two leaders, though grimly 
 watched by many, on both sides, with all that gloating anxiety 
 which marks the spectators of any great gladiatorial conflict, was 
 not suffered to keep the rest idle. So far, it had been the work 
 of a few seconds only the two rushing into conflict from the 
 moment when Calvert had emerged from the dwelling. But, so 
 soon as his ten musketeers could make their way out, and spread 
 themselves on either side of their chief, they delivered their fire, 
 full in the thick of the excited crowd ! The two blunderbusses 
 roared and emptied their slugs ; the muskets, huge enough, in that 
 day, of themselves, had also formidable masses of leaden mischiefs 
 to scatter abroad ; and they did so, with most mischievous accu 
 racy of aim ! Terrible were the shrieks and groans that fol 
 
THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 585 
 
 lowed ; and then, even as they had been ordered, the sailors drew 
 their cutlasses, and rushed among the bewildered masses, hewing 
 right and left with their sharp weapons and powerful arms ! 
 
 But ere this movement was made, and just so soon as their vol 
 ley was delivered, the bugler thrice sounded his charge, the spirit- 
 stirring notes imparting a new life to the scene of death and mas 
 sacre. 
 
 At that signal, for which the other garrisons had been impa 
 tiently waiting, volley after volley was poured forth from each ; 
 the combatants following up the effect of a most murderous dis 
 charge, with their cutlasses, even as Calvert s party had done. 
 
 The red men who still kept their feet, and the field, found 
 thejnselves assailed, on all sides, by a force that seemed to spring 
 out of the earth. A wide-spread consternation seized upon their 
 host. Old Cussoboe raged in vain ; and, even while delivering 
 his war-cry, was hewn, to his very teeth, by the cutlass of a com 
 mon sailor ! 
 
 It was a curious illustration of that chivalrous instinct which 
 characterizes all truly brave people, that no one, of either side, 
 sought to meddle in the fight between Calvert and the lawa. It 
 was seemingly a tacit understanding that the two champions 
 should have fair play. No single stroke or shot was aimed at 
 either. Their conflict constituted the closing scene of the contest. 
 All was fairly over, in the rest of the field, ere it closed with 
 them. 
 
 Never did Indian warrior or Magian more bravely or fiercely, 
 or with greater prowess, wield weapon for his gods or country. 
 His tall form was pre-eminent, even above the height of Calvert, 
 which was considered great among the whites ; and his mighty 
 macana was whirled about in air, the whizzing sound of its mo 
 tion being heard for thirty feet or more ! Its every descent made 
 the heart shrink and shudder expecting to hear it crashing, the 
 next moment, among the bones of the head which it threatened ! 
 But, hitherto, with the exception of two slight injuries, where the 
 club had grazed his bandaged arm, Calvert had escaped unwound- 
 ed ; and he had succeeded, thrice, in giving more decided hurts 
 to his enemy. The lawa was evidently growing feeble. His 
 strokes were less frequent. He raised his macana with more 
 effort and more slowly. He was staggered twice by the stroke* 
 
 25* 
 
586 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 of the tomahawk ; and once, from no apparent cause. But he 
 made a final and powerful effort. He felt that it was probably 
 the last he could make ; and, with a wild cry, uttering certain gut 
 tural words in his own language doubtless addressed to his false 
 gods he whirled the macana about his head, and it sung fear 
 fully in the air as it descended ! 
 
 It required all Calvert s dexterity to elude the blow, which 
 grazed him narrowly, smiting the cap from his head ! 
 
 The force thrown into the stroke, bore the lawa completely 
 about; while the heavy end of his mace sank in the ground. 
 Before he could recover himself, lift his weapon, or again meet 
 the eye of his enemy, the tomahawk had descended once, twice 
 the first blow stunningly, the last fatally ; the heavy steel crunch 
 ing deeply into the brain ! The conjuror sank forward, with a 
 single yell, which found many a fearful echo among his people. 
 Down he went, like a great tower, and in his fall the conflict 
 ceased. The red warriors had no leader left. Subsequently it 
 was found that he had three musket-balls in his body. Yet hj 
 had not faltered once ! 
 
