SOUTHWARD HO! sPELL OF SUNSHINE BY W. G1LMORE SIMM>. ESQ. 4V1MOH or " n.K TEMASSF.K" "THK PARTISAN" -" MELLICHAMPE* "4THHis WAl.T-.s" "THF. <mrT" " woonCRAFT." CTC . hwurd hoi At rne war-s DOW. M tne winas oiow. fre* fh- nnnr anil. Irt im (jn, fri*nd, j|a Xtto ilorfe: A. C. ARMSTRoxc. I SON, - M R R O A D \V A V Entered, according to Act of C?ngre, in the year 1854, BY J. 8. REDFIELD, la the Clerk i Office of the District Court of the United State*, in and for the Souther* DUtrirt of New York. rrCRKOTTPED BY C. C. SAVAOC II CbMton lliMt. 5 Y SOUTHWARD HO CHAPTER I. "When the wind is outherly," etc. HAMLET. I WAS at New York in the opening of July. My trunks were packed, and I was drawing on my boots, making ready for departure. Everybody was leaving town, flying from the ap proaching dog-days in the city. I had every reason to depart also. I had certainly no motive to remain. New York wag growing inconceivably dull with all her follies. Art wore only its stalest aspects, and lacked all attractions to one who had sur vived his own verdancy. Why should I linger? Hut, in leaving the city, I was about to pursue no ordinary route of travel. While my friends were all flying to the interior, seeking cool and shady glades along the Hudson, deep caves of the Catskills, wild ridges and glens of the Adirondack, or quiet haunt* in Berkshire, I had resolved on returning south p ing back to Carolina in midsummer. A friend who had heard of my intentions suddenly hurst into my chamber with all the fer vency of a northa>ter. " What does all this mean ?" was his question. " Back to the south? In the name of Capricorn and Cancer, why this perverse of all determinations ? What can you menu by it . Is it suicide you purpose? Is death in the swamps, of malaria, musquito, and coup tit- soldi, preferable to knife or pis tol . Can you really prefer black vomit, to an easy and agree able death from charcoal ? Pnisaic acid will be more easy and 250569 4/\ *;: more grateful, and you will make a far more agreeable corpse in the eyes of the Bpectator. Yellow fever spoils the complex ion ; and the very delay which you make in dying, by such a process though sufficiently rapid for all mortal pin-poses will b such i loss of flesh as to lessen your proportions griev ously when laid out. Choose some other form of exit. Let it be short, agreeable, and in no ways hurtful to your physique or complexion. Next to the loss of one s friend, is the pain one feels in seeing the ugly changes which a vicious disease, acting through the liver, makes in his personal appearance. Be coun selled. If you will die, go with me to the chemist. We will get you something which shall serve your purpose, without pro ducing tedious discomfort and spoiling your visage." My friend was a genuine Manhattan a lively rattlepate of good taste and good manners, who had the most unbounded faith in New York ; who venerated the ancient Dutch regime of Peter Stuyvesant, hated the Yankees quite as much as the southrons are said to do ; but, as usual in Gotham, believed the south to be a n-alm of swamp only, miasma, malaria, mus- quito, and other unmentionable annoyances totally uninhabit able in midsummer from which all persons commonly fled as from the wrath of Heaven. " Nay, nay," was my answer. " I am not for suicide. I sha n t die in Carolina. Yon forget, I am a native. Our dis eases of the south are BO many defences. They are of a patri- intlnenre and character. They never afflict the natives, y only sci/.e upon the spoiler those greedy birds of pas sage, who come like wild geese and wild ducks, to feed upon our rice-fields, and carry oft our possessions in their crops, when t) harvest is ready for the gathering. We are as healthy in Carolina in midsummer, nay much more so, than you are in New York. ( harleston, for example, is one of the healthiest seaports in the Union." " < )h ! get out. Tell that to the marines. But, supposing that I allow all that. Supposing you don t die there, or even get your liver out of order there are the discomforts the hot, furnace-like atmosphere, the musquitoes the the " " You multiply our miseries in vain. I grant you the musquitoes, but only along the seaboard. Twenty miles from the coast, I can 6 SINV.INu AM* -TIN .! carry you to the most delicious pineland settlements and climate, where you need to sleep with a blanket, where no epidemic pre vails, no sickness in fact, and where a musquito is such a rarity, that people gather to survey him, and wonder in what regions he can harbor; and examine him with a strange curiosity, which they would never exhibit, if he could, then and there, make them sensible t-f his peculiar powers. When one happens there, driven by stress of weather, he pines away in a settled melan choly, from the sense of solitude, and loses his voice entirely before he dies. He has neither the heart to sing, nor the strength to sting, and finally perishes of a broken heart. His hope of safety, it is said, is only found in his being able to fasten upon a foreigner, when he is reported to fatten up amazingly. The case, I admit, is rather different in Charleston. There he is at home, and rears a numerous family. His name is Legim He is a dragon in little, and a fierce bloodsucker. There he sings, as well as stings, with a perfect excellence of attribute. By the way, I am reminded that I should use the feminine in speaking of the stinging musquito. A lady naturalist has some where written that it is the male musquito which does the ting ing, while the female alone possesses the stinging faculty. How the discovery was made, she has not told us. But the fact need not be questioned. We know that, among birds, the male is usually the singer. Let it pass. The musquitoes, truly, are the most formidable of all the annoyances of a summer residence in Charleston ; but, even there, they are confined mostly to tain precincts. In a fine, elevated, airy dwelling, open to south and west, with double piazzas along the house in these quarter-. an.l with leisure and money in sufficient quantity, I should just as soon, for the comfort of the thin;;, take up my abode for the summer in the venerable city watered by the Ashley and the Cooper, as in any other region of the world." " Pooh ! pooh ! You Charlestonians an- such braggers." "Good! This said by a Manhattan, whose domestic geese are all Cygnets rare birds, verily!" " But the horrid heat of Charleston." " The heat ! Why Charleston is a deal cooler than either New York, Philadelphia, or Baltimore, in summer." 11 Psha ! How you talk." Snl THWAlil) H< ; 44 1 talk truly. I have tried all these cities. The fact is as 1 tell you ; and when you consider all things, you will not ven ture to doubt. Charleston is directly on the sea. Her doors open at once upon the gulf and the Atlantic. The sea rolls its great billows up to her portals twice in twenty-four hours, and brings with them the pleasantest play of breezes that ever fanned the courts of Neptune, or made music for the shells of Triton. There are no rocky heights on any side to intercept the winds. All is plain sailing to and from the sea. Besides, we build our houses for the summer climate. While you, shud dering always with the dread of ice and winter, wall yourselves in on every hand, scarcely suffering the sun to look into your chambers, and shutting out the very zephyr, we throw our doors wide to the entrance of the winds, and multiply all the physical adjuncts which can give us shade and coolness. A chamber in a large dwelling will have its half dozen windows these will be surrounded with verandahs great trees will wave their green umbrellas over these in turn ; and, with a shrewd whistle a magic peculiarly our own we persuade the breeze to take up its perpetual lodgings in our branches. Remember, I speak for our dwelling-houses these chiefly which stand in the south ern and western portions of the city. In the business parts, where trade economizes space at the expense of health and comfort, we follow your Yankee notions we jam the houses one against the other in a sort of solid fortress, shutting our faces against the breezes and tj^e light, the only true resources against lassitude, dyspepsia, and a countless host of other dis orders." 4 1 don t believe a word of it." 41 Believe as you please, but the case is as I tell you." 44 And you persist in going south ?" 44 1 do ; but my purpose is only to pass through Charleston, after a brief delay. I am going to spend the summer among our mountains." " Mountains ! Why, what sort of mountains have you in Car olina r 44 Not many, I grant you, but some very noble, very lofty, very picturesque : some, to which your famous Catskill is only a wart of respectable dimensions ! Our Table Rock, for exam- 8OUTHKHN HOOHTAIH8, 7 pie, is a giant who could take his breakfast, with the greatest ease, from your most insolent and conceited summits." " Why have we never heard of them before ?" "Because vou nre talking all the while of your o? n. You hear DOthing< Were yon to stop your own boasting fur a season, and listen to your neighbors, you would scarcely continue to as sume, as you do, that the world s oyster, everywhere, was to he opened only by the New York knife. In the matter of moun tains, North Carolina, where she borders on South, is in pos-.-- sion of the most noble elevations in the United States proper. Black Mountain is understood to be the loftiest of our summits But there are many that stretch themselves up, in the sain- gion, as if eager for its great distinctions. Here you find a grand sea of mountains ; billow upon billow, stretching away into remoter states, on all hands, till the ranging eye i.^es itself with their blue peaks, among the down-tending slopes of heav en. It is here that I propose to refresh myself this summer. I shall explore its gorges, ascend its heights, join the chase with the mountain hunters, and forget all your city conventionalities, in a free intercourse with a wild and noble nature. Take mv counsel and do the same. Go with me. Give up your Newport and Saratoga tendencies, and wend south with me in search of cool breezes and a balmy atmosphere." "Could I believe you. 1 .should! I am sick of the ancient routes. But I have no faith in v>ur report. You think it patri- , to paint your sepulchres. Their handsome outsides, under your limning, .shall imt tempt me to approach them, lest they vawn upon me. But, write me as you go. Description is your i oj-te. I .-hall find your pictures pleasant enough, when not rr.juired to believe them truthful. Refresh me with your fictions. Do you really bel n-ve you shall see a mountain where } oti go anything higher than a hill anything approaching our Highlands?" " Go with me. See for yourself." "Could I persuade myself that I should not be drowned in a mora. eaten up by muMj- ^toes, have my liver tortured by Yellow Jack, and my skin utterly cured for drumheads by your horrid sun I might ho tempted. You would betray me to my fate. I can t trust you." 8 SOUTHWARD HO ! Hear me prophesy ! Fifteen years will not jass before the mountain ranges of the Garolinas and Georgia will be the. fash ionable midsummer resort of all people of taste north of the Hml-m. They will go thither in search of health, coolness, pun- air. and the picturesque. " You say it very solemnly, yet I should more readily believe in a thousand other revolutions. At all events, if you will go south in July, see that the captain of your steamer takes an ice berg in tow as soon as she gets out to sea. There are several said to be rolling lazily about off Sandy Hook. Write me if you survive ; and deal in as much pleasant fiction as you can. I shall look for nothing else. Now that postage is nothing, I am ambitious of a large correspondence." 41 You shall hear from me." "And, by the way, you may do some good in your scrib- blings, by enlightening others. In truth, your country is very much a terra incognita. Let us have a description of manners and customs, scenery and people. A touch of statistics, here and there, will possibly open the way to our capital and enter prise ; and, to one so fond of such things as myself, an occa sional legend or tradition the glimpse of an obscure history of the Revolution or of the time beyond it will greatly increase the value of your correspondence." "A good hint ! I may inspire that faith in others which you withhold very unwisely, I must say. Your world does, in truth, need some honest information touching ours, by which to keep it from such sad mistakes as augur much mischief for the future." " Oh ! no politics now, I beg ! Leave them to the cats and monkeys the dogs and demagogues." " Don t fear ! My epistles shall be penned in accordance with my moods and humors according to passing facts and fancies and I shall only occasionally take you over the ditch and gutter ! This assurance should keep you in good humor." " Write <if what you see, of course." "And of what I feel." "And of what you think." And of wha* I hear." "And of what you know." y And of what I believe." "And" " What more ! One would think these requisitions quite suffi cient. I shall try to comply with them at my leisure." " Don t forget to give us a story now and then a legend fact or fabrication I don t care which. You may wind up a chapter with a song, and a description with a story." " You are indulgent ! Well, I will do what I can for you. I shall report my daily experiences, and something more. My memory shall have full play, and the events of former prog resses shall be made to illustrate the present. I shall exercise perfect freedom in what I write a liberty I hope always to enjoy and shall soothe the idle vein, by affording every privi lege to Fancy. Without some such privilege, your traveller s narrative is apt to become a very monotonous one ; and he who drily reports only what he sees, without enlivening his details by what he feels, or fancies, or remembers, will be very apt, however much he may desire to correspond, to find few friends willing to pay postage on his letters, even at present prices." Good ! You have the right notion of the thing. Well! You go at three? I shall SIM- you off. Adios /" Sui h. at the designated hour, my friend waited my arrival on the quarter-deck of the good steamer Marion, Berry master. < )nr hands grasped. * I am here," said he. - I am -rat. -ful !" > ;\- ! Hear me out! Your words have prevailed. I am anxious to believe your fiction. I am tired of Newport and Saratoga long for novelty have insured my life for ten thousand and now, ho! for the South! I go with you as I am a living man !" And we sang together the old chaiit of the Venetian, done into English " Aa the wuvct How, a* the winds blow, Spri-ud free Cie tunny rail, let uj go, brothwi, fo ! Southward u ! Southward ho !" CHAPTER II. " Our separation so aoides, and flics, That thou, residing here, go st yot with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with tliee. I Antony <$ Cleopatra. So sudden had been the determination of my friend to accom pany me south, that there was but a single acquaintance to see him off, and he came late, with a quarter-box of cigars under his arm, and a bottle of London-Dock black brandy, rolled up in a Mm* silk pocket-handkerchief, carried in his hands as gin gerly as if a new-born baby. These were to afford the/ieces- sary consolations against salt-water. My friend and myself, meanwhile, mounted to the quarter-deck, leaving the gang-way free tu the bustling crowds that come and go, like so many striving. <Tos>ing, and purposeless billows, on all such occasions. We had n<>t many passengers, at this season of the year, but they had numerous acquaintances to see them off. We watched sundry groups, in which we could detect symptoms of suppressed emotion, not less intelligent and touching because, evidently, kept down with effort. Kven when \ve know our own restless nature, eager alwnvs for change, it is yet wonderful that we should leave home should tear ourselves away from the living fibres of love which we leave to bleed behind us, and but slowly to close the wounds in our own bosoms. The stronjri-st heart goes with some reluctance, even when it hurries most. The soul lingers fondly, though the horses grow re-tiff in the carriage at the door. We look back with longing eyes, while, the vessel drops down the stream. If we could endure the shame and self-reproach of manhood, in such a pro ceeding, we should, half the time, return if we could. Truly, this parting is a serious business even where the voyager is, like myself, an old one. To the young beginner it PARTING OF FRIENDS. 11 IB a great trial of the strength. To tear oneself away from the youthful home the old familiar faces the well-remembered haunts and pathways, more precious grown than ever, when wo are about to leave them, perhaps for ever, is a necessity that compels many a struggle in which the heart is very apt to falter. The very strength of the affections betrays its great vncy of strength. The gathered crowd upon the quay the eagerness, the anxiety, and earnest words and looks of all the undisguised tears of many the last broken, tender words of interest the subdued speech the sobs which burst from the bosom in the la.-t embrace; what associations, and pangs, and fears, and losses, do these declare ! what misgivings and terrors ! True, the harbor smiles in sweetness ; the skies look down in beauty ; the waves roll along, soft, subdued, with a pleasant murmur; there is not a cloud over the face of heaven not a voice of threat in the liquid zephyr that stirs the hair upon your fore head : but the prescient soul knows the caprice of wind, and sea. and sky ; and the loving heart is always a creature full of tender apprehensions for the thing it loves. Long seasons oi delicious intercourse are about to terminate ; strong affinities, which can not be broken, are about to be burdened with cruel apprehensions, and doubts which can not be decided till after lmu r "It-lay; and the mutual intercourse, which has become the absolute necessity of the heart, is to be interrupted by a separa tion which may be final. The deep waters may roll eternal barriers between two closely-linked and bonded lives, and nei ther shall hear the cry of the other s suffering neither be per- "d to extend the hand of help, or bring to the dying lips the cup of consolation. Such are the thoughts and fears of those who separate daily. \ may excuse the separation ; but how is it with th<e whose chief motive for wandering is pleasure ? In diversity of pp^pcct, change . and novel associations, they would ape that cnmti which, it seems, is apt to make its way even into the abode of love. There is some mystery in this seeming perversity, and, duly examined, it is not without its justification. The discontent which prompts the desire for change in the breast of man. is the fruit, no doubt, of a soul-necessity which is Ifi not easv to analyze. We owe to this secret prompter some of the best benefits which the world enjoys; and the temporary sufferings of the affections the wounds of separation are not wholly without their compensation, even while the wounds are green. A similitude has somewhere been traced between the effects of parting and of death. The former has been called a death in miniature. It certainly very- often provokes as fond an exhi bition of grief and privation. Hut these declare as much for life as for mortality. There is another side to the picture. The parting of friends is so far grateful, as it gives us the renewed evidences of a warm, outpishing, and acutely-sensitive humanity. We are consoled, through the sorrow, by the love. We see the grief, hut it does not give us pain, as we fir.d its origin in the most precious developments of the human nature. We weep, but we feel ; and there is hope for the heart so long as it can feel. There an- regrets but 0! how sweet are the sympa thies which harbor in those regrets ! The emotions, the pas sions, the more precious interior sentiments, need occasion ally some pressure, some privation, some pang, in order that they may be made to show themselves in order that we may be assured of our possessions still; and how warmly do they crowd and gather above us in the moment when we separate from our associates! Into what unexpected activity and utter ance do they start and spring, even in the case of those whose ordinary looks arc cold, who, like certain herbs of the forest, need to be bruised heavily before they will give out the aromatic sweetness which harbors in their bosoms ! And these are the best proofs of life not death. Humanity never possesses more keen and precious vitality than while it suffers. It is not, as in the hour of decay and decline when the blood is chilled by apathy when the tongue is stilled by palsy when the, exhausted nature gladly foregoes the strug gle, and craves escape from the wearying conflict tor existence anxious now for the quiet waters only imploring peace, and dulled and indifferent in respect to all mortal associations. The thoughts of the mind, the yearnings of the heart, are all of a different nature, at the separation of friends and kindred. They do not part without a hope. The pain of parting is not without a pleasure. There are sweet sorrows, as well as sad, and this PftOHI i TAHTING. 