 All now was flight and confusion. Two or three flights o/ 
 fiery arrows had been discharged at the roof of the mansion 
 house, but with such haste and excitement, that they went over ill 
 in every instance. The red men were not suffered time to repeat 
 the attempt. The sally of the several garrisons was made at the 
 happy moment ; and we have seen the effect. The tow-balls, all 
 on fire, were left blazing on the ground, and, by their ghastly 
 glare, served to light up the horrors of the closing scene. Old 
 Cussoboe, as we have said, was killed by a common sailor. When 
 told whom he had slain, he was so proud of the achievement, that 
 he cut off the old chief s head as a trophy, not having any ade 
 quate experience in taking scalps. Ligon, afterward, bought the 
 trophy from him for a bottle of Jamaica, and performed the op 
 eration secundum artem. But this aside. 
 
 All was not yet over with the wretched savages. They natu 
 rally fled to the shelter of the thickets whence they had emerged, 
 only to be torn, and shattered, and sent howling to still farther 
 forests, by a deliberate volley muskets and pistols doing fearful 
 execution from the party which had been left "it\ air," under 
 the charge of Ligon. In twenty minutes after the fall of tha 
 
THE BATTLE OF KIAWAH. 587 
 
 lawa, not a red man was to be seen upon the field, those only ex- 
 cepted whose flight and battle were alike over ; or such as had 
 been too severely wounded to hobble out of the action. More 
 than thirty were slain outright, twice as many wounded. The 
 dead were buried in the neighboring woods, by the whites, in three 
 several pits, and the earth heaped upon them into mounds, which 
 some of our antiquaries are prepared to ascribe to a far earlier 
 period. And thus ended the fierce battle of Kiawah, one of the 
 most sanguinary of the thousand fights of the old colonial periods 
 in our English settlements. 
 
 It is not our purpose to narrate the events of this petty war, 
 which the historians describe as " The War with the Stono In 
 dians." It does not belong to this history. Enough, if we men 
 tion that the timely provision of Calvert saved old Gowdey and 
 his fortress on the Ashley. He, too, was attacked the same night 
 by a strong force of the savages ; who, not suspecting his re 
 sources in men, exposed themselves in numbers to his fire, and 
 were beaten off in like manner with those at Kiawah, with con 
 siderable loss. Elsewhere, the settlements were not always so 
 fortunate. Several were broken up, like that of Lord Cardross 
 at Beaufort. The traders were butchered in large numbers ; but 
 the rangers taking the field, and the Spaniards disappearing from 
 it, the insurrection was soon suppressed. The curious reader must 
 consult other pages if he would learn more of this history. Let 
 us confine ourselves to our own. 
 
588 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISES. 
 
 " Who comes from the bridal chamber ? 
 It is Azrael, the angel of Death !" SODTHET. 
 
 "It is a sudden presence that makes dawn 
 In the dark chamber. This is Isfrael, 
 Angel of Life and loving harmonies !" 
 
 THUS ended the battle of Kiawah ; a conflict for which the red 
 men were entirely unprepared, and which, but for the fortunate 
 presence of our rover upon the scene, must have ended, as did 
 many other similar attempts, in the massacre of the whole settle 
 ment. With the fall of their chief, Cussoboe, and of the lawa, 
 whom they held to be invulnerable to the weapons of the whit* 
 man, the savages fled incontinently ; but only to encounter the 
 reserve of marines under Ligon, whose unexpected fire, as they 
 rushed confusedly to the forests, took bloody toll at every pas 
 sage. 
 
 Harry Calvert forbade pursuit. He had done, with his men, 
 all that could be expected at their hands ; and, once on the alert, 
 and well armed, the cassique and his English workmen were now 
 fully able of themselves to defend the barony, in the event of any 
 renewal of the assault. He did not find it so easy to restrain Li 
 gon, however, whose passion for scalps would have rendered the 
 pursuit of the fugitives an unrelenting one. He reluctantly fore 
 bore, at the imperative command of the rover ; and, thus disap 
 pointed, abruptly declared his desire to leave the barony. He had 
 served the purpose for which he had been employed had safely 
 guided the party ; which could now easily find its way back to 
 the ship: and he was anxious to attach himself to some body 
 
THE SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISES. 589 
 
 of men less scrupulous in hunting down the savages to their 
 ruin. 
 