13 is one of that order. There are many fears, it is true ; but these speak for life, nay hope, rather than for death. Every impulse, in the hour which separates the voyagers, tells of life of M and gratefu. anticipations of renovating experiences of predicted and promised enjoyments, which neutralize the pain of parting. even in the breasN that most warmly love. Those who remain weep, perhaps, more passionately than those who go. Yet how swept N that silent tear in the solitude haunted by happy memories in the little lovely realm of home ! The voyager loses these presences and associations of home ; hut. in place of them, he dreams of discoveries to be made which he shall yet bring home and share with those he leaves. lie will gather new associations to add to the delights of home ; new aspects ; treasures for the eye and mind, which shall make the solitary forget wholly the lonely length of his absence. Nature has benevolently possessed us with prompt ings, such as these, which disarm remorse and apprehension : else how should enterprise brave the yet pathless waters, or hpe retread the wilderness ? Where should genius look for the accompanying aid of perseverance? where would ambition M . k for encouragement . where would merit find its rev, . It i-, well to leave our home*. ! i,. It is wive abroad ni!ing Mi-angers. Tin 1 mind and body, alike, lu-coinr debilitated, and lose their common energies as frequently ; the lack <>t change and new society n> from any other cau-e. Relaxation, in this way, from the toils of one station, serv* enlarge the capacities. to make ro<,m for thought, to afford time for the gathering of now materials, and for the exercise of all tlip faculties and sentiment. As the farther we go in the natural, so in the moral world, a like journey in the same manner yields us a wider horizon. Wo add to our toch Mtrition with strangers. A tacit tr.< ion on between us. Our mod os of thinking, our thoughts themselves, our mai habits, aims, and desires if not exrhanired f"r other-; l-emme intermixed with, or modified by them. They gather from much, in these concerns, and in this way, as we can possibly derive frm them ; and thus, by mutual acquaintance with wich othri, we overcome foolish prejudices, suhjucfite ancient enmi- Miik ne\v friend* and A-nrifltion.. and all thii -imply bv 14 SOUTHWARD HO ! enlarging the sphere of our observation by overleaping tho boundaries of a narrow education leaving the ten-mile horizon in which we were born, and to which our errors are peculiar, and opening our eyes upon a true picture of the character of the various man. Of all tyrants, home ignorance is the worst. " Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits," which subjugate the understanding, enthral the heart, minister to a miserable sectarianism, as well in society as in politics and religion, and which, in the denial to the individual of any just knowledge of his fellows, leaves him in most lamentable igno rance of the proper resources in himself. We should know our neighbor if only in order to know ourselves, and home is never more happily illustrated than when we compare and contrast it with what we see abroad. It is surprising how soon we lose the faculty of reasoning when the province which we survey is con tracted to the single spot in which we sleep and eat. We cease to use our eyes when the sphere is thus limited. The disease of moral nearsightedness supervenes, and the mind which, in a larger field of action and survey, might have grasped all human ity within its range, grows, by reason of this one mishap, into the wretched bigot, with a disposition to be as despotic, in de gree with the extreme barrenness of his mental condition. "Ah ! clearly," concluded my companion, after we had worked out the meditations together which I have thrown together above as a sort of essay "clearly, there is no more moral practice in the world than is found in vagabondage ; yet if you try to prove its morality, you take from it all its charm. I am for enjoying the vice as such, without arguing for the necessity of evil which I yet admit. But, look you, we are to have some lady passengers. That s a graceful creature !" I soon discovered in the group to which my companion called my attention, some old acquaintances. "Ay, indeed ; and when you have seen her face, and chatted with her, you will account her beautiful as graceful. She ia a gweet creature to whom I will introduce you. The family is one of our oldest, highly-esteemed and wealthy. You want a wife she is the woman for you. Win her, and you are a favor- BEAUTY OF THE HUDSON. 15 : the. gods. She has already refused a dozen. Ten to one. slit- is on her way to the very mountain regions to which we go." " Good ! I shall be glad to know her. Not that I want a wife though, perhaps, I need one." The group disappeared in the cabin. Our hour was ap proaching. The last bell would soon ring our fellow-passen gers fortunately few in number some forty only were all on board. Several of them were known to me, and I promised myself and my companion good-fellowship. Meanwhile, we were taking our last look at the neighborhood. The bay and harbor of New York make a very grateful picture. The am phitheatre is a fine and noble one, but it is a mistake to insist upon the grandeur of its scenery. Mr. Cooper, once, in a con ation with me, even denied that it could be called a beauti ful one. But he was clearly in error. He had measured its claims by foreign standards, such as the bay of Naples, the ad juncts of which it lacked. But its beauties are nevertheless undeniable. The error of its admirers is in talking vaguely of its sublimity. Grandeur is not the word to apply to any por tion of the Hudson. It is a bold and stately stream, ample, noble, rich, but with few of the ingredients of sublimity. It im- pn^ses you is imposing; your mind is raised in its contem plation, your fancy enlivened with its picturesqueness but it possesses few or none of the qualities which awe or startle. It has boldness rather than vastness, is commanding rather than striking, and, if impressive, is quite as frequently cold and unat tractive. To a Southern eye, accustomed to the dense umbrage, the close coppice, the gigantic forest, the interminable shade. th- wildern.-ss of undergrowth, and the various tints and hues of leaf and blossom, which crown our woods with variety and sweetness, the sparseness of northern woods suggests a great deficiency, which the alienee of a lateral foliage, where the H do occur, only increases. Mountain scenery, unless wild and greatly irregular, repels and chills as commonly as it invites and beguiles. There must be a sufficient variety of i <>re^t tint and shelter, under a clear blue sky, to satisfy the fancy and the sympathies. That along the Hudson, after the first pleasant transition from the sea, becomes somewhat monotonous as you proceed. For the length of the river, the scenery is probably a* HO agreeable and attractive as any in the country, unless, perhaps, the St. John s, which is quite a wonderful stream imposing in spite of tl if :tll elevations and I may add, in certain respects, the Tselica, or French-Broad, in North Carolina. The first of these rivers is remarkable for its great openings into noble lakes, and its noble colonnades of trees ; the last for its furious rapids, its precipitous and broken heights, that bear upon their blasted fronts the proofs of the terrible convulsion of storm and fire, that rent their walls apart and gave passage for the swollen torrent. These you may study and pursue, mile after mile, with constant increase of interest. But, along the Hudson, I do not see that the spectator lingers over it with any profound ad miration, or expectation, the first hour or two of progress being over. Hi- curiosity seldom lasts beyond West Point. Observe the crowds wayfaring daily in the steamboats, between New York and Albany as they glide below the Palisade, that ex cellent wall of trap, almost as regularly built, as if by the hand of mortal artificer as they penetrate the Highlands and dart beneath the frowning masses of Crow Nest, and Anthony s X..-P : watch them as they approch all these points and places all of them distinguished in song and story, in chronicle and ruide-hook and you will perceive but little raised attention little of that eager enthusiastic forgetfulness of self, which ikl the excited t ancy. and the struggling imagination. They will talk to yon of beauties, but these do not inflame them; of sublimities which never inspire awe ; and prospects, over which \ awn rather than wonder. In tact, the exaggerations in regard to this river have dono MNM4 wroni: to its real claims to respect and admiration. The traveller is taught to expect too much. The scenery does not grow ujiou him. The objects change in their positions, fr->m tliis hand to that, in heiirht and bulk, hut seldom in form. as infrequently in relation to one another. The groups bear still the same family likenesses. The narrow gorge through which you are jia-^iiiL" . it i.ne moment, presented you with its twin likeness but a few minutes before; and the great rock which towers, sloping gradually up from the river in which it is moored with steadfast anchorage, is only one of a hundred such, which lack an individual character. The time hi not yet ar- THK BAY OK \K\V Vi IKK. 17 rived when the commanding physical aspects of the scene shall possess an appropriate moral attraction ; when the temple shall swell up with its vast range of marble pillars, crowning the em inence with a classic attraction, and addressing equally the and patriotism; when groves and gardens, and palaces, like those of Bagdad, shall appeal to that oriental fancy in the spectator which is clearly ti.e province of our sky and climate. At present, these are somewhat repelled by the frequent and manifest perversities of taste, as it seeks to minister to preten sion, at the expense of fine and imposing situations. The lawn which spreads away upon the shore, terminating at once with a West Indian verandah, a Dutch farmhouse, and probably a Gothic cottage, scarcely persuades you to a second glance ; or, if it does, only to prompt you to quarrel with the painful and unfruitful labors of the architect in search of tho picturesque. In what is natural, it may be admitted that you find grace and beauty, but somewhat injured by monotony ; in what is done by art you are annoyed by newness, and a taste still crude and imperfectly developed. The bay of New York is much more noble, I am inclined to think, than the Hudson ; but the characteristics of the two are not unlike. Depth, fullness, clearness a coup d atl which sat! the glance, and a sufficient variety in the groups and olje. -iade th. eye to wander these are the constituents of l.nth ; and, in their r.nnhination, we find Mveetness, grace and noldc- . but nowhere grandeur or sublimity. (Jreen islets ri>e on either hand, the shore lies prettily in sight, freshened with ver dure, and sprinkled by white cottages which you must not ex amine in detail, lest you suspect that they may be temples in di>L r ". H- ud batteries, which are u-ually wn, but. -pi-akinjr more to the card, the grin is more IH-- quent than the frown ; and here, emer^in^ through the gorge of th.- Narrows, we pa/e on |> lea-ant hrijrhts and headlands, which seem the prettiest places in the world lor summer dwel lings ami retn-ats. No one will deny the beauty of the si ns it is. or will question its future susceptibilities. Let us adopt the right epithets. In passing out to sea, with the broad le\. 1 range of the Atlantic before us, glowing purple in the evening sunlight, we find it easy to believe, pazinp behind us upon the 18 SOUTHWARD HO! shore, that, for the charm of a pleasing landscape, a quiet home, a dear retreat for peace and contemplation, no region presents higher attractions than we find along the shores which lead from Sandy Hook to the city of Manhatta, and spread away from that up the valley of the Hudson, till we pass beyond the Cats- kill ranges. "You are like all the rest of the outsiders," said my compan ion, querulously. " It takes a New York eye to see and appre ciate the sublimity of the Hudson." " Precisely. That is just what I say. It is the New York eye only which makes this discovery. But we are off. There goes the gun! and farewell, for the present, to our goodly Gotham. Ah ! there is Hoboken ! How changed for the worse, as a picture, from what is was when I first knew it. Twenty years ago, when I first visited New York, Hoboken was as favorite a resort with me, of an afternoon, as it was to thousands of your citizens. Its beautifully sloping lawns were green and shady. Now ! oh ! the sins of brick and mortar ! There, I first knew Bryant and Sands, and wandered with them along the shores, at sunset, or strolled away, up the heights of Weehaw- ken, declaiming the graceful verses of Halleck upon the scene. All is altered now! Valet" CHAPTER III "The world s mine oyt<>r, Which I with sword will opoti." OUR steamers do not take long in getting out to sea. We have no such tacking and backing, and sidling and idling, as afflicted and embarrassed the movements of the ancient packet- ships, after they had tripped anchors. On the present occasion, our vessel went ahead with a will, and though not the fastest of our steamers, yet with a power of her own, particularly in a heavy sea, and with lively breezes, which enables her, under such eircum.stances to surge ahead with the bravest. We were soon out of the hook, with our nose set south, a mild setting sun persuading us onward, holding out rosy wreaths and halos in the west, which seemed to promise well for the balmy clime to which our course was bent. The breeze, though fresh, was soft and wann, and tin 1 sea as smooth as the blandishments of a pop ular orator. The scene \\ as sufficiently auspicious to bring all the pag8cn_ i- "ii deck, where they grouped about together ac- iiiir t their several affinities. I kept my promise to my companion, and introduced him to the interesting lady in dove- 1 muslin. " Miss Burroughs, sutler me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Edgar Dnyckman of New York." The la.ly bowed graciously my friend was superlative in courtesy, and expressed his great delight in making her acquaint ance. She smiled, as she replied " Mr. Duvt kman set ins to forget that he enjoyed this pleasure on a previous era-inn." " Indeed! When-. Mi-- Burroughs ?" was the response. Our Edgar was evidently disquieted. The lady smiled again, the smallest possible twinkle of the quiz peeping out from the cor ner of her eyes. 20 SOUTHWARD HO ! " Both at Newport ami Saratoga. But 1 can hardly complain that the impression which I made upon his memory was so slight, remembering how many were the eyes, dazzled like his own, by the blaze of Miss Everton s beauty." Very rich was the suffusion upon Edgar s cheek. He had been one of the heedless beetles, who had his wings singed in that beauty s blaze. Common rumor said that he had born mortified unexpectedly by a rude and single monosyllable, from that young lady, in reply to a very passionate apostrophe. Poor fellow, he was quite cut up cut down, he phrased it by the extent of his present companion s knowledge. But she WAS not the person to press an ungenerous advantage, and the subject was soon made to give way to another which left the galled jade free. He soon recovered his composure, and we got into a pleasant chat mostly about the world in which we found our selves: suffering a "sea change" in thoughts as well as associa tion. Our fellow-passengers, numbering just enough for good- fellowship and ease, were mostly veteran seafarers, to whom salt water brought no afflictions. We were pleasantly enough occupied for a while, in scanning their visages as they passed, and discussing their appearances, and supposed objects. Of course, a fair proportion of the men were bound south for busi ness purposes. The ladies were but three in number, and, like my young friend and myself, their nim was for the mountain country. As yet, any notion of taking this route in midsummer had not entered into the imagination of summer idlers to con- e. We were, in a measure, the pioneers in a novel prog! My friend Duyckman, soon becoming interested in the fair Selina Burroughs, began to bring forth all his resources of read ing and experience. He had an abundant supply of graceful and grateful resources, nnd was capable of that pleasant sort of intellectual trifling which JH perhaps the most current of all the light coin of society. The moment that he could fairly forget the malajn-oj.nv n fi-n-nrp to the beautiful coquette of Newport, he became easy, fluent and interesting, and under his lead the chat became at once lively and interesting, relating particularly to the scenes about, and the prospect before us. These, as T hnve shown, were sufficiently pleasant and promising. The sun was fret, but th* Choree lay still in sight, a dim ^ Ipinp of const, THE OYSTER WAR. 21 n dark stripe of riban 1 along the deep. We were not yet out of our latitude, and the points of shore, as we passed, could still be identified and named. It i> < M-V enough for Americans to pass from tin* pit-sent to antiquity, and, per saltum, to make a hurried transition to the future. The orator who does not begin at the flood, or at least with the first voyage of Columbus, scarcely sat- - the popular requisition on this head. Thus, coming out of the month of the Hudson, it was matter of course that we should meditate the career of old Hendrick, of that Ilk, the first to pen etrate the noble avenue of stream from which we had just emerged. It was no disparagement to the ancient mariner, that mv friend dealt with him in a vein not dissimilar to that in whirl- Irving disposed of the great men of the Dutch dynasty, the Van Twillers, the Stuyvesants, .and other unpronounceable dignitaries. He passed, by natural transitions, to modern periods. 44 Perhaps, the most exciting of recent events is the oyster war between the Gothamites and Jerseyites. The history of this amusing struggle for plunder is one that should be put on record by a becoming muse. It is a fit subject for an epic. I would recommend it to Bayard Taylor, or Dr. Holmes. The first essential is to be found in the opposite characteristics of the rival races They an- sutKciently distinct for contrast York and Jersey as much M as Greek and Trojan. A study of de tails would afford us the Achilles ami Hector, the Ulysses, Ajax. and i I. Nor should we want for a pious priest or tsv.., since, in modern times, piety is, by a large number, supposed to be only a fit training for habits of peculation." 14 It furnishes a frequent mask, at all events." fc; and wan not wanting in this contest. The number of persons engaged was sufficient to enlist all varieties of character, and it was a matter of vital interest to one of the parties at least. The smaller republic was larpely interested in the snl-jr debate. The courage ami enterprise of the Jerseyans had plucked the ni^ired oyster from his native abodes, and subjc him to the usual processes of civilization. They had planted him in favorite places, and given due attention to his training, oyster was grateful, and took his education naturally. I and fatted ; and the bem V dent Jrrseyans watched his growth and improvement with dailv care, looking fondly forward to tl - 2 2 iU\YARl> MO! time when lie should take his place in the gratified presence of tln great and noble of the land. Famously did the oyster grow thus considerately protected until he rose conspicuous in every estimation among the gastronomes of Gotham. These looked with equal envy and admiration upon the performances of their neighbors. Little did Jersey suspect the danger that awaited her favorites. But cunning and cupidity, and eager lust, and ravenous appetite, were planning desolation and over throw to the hopes of these guardians of the innocent. Evil de signs were plotted cruel, treacherous, barbarous, like those which finally routed the poor nuns at midnight from their Charlestown convent. And great was the shock and the horror of Jersey when the assault was finally made under cover of night and darkness." " Truly, Mr. Duyckman, you make a lively picture of the event. Pray go on : I am interested to know the result. What of the progress of the war ? I confess to only a slight knowl edge of the affair." " Without the documents, I can not go into particulars. To collect these would require a life. To depict them properly would demand a Homer. The war between the cranes and frogs would alone furnish a just plan for such a history. I must content myself with a summary. But, were you to have proper portraits of the fierce Sam Jones, the redoubtable lVt* 1 innock, Ben the Biter, Barney the Diver, Bill the Raker, Ned the Devonrer, and a score or two more, on both sides, who dis tinguished themselves in the field during this bivalvular cam paign, you would feel that there are still provinces for the epic muse, in which she might soar as gloriously as she ever did in the dnys of Ilium. Jersey rose to the necessities of the occa- sion. We will say nothing about her interest in this event ; but lier pride was involved in the security of her virgin beds ; and when, prompted by cupidity, these were invaded, // rt tinnis, by the grasping Gothamites, who desired to share the spoils which their valor had not been sufficient to achieve, it was not to be wondered at that all Jersey should rise in arms. The public sentiment was unanimous. From Newark to Absecom, but a single cry was heard. From Jersey City to Cape May, the beacons were lighted up. The cry To arms ! spread and SAM JONI:- IHK nit.. -2 .