 Ligon was an old scout, and knew in what lay the profits of 
 the business. He could gratify his passion for scalps, in those of 
 the warriors; and appease his cupidity by selling captives to the 
 English, who needed their labor, as slaves, in the West-India 
 colonies. This business was an old one, practised pretty gener 
 ally from the Plymouth rock to the capes of Florida ; by the Pil 
 grim Fathers as by the Cavaliers ; and, indeed, the example of 
 setting the red men at loggerheads, slaughtering the warriors, and 
 selling their wives and children into slavery, was set by the virtu 
 ous people of Massachusetts Bay, who justified it from Scripture, 
 in numerous delectable texts, at the cost of the heathen. 
 
 This old Indian-fighter knew the warfare well ; knew that, now 
 the war was broken out, the rangers would be called into service ; 
 and, among these, an old scout, like himself, could carry on a 
 very profitable business. He no sooner declared his desire to 
 leave the party, than Calvert paid him the twenty pounds ster 
 ling, which was the reward of his services. Without word of 
 farewell, pocketing his money, Ligon braced his belt about his 
 waist, primed his weapons, adjusted his knife, grasped his toma 
 hawk, and darted into the thickets, taking the direction for Gow- 
 dey s castle and Charleston. We shall dismiss him from our 
 future regards, assured that he will be in at the death, wherever 
 the vultures shall be gathered to the prey ! 
 
 We are to assume, from what we know of Calvert, that he did 
 not suffer any time to be wasted, or any military necessity to be 
 neglected. The force at the barony was immediately arrayed, 
 counted, and stationed about the settlement, in proper positions 
 to discover the approaches of an enemy, and to co-operate against 
 assault. His own force of marines and sailors he gathered in 
 hand, with orders to prepare for instant marching, if necessary. 
 Of course, they were fed and refreshed. The cassique, just so 
 0011 as the red men were dispersed, had sent out provisions for 
 them not forgetting a certain keg, of formidable size, containing 
 a potent supply of Jamaica. 
 
 Having seen his marines gathered and counted ; ascertained 
 his losses (and some had been slain, and others wounded) ; hav 
 ing done all that might be done to secure equally the party and 
 
590 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 the barony, Calvert once more turned his eyes and footsteps upon 
 the dwelling where lay the objects of his solicitude. What was 
 he to learn on reaching that dwelling? What could he learn? 
 The condition in which he had left Olive Berkeley, at the begin 
 ning of the conflict, led him to but one conclusion. She was 
 dead! That morning star of his youthful fancy that light still 
 shining upon his soul, and casting a wan but precious moonlight 
 over its darkest recesses that light was now dimmed for ever 
 to his eyes ! The delicious voice of his heart was hushed ! It 
 was an echo in memory only. He should never more hear its 
 music ! 
 
 Such were his melancholy meditations as he slowly approached 
 the house. It was now bright sunrise. The sun was rising upo 
 the closing scene of the conflict, when the reserve, under Ligon 
 was pouring in its unexpected fires upon the scattering parties of 
 the red men. The light of day had never dawned more cloud 
 lessly, never looked brighter or more peaceful ; as if there were 
 no bloody strife, no wild, inhuman passions horridly at work, and 
 heedless of its bright, stern, penetrating glances ! 
 
 From the eyes of Calvert had gone the wild and savage fires 
 of battle. His face was now wan, his eyes and form were droop 
 ing. The passion of the Hun had given place to the saddest ex 
 pression of a lost hope ; the weary, wo-begone look of a humanity 
 which could tremble, and could no longer strive ! 
 
 His brother met him at the entrance, and silently led him into 
 the parlor. They both sat in silence. But that silence was full 
 of speech. 
 
 That last wretched midnight in the chamber of Olive, when the 
 conflict was raging around, and the sharp shot of the marines and 
 the wild whoop of the red men were making the welkin ring ! 
 The Death, so busy without, wore no such touching aspect as that 
 within, where he was doing his work in music ! 
 
 Yes, music! For such is the low 7 , sweet, broken chanting, 
 from those dying lips, through which the soul is about to escape 
 for ever. Hers are so many sweet, throbbing tones of the soul, 
 as string by string is broken, of the beautiful instrument of life ! 
 