} far and wide, from the heights of Weehawken to the breakers of Harnegat. The feeling of each Jerseyan was that of the North Carolinian from Tar river, on his way to Texas, when he heard of Santa Anna s invasion of the single star republic. Thev flourished their plover-guns, where the son of the old li State flourished his ritle, preparing, like him, to assert their rights, in nuhibuft. Well might the oyster family become proud of the excitement occasioned by the contemplated inva sion of their abodes. The banner of lust and avarice, carried by the Gothamites, was borne forward with sufficient audacity to show the estimated value of the prize." Here our captain put in with a fragment of one of the ballads made on the occasion : " It was Sum Jones, the fisherman, so famed at Sandy Hook, That, rising proudly in the midst, the oyster-banner took, And waved it o er the host, until, convulsed in even- joint, They f-wore with him u mighty oath to rupture Oyster Point: Sin-li luscious pictnn - as In- dn-w of treasures hoarded there, Sin-h prospects of the future st.-\v, the hrnil and fry to share, ek or Roman, Turk or Goth, with such an eager scent, By such u fierce marauder led, to raid or slaughter went. All glory to Sam Jon.-, ih,- \\\^ a mighty man was he; And when he next goes forth to fight, may I he there to see." I M a\o, captain! you are as good as a chronicler. Let us That i- all I recollect of the ballad ; hut, had I known your wishes in season, we might have got it all out of the pilot. He was in the war, and was one of the wounded taken with the tine edge of an oyster-shell on the left nostril, where he- carries the proof of his valor to this day in a monstrous scar. The only further curious fact I know, in the history, is that the said scar alwavs opens afresh in the R months, the oyster- Thc curious fact thus stated led to some discussion of the occult subject of moral and physical affinities, in which we wan*. off to the philM ph>- of Sir Kenelm I >ijrhy and Hahnemann. MI these we concluded that there is a latent truth in the vulgar proverb which asserts " the hair of the dog to be good "or the bite" a proverb which we hold to be the true source of homeopathy. The practical inference from the discussiou J4 SOUTHWARD HO ! tlmt our pilot could do nothing more likely to effect the curb of his abraded nostril, than to subject bis nose to an oyster- .scraping in all the months which contain the irritating letter. This episode over, our Gothamite continued his narration : " The invasion of the oyster-beds of Jersey, thus formidably led by Jones the Big, was at first a surprise. The Jerseyans m-vtM- dreamed of the malice of their neighbors. But they had been vigilant, and were valiant. The Jersey Blues had enjoyed ry honorable reputation lor valor from the Revolutionary period, not exceeded, perhaps scarcely equalled, by any of the neighboring colonies. They had a proper pride in maintaining this reputation. It was at once a question of life and honor, and they rushed fearlessly to the rescue. The slaughter of their innocents had begun, and they were suffered but little time for preparation. Hastily snatching up what weapons and mis siles they could lay hands upon, they darted forth by land and sea. For a season, the war consisted of unfruitful skirmishes only, but the two armies at length drew together. The great cities of refuge of the oyhter were in sight, the pri/e of valor. The audacit v of tin* invaders increased with the prospect. Sam Jones led his followers on with a savage desperation peculiarly his own. Very fearful had been Sam s experience. He had slept upon a circle of six feet, on an oyster-bed, with the Atlantic rol ling around him. He had enjoyrd a hand-to-hand combat with a shark, of sixteen feet, in five-fathom water. He had ceased to know fear, and had learned to snap his fingers at all enemies. No wonder, led by such a hero, that the Gothamites went into the fray with a rush and shout that shook the shores, and made the innocent muscles under water quake, to the centre of their terrified beds. They rushed to the attack with a courage which, as the moral historians are apt to say, was worthy of a better cause. The Greeks at Troy, under the conduct of Ajax the Buffalo, never darted under the hills and towers of Ilium with more defiant demeanor." " I am impatient for the issue," said the lady. " Pray, how did the Jerseyans stand the shock ?" "Most gallantly as if duly inspired by the innocence which they sought to defend. The Trojans, led by Hector and Troilus, never showed fiercer powers of resistance than did the serried THE FALL OF SAM. ranks of Jersey under the terrible concussion. Even- man be came a hero, every hero a tower of strength a fort: Terrible was the encounter. The battle opened with the flight of missiles from the light troops. Shells skated through the air. I: -AM ;.i the play of this light artillery that the nose of Hill lY.kins the pilot, suffered its hurts. Another one of the - un had the bridge of his fairly broken. It has not been held passable since. But the sanguinary pas- si. -n* of the two parties were not willing that the fight should long continue at respectful distances. Soon, pike crossed \vith pike ; -VM. i rakes grappled with oyster-rakes; forks, that once drove unembarrassed through the luscious sides of fat victims only, now found tierce obstruction, and no fat, from implements of their own structure and dimensions. The conflict was long in suspense, and only determined in the fall of the redoubtable Sam. the monarch of Sandy Hook. He succumbed beneath a i Imv inflicted by a young turtle, which, caught np in his des peration by Ralph Roger, of Tuckahoe, was whirled about as tie in a sling, thrice above his head, until it came in ron- tact with that of Jones. Shell against shell. The crack of one of them v.-as heard. l >r a moment, the question was doubtful which. Hut, in a jiffy, the gigantic bulk of Jones went over, like a thousand of brick, shaking the clam-beds for sixty miles along the shore. An awful groan went up fr-nn the assembled (Jotham- The affair was over. They lost heart in the fall of their , and threw down their arms. JeUtf comjuered in the conflict." red !" exclaim. i-irroughs, her proper Bens , uiall\ s% mpathi/ing with the threatened inno cent - 1 at midnight in their unconscious be " And what punishment was inflicted upon the marau : "A \ iy t e.-irful one. Thirty pri-..;;ers were taken; many had fallen in the ti-ht ; many more had lied. The missing have never been a i to this day." " Well, but the punishment ?" is was planned with a painful malice. At first, the vin dictive pas-ions of the .Jersevans heint: uppermost, it was strenu ously urged that the captives should be sacrificed ms A due warning to evil-doers. It wag agreed that nothing short of the 2 26 SOUTHWARD HO! most extreme penalties would suffice to prevent the repetition of the offence. The nature of the necessity seemed to justify, with many, the sanguinary decision. The principle urged was, that the punishment was to be graduated rather by the facility of crime than by its turpitude. Thus, horse-stealing is in some regions rated with murder, simply because, from the nature of -t and country, it is supposed that horses may be more easily stolen than men slain. Men are usually assumed to incline to defend their lives ; but it would be an extreme case where a horse, once bridled and saddled, would offer any resistance to his own abduction. He would rather facilitate the designs upon his own innocence by the use of his own legs. The oysters, more simple, more confiding than the horse even, are still more at the mercy of the marauder. His crime is, accordingly, in proportion to the weakness, the good faith, the confiding sim plicity of the creature, whose midnight slumbers he invades. These arguments were well urged by one of the Jersey oyster- men, who had once filled the station of a chancellor of one of the. supreme courts in one of the states. A passion for Cognac had lost him his elevation, and, in the caprices of fortune, he had pas>cd from equity to oysters. The transition, now-a-days. i< hardly one to surprise or startle. He used his old experience, whenever he could get a chance to practise upon an audience, and made a monstrous long speech upon this occasion; and very touching indeed was the picture which he drew of the ten der character, the virgin innocence, the exposed situation, the helplessness of the oyster its inabilities for self-defence, and the virtues which commended it to all persons of proper sympa thies and a genuine humanity which were of a sort, also, to provoke the horrid appetites of a class of desperates who per petually roamed about, like the evil beasts described in scrip ture, seeking only what they might devour. Our ex-chancellor argued that the oyster was to be protected from invasion; that prevention was al\\ays Letter than cure ; that the punishment of the criminal was the only proper process of prevention; that law was only valuable t .ir it> elircts in terruiem ; that the rights of eminent domain in Jersey, along the whole, u\Mer region in- yaded, conferred upon her the right of summary punishment, at her discretion, as the necessary incident of her sovereignty; ami V.E VICTIS! _7 he wound up by an eloquent .illusion to the oysters as the benefactor* of mankind. They suffered themselves to live and fatten only for our gratification ; and the least that could be done would be to put to death all persons who, without legal rights. presumed to penetrate their sleeping- places and tear them fn>m their beds with violence." 1 begin to tremble for the captives," quoth the lady. vV^ell you may. The ex-chancellor had gone into the ac tion only after certain free potations, and he was eloquent in the extreme. The situation of the prisoners became a very perilous one. They were permitted to hearken to the keen de bate respecting their crimes and probable fate. Roped in boats, or along the shore*, they waited in fear and trembling for their doom. Fortunately, the counsels of humanity prevailed. The >van.<v satisfied with having asserted their rights, and pleased with victor\ , were prepared to be magnanimous. They spared tli- lives of the offenders, but did not suffer them to depart My without punishment. It may be said, that, considering the appetites of the Manhattanese, they adopted the severest of all p.issihlo punishments. With their captives fast tethered in sight, they prepared to indulge in in which the Mauiiattanesr were not allowed to sh ; " They provided an ample supply, ami dressed them in all pos- sihle mode* l.y which to t, - it the desire* of the epicure. The caj. lives inhaled the pleasant i the fried; they beheld the precious liquid which embraced the portly dimension* of the fed ; they inhaled the odors of choice claret as it amalgar. with other xch-ct virtue* of the st.-w, and they gloated over the delieioiisly-brown of a large platter of oyster-fritters. Ojtt !1 sides, in all shapes, in every stvle of dre rewarded the victors for their toil*, while the conquered, permit* denied altogether to enjoy. The meat ; extracted, the odorous shells \v. n- plac.-d U-toro them, and they were bidden to eat. You claimed a share in our 1.,-d-. was the i h of the conquerors. your share is brfoiv \ -u. Fall to and welcome. Violent groans of anguish and mortifi cation hurst from the bosoms of the prisoners at this indignity. Sam Jones, with a broken sconce, roared his rage aloud with the breath of a wr unded buffalo. But there was no redress 28 MIL- ill WARD HO! 110 remedy. After a twenty-four hours captivity, the offenders were permitted to go free, with an injunction to sin no more in the way of oysters. It needed no such injunction with many of the party. The terrors which the poor fellows had undergone probably cured them of their tastes, if not their cupidity, and we may fancy them going off, mournfully singing " So we ll go no more an-oystering So lat- into the nitzht." This, in little, is the history of the war, which, as I have said, deserves to be chronicled for the future in Homeric verse. Here one of our fellow-passengers put in : " The history of the wars between the tribes of Gotham and y. which you have given, has its parallels in other states. I was on a visit to what is called in Virginia, The Eastern Sin ire., where they give you just such a narrative, and where the oyster-beds are similarly harassed by irresponsible marau ding parties, most of whom are Pennsylvanians. The commerce of this region is chiefly in oysters. In all the bays you behold at anchor a suspicious sort of vessel looking for all the world like the low, long, black-looking craft of the Spanish jiibustic/. From some of the stories told of these vessels, they are really not a whit better than they should be ; and their pursuits are held to be almost as illegitimate as those of the ancient buccaneers of Nassau and New Providence. They wage an insatiate war upon one class, the most inoffensive of all the natives of the Eastern Shore. Their most innocent name is pungo a sort of schooner, hailing mostly from Manhattan and Massachusetts. They prey upon the Virginia oyster hanks, ostensibly under the forms of law. By contract, they procure the ordinary raccoon r --tin- meanest of the tribe an innocent in a perfect state of nature totally uneducated, at a shilling (York) per bushel. These arc carried off in large quantities to the bays and harbors of Pennsylvania. X, \\ York, and places farther east, and placed in nurseries, where good heed is taken to their irrnuth. and physical development, until they are, fitted to take, their places at table, to the satisfaction of appreciative guests. For the better oysters, taken from deep water, and worthy of the immediate attention of the public, the pungos pay three shillings. In the cities farther north they are retailed I Hi. BROAD-BRIM- INVADE THK UUCKSKI.V.-*. at this rate by the do/en that number being a standard allow- anre, for an able-bodied alderman, of moderate stomach an Apieins nnt an BoifegabailM. This is the only legalized method Virginia water> of their natives. By this process the poorer sort of people are employed to gather the oyster, and are thus compensated tor their labor nothing being allowed for the value of the * innocent victim. As it is thus made a business for a certain portion of the residents, the practice is tolera- f not encouraged ; though it threatens to destroy, in the end, the resources of the region in respect to this commodity. The clam is appropriated in the, same manner, to say nothing of varieties of tisli. th-iv arc trespassers who pursue another practice; who seize with the strong hand who make formidable descents, at unreasi nahle hours am! .and rend and carry off immense quantities, without leaving the usual toll. To these forays, the sensibilities and the patriotism of the people are always keenly alive ; and fearful issues, tooth and nail, are sometimes the con- ne occasion. not long ago, the Virginians of that region got an inkling of a formidable invasion by the Pennsylvanians. The bale tires were lighted accordingly ; the horn was blown, and a general gathering took place of all within striking dis- . The < Md Dominion is not easilv roused, being huge of :uid easily pacified by appeals to her magnitude and greaftnett. \\\ may take many liberties with her, so long u do not rufllc her self-e>teem nay, you may absolutely meddle with In r jmcketbook if you will do the thing adroitly and without di.stnrhing her .v/Wr/ ; but beware how you carry off! ^without pay ing the cu-t..mary t"ll. She can t stand that. "( Mi this occasion, whig and democrat, forgetting old snarls. came forth with a Ol. They stood shoulder to shoulder, the same horn summoned equally both parties to the con- flirt. It was a common cause, and they promptly agreed to go together to the death for their rights in o\ sters. As in the case of the combatants of Gotham ami .Jersey, each side had its famous captains its Ajaxes and Heci-n*. But the Pennsyh anians Buffered from a falling of the heart before they came to blows 30 SOUTHWARD HO ! Whether it was that their conscientiousness was too active of their emirate too dormant, they submitted before they came to blows; and the whole foraging party the entire swine an entire tribe of that peaceable sachem, Penn in a body, every mother s son of them eighty or ninety in number- wore driven into an extemporary logpen at the muzzle of the musket. Around this our nngry Virginians kept vigilant watch. The Quaker that raised head above the battlements, though but to peep out at the evening sunset, was warned backward with a tap of spear or shilelah. They were held thus trembling for two or three days in durance vile, until they had paid heavy ransom. It required some fifteen hundred dollars, cash, before the foragers were released. This was a famous haul for our guid folk of the Easteni Shore. For some time it had the effect of keeping off trespassers. But when was cupidity ever quieted short of having its throat of greed cut at the carotid 1 The practice has been resumed, and our Eastern Shore Virginians are again beginning to growl and to show their teeth. When I was there last, they were brushing up their guns, and newly priming. They promise us a new demonstration shortly, both parties, whig and democratic, preparing to unite their forces tc prevent their innocent young shellfish from being torn away from their beds at midnight." "And loving oysters as I do, I am free to say they could not peril their lives in a more noble cause. Stamped paper and tea were nothing to it." CHAPTER IV. " With song and story make the long way short. THK sea never fails to furnish noble studies to those who, by frequent travel, have succeeded in overcoming its annoyai But the number is few who feel reconciled to calm thought and patient meditation while roaming, at large and lone, on its wil derness of bosom. Those only who have completely undergone that sea change, of which Shakspere tells us in the " Tempest." can yield themselves fairly up to the fancies which it inspires and the subliming thought which it awakens. Unhappily, to the greater number of those the subject has lost all its freslni When we have so frequently boxed the compass, that we can 11 I.-.y hands upon old ocean s mane, And play fumiliar with hig hoary locks," he forfeits all his mysteries. It is surprising to note how little there is really visible in the jrn-at deeps to those who go down frequently upon the w.r To such eyes they even lose their vastness, their vagueness, the immensity which baffles vision, and fills the mind with its most impressive ileas of eternity. Your "Old Salt" is a notorious skrjitie. He wears his forefinger perpetually upon the side of his rmse. He is not to he amused with fancies and chimeras. II- has outgrown wholly his sense of wonder, and his thought of the sea is somewhat allied with the contemptuous, as was that of the Mississippian for the hn>wn hear whom he had whipped in single combat. As for marvels and mysteries in the creature beautM N .f splendor or grandeur these wholly elude his thoughts and eyes. If he appreciates the sea at all, it is solely because of its sharpening li .-.-t upon his appetite! Most of those wayfarers whom you meet often upon the route belong to tins order. You will find them at all timei peering into the larder. In their sleep, they dream of it, and you will 3 J SOUTHWARD HO ! hear broken speeches from their lips which show their memories still busy with yesterday s feast, or their anticipations preparing for that of the morrow. The steward and cook aboard-ship are the first persons whose acquaintance they make. These they bribe with shillings and civilities. You will scarcely open your in the morning, ere you will see these " hail fellows" with toast and tankard in their clutches ; a bowl of coffee and a crack er is the initial appetizer, with possibly a tass of brandy in the purple beverage, as a lacer. Then you see them hanging about the breakfast table, where they take care to plant themselves in the near neighborhood of certain of the choicest dishes. All their little arrangements are made before you get to the table, and there will be a clever accumulation of good things about the plates of these veterans, in the shape of roll and egg, etc., which would seem destined to remind the proprietor, in the language of warning which was spoken daily (though with a far different object) to the monarch of the Medes and Persians " Reim-m- ber, thoti art mortal. ThU is a fact which our veterans of the high seas never forget. They cany within them a sufficient monitor which ever cries, like the (laughter of the horse-leech, " Give ! Give!" They have no qualms of conscience or of bowels ; and it seems to do them rare ^"<>il tn behold the qualms of others. It would seem that they rejoiced in these exhibitions, simply as they are, as sured by these, that the larder is destined to no premature in- vaMon on the part of the sufferers. I have often looked upon this class of travellers not with envy. H.