 " Those are strange sounds which I hear," said Olive in a bro 
 ken whisper to Zulieme. " They almost drown the song ! But 
 
THE SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISES. 591 
 
 I hear the song too, in spite of the clamor. Its music is very 
 close to me. It sounds within my very ears, and seems to thrill 
 through my brain. It comes and goes. It is like a rill in the 
 forest a low, sweet murmur, as if among green leaves and sunny 
 flowers. If I could only shut out the noise of that shouting, I 
 should hear it all. Where is Harry ? He will quiet the noise. 
 He is a charmer, Harry, and speaks the very seas into calm." 
 
 And she seemed earnestly to listen. 
 
 "I think I know it now! Yes yes !" with a low sigh. "I 
 know it. There is no pain now ! But I do not see you all well, 
 and I do not now see Harry! Where s Harry and Sir 
 Edward ? They ought not to leave me now !" 
 
 The mother said something in a whisper. 
 
 " I know that these are angels. I believe in God, the Fathe 
 Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his - 
 ah! call him call Harry! and Sir Edward my husband." 
 
 This was spoken somewhat wildly, and she made a feeble effort 
 to lift her head from the pillow, Zulieme composed her ad 
 justed the pillow, and tenderly clasped her wan fingers in her 
 own. 
 
 " The old willows at Feltham the old Feltham willows ! Ah ! 
 I knew that I should see them again. How cool is the shadow, 
 and there are the swans in the lake ; all looking so sweet and 
 peaceful ! It is time for peace. We shall never have the pain 
 and trouble more ! There shall be no storm. Ah ! now I see 
 Harry, where he crosses the stile. He is bringing me flowers ; 
 and we shall have a sail on the lake. My brave and noble 
 Harry !" 
 
 " Olive, my child ! " interposed the mother, in tones of expos 
 tulation. 
 
 " Yes, my mother, we will come in soon. Harry will spend 
 the evening with us. He says he will not go to sea again. So 
 we shall hear no more about storms and shipwreck. I hear you 
 yes, I hear ! . . . But where is he gone ? Come back, Harry ; 
 oh, be not so impatient, Harry ! I did but jest. It was a child s 
 jest ; it should not make you angry. Yes, you shall go to sea, if 
 you wish ; and I will go with you. I know there is a beauty in 
 the sea. I know all about the Bermoothes, and those isles of tha 
 South, where there are grottoes and caves, with bright, sparry 
 
592 THE CASSIQUE OP KIAWAH. 
 
 walls stalactites, you know and the coral-groves, with the dol 
 phins, like so many living rainbows, gliding in between the walls, 
 so deep down in the clear sea ! You may see the very floor of 
 the ocean ; and the glistening sand-beds ; and the bright gems 
 and jewels the spoils of the ship and the beautiful forms of 
 men these are pearls that were his eyes ! " 
 
 So rhapsodizing, in frequent breaks and pauses, with a brain 
 wandering off to all the fancies of her childhood, she suddenly 
 cried out, gasping, as with sudden fright : 
 
 " No, no ! Harry ! Harry ! Where are you ? Come back to 
 me, my Harry ! Oh, come back ! I will not think that you can 
 drown ! You are too strong a swimmer ! Yes, O Harry, come 
 back to me at once, my Harry at once, or I shall die wit 
 terror !" 
 
 A convulsion followed exhaustion ! The pulse flickered wild 
 ly feebly; nowhere now there. It is gone the eyes closing 
 slowly, even while the fingers of the mother are gliding up the 
 arm, as if to follow and arrest the flight of that fluttering, birdlike 
 thing which, at length, afforded the only evidence of still-remain 
 ing life. The eyes continued shut ; the lips silent, though parted 
 as for speech ; and the mother eagerly fastened her ears to them, 
 while her fingers still followed the slight pulsation in wrist and 
 temple. 
 
 " It is gone ! no ! it is here !" 
 
 " It is gone !" said Zulieme. 
 
 And the mother threw herself upon the floor, sobbing violently. 
 Zulieme, whose tears fell fast, bowed her head down upon the pil 
 low, beside the silent Olive, conscious of a grief and growing 
 sympathies and sensibilities which had seldom stirred in her little 
 heart before. 
 
 The cassique heard the cries of the mother, and came from be 
 low into the room. Pie could now leave his post : the savages 
 were fled! He looked silently looked with what eyes of 
 deepest self-reproach and tenderness ! on the pale, sad, highly- 
 spiritualized face, which seemed to smile from its lips ; then 
 clasped his hands in mute prayer, but did not venture to ap 
 proach. He would have kissed her, but he dared not. How 
 many thoughts and sorrows, at that moment, combined to make 
 her lips sacred 1 
 
THE SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISE3. 593 
 
 " They are not for me !" he thought to himself. " They belong 
 to Harry now ! My poor, poor Olive !" 
 