-aveu forefend ! though it would have rejoiced me fre quently, at sea, to have possessed some of their immunities that rare insensibility, for example, in the regions of diaphragm and abdomen, which, if une.xerci-ed for appetite, might at least sutler other sensibilities to be free for exercise. lint it has provoked rny wonder, if not my admiration, that inflexible stolidity of nature, which enables the mere mortal so ntiuly to obtain the ascendency over the spiritual man. Our gourmand sees no ocean waste around him follows no tumbling billows with his eye watches not, with straining eagerness, where the cloudg and the waters descend and rise, as it were in an embrace of passion. Sunrise only tells him of bis coffee and OLD SKA-Ln,-. cracker, MM. MI of lunch. sui^et of tea, and tin 1 rarely sublimed fires of the moonlight, gleaming from a thousand waves, suggest only n period of repose, in which digestion goes on without any f that great engine which he lias all day been packing with fuel. Tell him of porpoi*e and shark, and his prayer is that the\ taken, lie ha- n<> ><-Mipl< - to try a . from the rilis of the shark, though it mav ha\ o -wallowed his own grandmother. Of tin- porpoise he has hoard as tin and the idea of a roast of it, is quite sufficient to justify the painstaking with which lie urge- upon the forcma-t man to take his place at the prow, in waiting, with hi- harpoon. Nay, let a school of dolphins he seen beneath the bows. darting along with graceful and playful sweep, in gold and purple, glancing through the billows, like <o many rainbows of the deep, lie thinks of them unly as a fry an apology for whiting and cavalli. of which he sighs with the tendere-t recollection.-, and for which h- is always anxious to find a substitute. I have already ob- M! that we have two or three specimens of thi xmiis now on board the Marion. "I don t know," said our fair companion, "but that steam ha* robbed the sea very equally of it- charms and terrors." "Ah! \\rha\e DOW no 10ng voyage* V -ur COMtWhti trav elling seldom take- you from sight of land, and yn scarcely step from the pier head in one citv. before you begin to look out for the lighthouse of another. Kven when crossing the great pond, you in rapidly, and in such mighty %.-<!., that you cany a small city with you a community adequate to all your social want* and are thus made comparatively indifferent to \oiir absolute whereabouts." "Well, there is something pie. ;id one. "to be able to fling your-elf into vour berth in one city only to awaken in an other. I confr-- that it take- awav all motive to thought and sin %;,. IV" to look abroad and about in such short periods. There is little to amuse or interest, ti hip s decks for a night, in the face of smoke and steam, jostling with strange people wrapped in cloaks, whom you do not care to know, as it is not probable that you are ever to meet again when you part to-inoi* I V i nin-t be long and lonely on the seas, before the seas will become grateful in your sight 34 SOUTHWARD HO ! and reveal their wtnulers. Steam has removed this necessity and tints taken away all the wonders of the deep. You now see no my stories in the surging hillows hear no spiritual voices n the shrouds. The spell has heen taken from the waters the trident is hroken in the hands of the great Triton. Steam, a mightier magic, lias pulled away, as by a breath, a whole world of unsubstantial, but very beautiful fable. The ocean is now as patient as the \\ild horse under the lasso subdued to the will of a rider who was never known to spare whip or spur." " The worst feature in this improved navigation is its unsocial influence. It deprives yon of all motive to break down those idle little barriers of convention which are apt to fetter the very best minds, and cause a forfeiture of some of their sweetest hu manities. You seek to know none of the virtues of your com panions, and certainly never care to put in exercise your own. One ceases to be amiable in a short voyage. A long one, on the contrary, brings out all that is meritorious as well in your self as your shipmate. A sense of mutual dependence is vastly promotive of good fellowship. Then you see something of one another, and hear something of the world. People show what "they are, and tell you what they have seen; and intimacies, thus formed, have ripened into friendships, which no after events have been able to rupture. Commend me to the ancient slow- and-easv packet ships that left yon time for all these things; that went between Charleston and New York, and never felt any impatience to get to the end of their journey; that took e\erv advantage afforded by a calm to nap drowsily on the bo- s"Mi of the broad element in which they loved to float ; and rocked la/ilv upon the great billows, as if coquetting with the itlier than using them for progress." There was leisure then for study and philosophy and poetry; nav, love-making was then an easy and agreeable employment, .( b a< had tlie -tomach for it. It will not be easy for me to forget my thousand ex periences of the tender passion on such voyages by moonlight and starlight with one sweet spirit for my minister/ gazing together on the great mirror-like ocean, or up into the persuasive heavens, till we drank in floods of ten derness, from a myriad of losing eyes." " Ah !" cried Uuyckman archly, " one is reminded of Moore THE PILGRIMS CO.MM 8*> " Ah could yon hoiuvn but 8p-;ik ;ts w-ll. As at i : see, Ah! think xvliat fairs twouM havp tn tell, Of wandering vnuth like mr. "By the way, why should we not have some tales of wan dering youth to-night and why not some songs too. Miss Burroughs, it has not ex-aped my very curious eye that there i a guitar among your luggage. May I hope that you will suffer Ine to bring it \ The lady hesitated. I interposed : " Oh ! surely ; we must not suffer Mich a night of beauty, such of calm, such a mild delicious evening, to pass unemployed, aid in the only appropriate fashion. We are a little world to our-elves pilgrims to one Canterbury, and we may well bor row a leaf from Boccacio and a lesson from Chaucer. You will sing for us, and we shall strive to requite yon, each after his own fashion. Here are several whom 1 know to he capable ol pleasant contribution in the way of song and story, and my friend Duyckman can hardly refuse to follow your example, as he suggests it. In your ear, I may whisper that he is full of ro mances, and lias a whole budget of legends wrought out of Pro vencal and Troubadour history. " H ! Kie ! Honor bright." The lady now gracefully consented. " The temptation is too great to he resisted. My scruples yield to yonr persuasions. Will you order the guitar . " It \\as brought. \\ e had the music, but not alone. To the : delight of all parties, the fair charmer gave us her lyrics woven in with an historical narrative a romance in itself, uhich. in a brief and pleasant introduction, she mentioned that she had gathered herself fiom the lips <>f the celebrated General of Venezuela, who was only la-t year in the country. I must deliver : .as possible as it came from the lady s lips, not forgetting to mention that, in the lyrical port: the guitar contributed the accompaniment, and the effect of the pieces, thus delivered, was singularly dramatic ami eilective. Our circle contracted about the fair raconteur, silence ful. and i -ed attention, and she began. SOUTHWARD HO! THE STORY OF THE MAID OF BOGOTA. CHAPTER I . WHK.NKVKR the several nations of the earth which have achieved their deliverance from misrule and tyranny, shall point, as they each may, to the fair women who have taken active part in the cause of liberty, and by their smiles and services have contributed in no measured degree to the great objects of na tional defence and deliverance, it will be with a becoming and just pride only that the Colombians shall point to their virgin martyr, commonly known among them as La Pola, the Maid of Bogota. With the history of their struggle for freedom her story will always be intimately associated ; her tragical fate, due solely to the cause of her country, being linked with all the touching interest of the im^t romantic adventure. Her spirit seemed to be woven of the finest materials. She was gentle, exquisitively sensitive, and capable of the most true and tender attachments. Her mind was one of rarest endowments, touched to the finest issues of eloquence, and gifted with all the powers of the improvisatrice ; while her courage and patriotism seem to have been cast in those heroic moulds of antiquity from which came the Cornelias and Deborahs of famous memory. Well had it been for her country had the glorious model which she bestowed upon her people been held in becoming homage by the race with which her destiny was cast a race masculine only in exterior, and wanting wholly in that necessary strength of soul which, rising to the due appreciation of the blessings of national freedom, is equally prepared to make, for its attainment, every necessary sacrifice of self. And yet our heroine was but a child in years a lovely, tender, feeble creature, scarcely fifteen years of age. But the soul grows rapidly to maturity in some countries, and, in the case of women, it is always great in its youth, if greatness is ever destined to be its possession. Dona Apolinaria Zalabariata better known by the name of La Pola was a young girl, the daughter of a good family of Bogota, who was distinguished at an early period, as well for her great gifts of beauty as of intellect. She was but a child BOLIVAR. 