 And, to conceal the burst of tenderness which he felt rising in 
 his bosom, he hurried below, threw wide the entrance, and stood 
 looking forth upon the scene of blood ; and here he waited for his 
 brother, whose bugles were sounding on the edge of the wood. 
 It was thus waiting that Harry met him on his return. 
 
 For a few moments they sat silent together in the parlor. Sud 
 denly the cassique lifted his hand, and, without looking at his 
 brother, waved it toward the chamber of death. Harry rose and 
 left the room, then quietly passed into the chamber. The mother 
 still lay sobbing upon the floor. Zulieme kept her position beside 
 Olive on the bed. The rover approached and gazed for a mo 
 ment on the inanimate figure. And this was the sad close of his 
 earliest and sweetest passion ! 
 
 " How beautiful," he murmured to himself " how beautiful is 
 death !" 
 
 And, eveji as he thought, he bent over Zulieme, and kissed 
 Olive s parted lips glued his own to them, as if the right to do so 
 had come to him from Death ; and, even as he pressed them, the 
 eyes of the supposed corse opened beneath his own ! He started 
 back, his whole frame quivering with excitement. 
 
 She spoke Olive spoke: 
 
 " Harry !" was the single word from the lips, and then they 
 were sealed for ever. The mother started up with a shriek. Zu 
 lieme fell back, terrified. But there was no other sound. The 
 eyes were again closed as before the lips silent, though still 
 parted, with a smile of innocent and childlike sweetness. 
 
 " Who spoke ? Who called Harry ?" demanded the mother. 
 Calvert pointed silently to the corse. 
 
 "My child ! my child! speak to me once more but once, my 
 Olive ! Tell me oh, tell me ! Let me hear you but once 
 more !" 
 
 But there was no response. The face was sweet, very sweet ; 
 there was a happier expression upon it now, as if a last want had 
 been gratefully satisfied; and life, it would seem, had lingered 
 only for that last look and word of tender farewell to the beloved 
 one ; and. that won, it had detached itself from the mortal dwel 
 
594 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAWAH. 
 
 ling, with as little effort as makes the leaf when detached from 
 the tree ii . the gusts of the sere November. 
 
 The cassique had fixed a place of family sepulture, almost at 
 the first moment of settling the barony. He had certainly rhosen 
 the site among his first performances. About a quarter of a mile 
 from the house, on a slight crest of earth, small and nearly circu 
 lar, his eye had distinguished a noble group of patriarchal oaks, 
 each of which was probably a thousand years old. Their limbs 
 were of the thickness of ordinary forest-trees. The sacred mis- 
 letoe was imbedded and green in numerous boughs, a strange but 
 not unnatural or unseemly grafting ; and the gray moss streamed 
 from the gigantic arms, waving in the wind like the great gray 
 beard of the Druid bard, as described by Gray, when he thun 
 dered down, from his heights, his prophetic imprecations upon the 
 march and barons of the imperious Edward ! Each of these 
 great oaks of the cassique stood up mightily, with outstretched 
 arms, as giving benediction as w r ell as shelter. And around these 
 a circular line had been drawn ; and the axe and hoe had been at 
 work upon the underwood ; and the spot had been consecrated to 
 its sacred purpose, though no walls had yet circumscribed it, and 
 no vault had yet been built. A few years later, and the place 
 was duly cultivated and consecrated ; and the old vault of the 
 Berkeleys beginning with the cassique of Kiawah may even 
 now be seen by the antiquary, looking ancient as Death himself. 
 It is now a venerable ruin ! Yet here sleeps, peacefully, all that 
 earth holds of the beautiful but unhappy Olive. 
 
 To this spot the solemn procession of the dead bore her pale 
 and delicate form. It was a solemn service, though there were 
 no sacred rites, no stoled priest to officiate in the ceremonial. 
 The war was in progress ; communication with the city was cut 
 off, unless under an escort of armed men. Even the burial, so 
 near the fortress of the cassique, required the presence of a mili 
 tary force for its protection. At least, it was a proper precaution 
 to provide one. The workmen of the cassique, the marines of 
 Calvert, were all under arms, and present. They were grouped 
 in order about the grave. The mother of Olive, Grace her sister, 
 the servants, all clung close to the coffin, which was of cypress, 
 without ornament or decoration, if we except a few pale roses 
 
THE SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISES. 595 
 
 and some wild flowers, which had been gathered by the hands of 
 loving servants. The cassique read the burial-service, standing 
 above the coffin and beside the open grave. He read with sub 
 dued but unfaltering voice, his whole soul schooled to the degree 
 of strength necessary for the performance of so sad and unwonted 
 a duty. Calvert, with -his face pressed close to one of the great 
 oaks, sought in this way to conceal the show of emotion which he 
 could not well subdue. The strife over, and no call upon his will 
 and courage, he was weak as any woman. 
 
 But when his brother s voice no longer reached his ears ; when 
 he knew that the last painful duty was at hand, of hiding from 
 human eyes the form of the beloved one then he turned, made 
 his way through the group, and stood for a single moment gazing 
 down upon the lidded coffin. His eye seemed to pierce the cover. 
 He shuddered with a sharp convulsion, and, with a groan which 
 he could not suppress which, indeed, escaped him unconsciously 
 he wheeled around, and was about to make his way into the 
 forest, when a savage cry was heard, a bustle, a rush from with 
 out, and, darting through the circle with a succession of bounds, 
 the Indian hunter-boy, Iswattee, dashed in among the group, even 
 as a tiger leaps from the jungle among the brooding or browsing 
 herds. 
 
 Never was there a more striking picture of mixed famine, mis 
 ery, and insanity, than he presented to the gaze. He was meager 
 with long starvation ; his eye was full of idiotic fury ; his hair 
 was long, wild, and floating black from his shoulders. His shoul 
 ders were bare his arms; the clothes seemed to have been torn 
 from him in desperate struggle with wolf or wildcat. In his hand 
 he brandished a tomahawk ; and, with shriek and yell, heralding 
 his descent among the party, his appearance was well calculated 
 to strike terror into every breast. For a moment, all seemed par 
 alyzed. Not a soldier put forth his hand ; not a weapon was up 
 lifted ; not a word spoken ; not a foot advanced to meet the in 
 truder, so sudden was the surprise, so formidable the spectre ! In 
 another moment, he had seized upon the form of Grace Master- 
 ton, grasped her fiercely with his left arm about her waist, while 
 his right waved his tomahawk, as he cried in his own dialect : 
 
 " Annegar ! I come for thee. Annegar pretty white bird 
 Cussoboe, the great chief, says, Come ! " 
 
596 THE CASSIQUE OF KIA\V LH. 
 
 It was a grand scene for the dramatic painter. The young 
 savage dragged the damsel with him, heedless of her screams and 
 struggles, his tomahawk waving all the while in the faces of the 
 party. The cassique sprang toward him, across the grave ; but, 
 ere he could reach the spot, the hand of our rover, with a single 
 buffet, had felled the wild assailant to the earth, and rescued the 
 girl from his clutches. The boy was taken into custody, and fast 
 fettered. With the one effort he had no power for further strug 
 gle; he was exhausted. He was a madman. His constant nar 
 cotic potations, his frenzied dreams, his wild and hopeless passion, 
 the misery occasioned by his own consciousness of treachery to 
 his people, and the stunning blow of his father s tomahawk upon 
 his head, had utterly wrecked an intellect which, under other cir 
 cumstances, might have made him the bard or prophet, the ora 
 tor or statesman, of his people. As soon as his condition was 
 ascertained, he was treated with constant care and indulgence, but 
 closely watched. In a week he was dead, his last words being a 
 call to the " Annegar" the little white bird which had been 
 to him the bird of destiny ! 
 
 In another day, the cassique and our rover had a final confer 
 ence. The former had been pleading with his brother to remain 
 with him. 
 
 " I pledge myself for your safety. I have power, as you know. 
 Your pardon shall be procured " 
 
 " Pardon !" cried the other, with indignation. " I sue to no 
 man, to no king, for pardon ! As for him who sits upon the 
 throne of Britain, he should rather sue to rne ! He has betrayed, 
 has dishonored me ! He should sue to me, were he but half con- 
 ecious of the true virtue that lies in manhood ! No, Edward, I 
 can suffer neither myself nor you to descend to the meanness of 
 prayer or petition in such a case, or to such a sovereign !" 
 
 " But, Harry, unless you receive this pardon which is really 
 a mere form you can never return to Britain." 
 
 " Unless, like Raleigh, to be sacrificed by a coward to a national 
 enemy ! But, my brother, I shall never return to Britain. I have, 
 been too long a freeman with Nature, in America, to endure wil 
 lingly the caprices of any European despotism, whether of gov 
 ernment or society. No, that Old World, with all its rotten con- 
 
TCB SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISES. 597 
 
 ventions, is no longer world of mine ! Wretched as I have been, 
 am, and may be still, the sense of my present freedom is still my 
 acutest and most precious sense of life. Here, manhood, if it so 
 wills, can live in every vein and muscle, in every beat of heart 
 and brain. And here I can maintain my manhood the noblest 
 of all mortal conditions ; though I may not be able to escape pam 
 and privation ; though I may never more hope as I have done, or 
 realize those passions which made the glory of my youth. Still, 
 I shall be free ; still I shall enjoy the sense of manhood ; and this 
 will arm me to endure pain without a murmur, and privation 
 without impatience, and the denial of my best hope without seek 
 ing any vain substitute in the vices or frivolities of society. No, 
 H0f Edward ! No more Europe for me. "Were I to receive an 
 unsolicited pardon for offences which were once thought virtues, 
 I should still no more return to England." 
 
 " But, Harry, my brother, your people your followers are 
 you prepared to lead them into outlawry, or keep them in it ?" 
 
 " No ! There you touch me nearly. But I am safe from your 
 reproach. I shall provide for their safety, and their return to 
 the securities of society. I have, in some degree, provided al 
 ready. The documents are prepared, addressed to our uncle, and 
 to others, which will no doubt secure their safety from the opera 
 tions of that decree which puts their leader under ban. You, too, 
 can assist in obtaining their pardon ; and I have referred my lieu 
 tenants and Belcher to you, in the event of anything happening 
 to me. The ship herself I shall formally convey to the crown of 
 Britain." 
 
 " And whither will you go, my brother ?" 
 
 " You shall hear from me on this head hereafter. Nay, when I am 
 once fixed, as I expect to be somewhere upon the Spanish main, 
 looking down from noble mountains upon the broad Pacific, you 
 will come and seek me." 
 
 " Perhaps perhaps ! But I have much to do here at Kia 
 wah." 
 
 " You are right ! Make it a world to itself, and your world. 
 You can transplant civilization to the wilderness, and so train it 
 as that refinement and art shall be triumphant without excess or 
 sensualism. That is the nice point for the study of the philoso 
 pher how to secure the blessings of the higher moral of rit3ty, 
 
598 
 
 THE CASSIQUE OF KIAW A H. 
 
 involving the full development of the best human powers, without 
 endangering or degrading the essential manhood of the race. 
 But you must abandon all your wild notions of philanthropy. You 
 will never reform or refine the savage. You must subdue him. 
 The colonial government will need to follow up this war to the 
 extermination or utter expulsion of these miserable tribes." 
 "I fear so! But" 
 
 " Yes, Edward, enough of this ! One thing : what will you do 
 with your boy Olive s boy?" 
 " He shall go to England." 
 
 " What ! will you trust his infancy to this old woman ?" 
 " No ! He shall be consigned to our aunt Craven." 
 Abruptly "Give him to me, Edward! Let him share my 
 fortunes ! I will make a man of him. I have wealth. He shall 
 be my son as well as yours." 
 
 " Ask me not, Harry. Were he twelve or fourteen years of 
 age but now an infant " 
 
 "You forget, I have a wife who will most probably never 
 bear me a child. She is not wise, but she is virtuous ; not 
 thoughtful, but faithful ; and with some really noble traits. She 
 will be very happy to have your boy ; and I " 
 
 " You would make him yours, I know ! But this is the very 
 thing I would avert ! Harry, my brother, I am selfish : I would 
 have him wholly mine. I would rather keep him from you than 
 from any other, since I should feel sure that you would wean him 
 from me." 
 
 " Enough ! All is said between us, Edward, except that love 
 which no words can ever say or show. Let us part !" 
 
 And, after a fond, repeated embrace, Harry Calvert tore him 
 self away. They were brothers now, in every sympathy, as in 
 blood. Zulieme, of course, accompanied her husband, the marines 
 forming a sufficient escort; though the forest-march, from the 
 barony to the Stono, was performed with as great a degree of cau 
 tion as when pursued before. They met no enemies, and gained 
 the ship without interruption. 
 
 "All s well!" was the cry on board the Happy-go-Lucky. 
 Soon the anchor was weighed, and all sheets spread to the fa 
 voring breeze which bore thorn south ; soon the white sails of the 
 
THE SHADOW PASSES THE MOON RISES. 599 
 
 gallant cruiser were perceptible from the shores only as a speck 
 the wing of a curlew dipping the far crests of ocean. She will 
 never, in her present keeping, revisit these shores. 
 
 Once more alone together in their little cabin, Zulieme caught 
 her husband by the arm< got her arm about his neck, drawing 
 him down to her. 
 
 " O Harry, stoop down ! I have a secret to tell you !" And 
 she clung to him till he bowed, and his head bent to her mouth, 
 which she fondly kissed; then, beginning her sentence with a 
 whisper, she ended it with a scream : 
 
 " Harry, you dear brute Harry, I have something to tell you 
 to make you love me !" 
 
 " I do love you, Zulieme." 
 
 " Ah ! but not as you loved poor Olive." 
 
 He was silent. She continued : 
 
 " But when I tell you this, you will love me as you loved her." 
 
 " Well, well ! But do not speak of her, Zulieme. What is 
 your secret ?" 
 
 " I am going to have a baby, Harry ! There ! I ve told it to 
 you the first person !" 
 
 " You !" he exclaimed, looking at her almost incredulously, but 
 with an expression of tenderest interest "you!" 
 
 " Yes ! why not ? Now you will love me, Harry ! You great, 
 big, brute English Harry ! you will love me ! You will call me 
 a child no longer. I am a woman now. I sha n t dance again 
 for months." 
 
 " No ! you will always be a child, little one, though you had a 
 dozen children ! You a woman, indeed ! You are only a pet 
 a plaything !" 
 
 " But your pet, Harry. You will make me your pet, won t 
 you?" 
 
 " Perhaps !" And he stooped to her, and kissed her mouth 
 tenderly, and drew her up to his bosom with a degree of fondness 
 such as his stern course of life, for a long season, had not suffered 
 him to show. 
 
 " And now, my child, that you are delivered of your secret, 
 get your guitar, and let us go on deck. The moon shines softly, 
 the breeze is fresh and sweet. You shall sing me one of your 
 
600 THE CASSIQUE OF KTAWAH. 
 
 Spanish ballads The Loves of Fatima and Reduan* The 
 Moor who lost Valencia something anything." 
 
 He unbuckled the sword from his side, put away his pistols, 
 and, with something of a sigh, murmured : 
 
 " My wars are over now ! I must lose myself, if I can, in 
 dream and moonlight." 
 
 And in the delicious moonlight of the South, while the good 
 ship sped on her course like a winged creature, and the breeze 
 fanned her sails lovingly, our rover, half reclined upon the deck; 
 hearkened to his child-wife, as with exquisite effect she sang those 
 wild, romantic ballads of the Moors of Granada, which appeal so 
 sweetly to the heart and fancy. 
 
 And the breezes grew stronger ; and more swiftly the vesso 
 sped; and still the music rose and fell upon the delighted air 
 Calvert yielding himself to those seductions with which Love sub 
 dues War, and makes even Ambition forgetful of his aim ! And 
 thus, with fair breezes and a grateful sky, the Happy-go-Lucky 
 passed out of the precincts where she had made herself felt in 
 storm and thunder, and gradually disappeared, coasting along 
 other yet sunnier shores, which she was destined no longer to 
 disturb with violence ; but going with swanlike aspect and motion, 
 a harbinger, as it were, of halcyon seas and skies, and of a more 
 genial and loving Humanity. Peace be upon her course, and 
 upon the fortunes of those who have so long beguiled our inter 
 est ! Their world has put on a brighter aspect ; and Saturn and 
 Mars no longer rule in the house of Venus ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
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 (D6471slO)476B 
 
 General Library 
 
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GENEML L WV-U.C. BERKELEY 
 
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