37 wh,-n B.livar first commenced his struggles with the Spanish authorities, \\ith tho ostensible object of freeing his country from their oppressive tyrannies. It is not within our province to dis- nm the merits of liis pretensions as a deliverer, or his courage and military skill as a hero. The judgment of the world and of time lias fairlv set at re-t tlm>e specious and hypocritical claims, which, for a season, presumed to place him on the pedes tal with our Washington. We now know that he was not only .iish, l.ut a very ordinary man not ordinary, perhaps, in the sense of intellect, for that would be impossible in the case of one who was M long able to maintain his eminent position, and to >uect M-d in his capricious progresses, in spite of inferior .1 a -iii j-ulai deficiency of the heroic faculty. Hut his ambition was the vulgar ambition, and, if possible, something still inferior. It contemplated his personal wants alone; it lacked all the elevation of purpose which is the great essential of patriotism, and was wholly wanting in that magnanimity of soul which delights in the sacrifice of self, whenever such sacri fice promises the safety of the single great purpose which it professes to accomplish. Hut we are not now to consider Bolivar, the deliverer, as one whose place in the pantheon has already been determined by the unerring judgment of posterity. We are to behold him only with those eyes in which he w;us seen by the devoted followers to whom he brought, or appeared to bring, the deliverance for which they yearned. It is with the eyes of the passionate young girl, La Pola, the beautiful and gifted child, whose dream of country perpetually craved the republican condition of ancient Koine, in the days of its .simplicity and virtue; it is with her fancy and admiration that w- are to crown the idtal Holivai, till we acknowledge him, as he appears to her, the Washington of the Colombians, eager only to emulate the patriotism, ami to achieve like M with his great model of the northern confederacy. Her feelings and opinions, with regard to the Liberator, were those of her family. Her father was a resident of Bogota, A man of large possessions and considerable intellectual acquire ments. He gradually passed from a secret admiration of Bolivar to a warm sympathy with his progress, and an active support 38 as In- ibired. living in a city under immediate and despotic Spanish rule of all his objects. He followed witb eager tin* fortunes of the chief, as they fluctuated between defeat and victory in other provinces waiting anxiously tlie moment when the success and policy of the struggle should bring deliverance, in turn, to the gates of Bogota. Without taking up arms him self, he contributed secretly from his own resources to supplying the cotters of Bolivar with treasure, even when his operations were remote and his daughter was the agent through whose unsuspected ministry the money was conveyed to the several emi>sarie.s who were commissioned to receive it. The duty was equally delicate and dangerous, requiring great prudence and circumspection ; and the skill, address, and courage, with which the child succeeded in the execution of her trusts, would furnish a frequent lesson for older heads, and the stemer and the bolder La Pola was but fourteen years old when she obtained her first glimpse of the great man in whose cause she had already been employed, and of whose deeds and distinctions she had heard so much. By the language of the Spanish tyranny which swaved with iron authority over her native city, she beard him denounced and execrated as a rebel and marauder, for whom an ignominious death was already decreed by the despotic vice roy. This language, from such lips, was of itself calculated to raise its object favorably in her enthusiastic sight. By the patriots, whom she had been accustomed to love and venerate, she heard the same name breathed always in whispers of hope and ail ection, and loudly commended, with tearful blessings, to the watchful care of Ilea\eii. She was M><>n to behold with her own eyes this individual thus equally <listingui>heol by hate and homage in her hearing. Bolivar apprized his friends in Bogota that he should visit them in .M-cret. That province, ruled with a fearfully strong hand by Zamano, the viceroy, had not yet ventured to declare itself for the republic. It was necessary to operate with caution; and it :io small peril which Bolivar necessarily incurred, in pene trating to its capital, and laying his snares, and fomenting in surrection, beneath the very hearth-stone.- of the tyrant. It was to La Pola s hands that the messenger of the Liberator conti lcd BOLIVAR IN BI)I;HT\. 39 the missives tlint communicated tin s impuitant intelligence to li or father. She little knew the contents of tlio billet which she carried him in safety, nor did he confide them to the child. He himself did n<>t dream of the precocious extent of th;it enthusiasm which she felt ahno>t equally for the common cause, and for the, person of its great advocate and champion. Her father simply -d her care and diligence, rewarded her with his fondest cs. and then proceeded with all quiet despatch to make his preparations for the secret reception of the deliverer. It was at midnight, and while a thunder-storm was raging, that he entered the city, making 1 his way, agreeably to previous arrangement, and under select guidance, into the inner apart ments of the house of Zalabariata. A meeting of the conspira tors for such they were of head men among the patri Bogota, had Keen contemplated for his reception. Several of them were accordingly in attendance when he came. These were per>ons v. hose sentiments were well-known to he friendly to the cau-e ..f liberty, who had suffered by the hands, or wen- pursued by the suspicions of Zamano, and who, it was naturally supposetl, would be engerlv alive to every opportunity of sha king oif the rule of die oppre- But patriotism, as a philosophic sentiment, to be indulged after a good dinner, and discu-sed phlegmaticnlly, if not classi cally, over sherry and cigars, is a very different sort of thing from patriotism as a principle of action, to be prosecuted as a du y, at every peril, instantly and always, to the death if need be. ( hir patriots at Bogota were but too frequently of the con templative, the philosophical order. Patriotism with them was rather a subject for eloquence than Use. They could recall ipian histories of Greece and Rome which furnish MB with ideals lather than facts, and sigh for nanio like those of Oato, and Brutus, and Aristides. But more than this did not to enter tlu-ir imaginations as at all necessary to assert the character which it pleased them to profess, or maintain the reputation which they had pn-sprrtivelv acquired for the \ commendable virtue which >. u^tiiuteil their ordinary theme. Bolivar found them cold. A ust.,nied to overthrow and usur pation, the} were, now slow to venture property and life upon the predictions and promises of one who, however perfect in 40 SOUTHWARD HO ! their estimation as a patriot, had yet Buffered from most capri cious fortunes. His past history, indeed, except for its patriotism, offered but very doubtful guarantees in favor of the enterprise to which they were invoked. Bolivar was artful and ingenious. He had considerable pow ers of eloquence wa< ^JMHMOUS and persuasive; had an oily, and In-witching tongue, like Belial ; and, if not altogether capable of making the worse appear the better cause, could at least so shape the aspi-rts <>f evil fortune, that, to the unsuspicious nature, they would seem to be the very results aimed at by the most deliber ate arrangement and resolve. But Bolivar, on this occasion, was something more than inge nious and pervasive ; he was warmly earnest, and passionately eloquent. In truth, he was excited much beyond his wont. He was stung to indignation by a sense of disappointnent. He had calculated largely on this meeting, and it promised now to be a failure. He had anticipated the eager enthusiasm of a host of brave and noble spirits, ready to fling out the banner of freedom to the winds, and cast the scabbard from the sword for ever. Instead of this, he found but a little knot of cold, irresolute men, thinking only of the perils of life which they should incur, and the forfeiture and loss of property which might accrue from any hazardous experiments. Bolivar spoke to them in language less artificial and much more impassioned than was his wont. He was a man of impulse rather than of thought or principle, and, once aroused, the in- ; fire of a southern sun seemed to burn fiercely in all his words and actions. His speech was heard by other ears than those to which it was addressed. The shrewd mind of La Pola readily conjec tured that the meeting at her father s house, at midnight, and under peculiar circumstances, contemplated some extraordinary object. She was aware that a tall, mysterious stranger had <-d through the court, under the immediate conduct of her father himself. Her instinct divined in this stranger the person of the deliverer, and her heart would not suffer her to lose the words, or, if possible to obtain it, to forego the bight of the great object >f its patriotic worship. Besides, she had a right to know IM! k<V\ I-ATKK L. ll and to see. She was of the party, and had done them service She was yet to do them more. Concealed in an adjoining apartment a sort of oratory, con nected by a gallery with the chamber in which the conspirators were assembled- the WAI able to hear the earnest arguments and passionate remonstrances of the Liberator. They confirmed 11 her previous admiration of his genius and character. She felt with indignation the humiliating position which the men of Bogota held in his eyes. She heard their pleas and scruples, and listened with a bitter scorn to the thousand suggestions of prudence, the thousand calculations of doubt and caution, with which timidity seeks to avoid precipitating a crisis. She could and endure no longer. The spirit of the iinprovvisatrice upon her. Was it also that of fate and a higher Provi dence ? She seized the guitar, of which she was the perfect mistress, and sung even as her soul counselled and the exigency of the event demanded. Our translation of her lyrical overflow is necessarily a cold and feeble one. It was a dream of freedom, A mocking dream, though bright, Thiit shown! the men of Bogota All nrniini: fur tin- tljrht ; All eager tor the hour ttmt wakes The thunders of redeeming war, And rushing forth, with glittering steel. To join the hand* of Bolivia . My toul, I wid, it can not be That Bogota sh..ll he denied Her Aiinmendi too her chief To pluck her honor up and pride ; The wild Llanero honnts his brnvcs That, stung with patriot wrath and shame, Rimhi-d rodly to the realm of grnvei, And rose, through hloixl and death, to fnm. How glnd mine ear with other sounds, Of freemen worthy thee that tell ! Ritas, who felt Carmccas wounds, And for her hope find triumph fell; And that young hero, well 1-eloNed, Ginddat, Mill a mime fur song; Mmrrro, Piar, dying soon, Bu. Tur the future living Jong. 42 SOUTHWARD HO ! Oh . could we stir with other names, The cold, deaf hearts that hear us now, How would it bring a thousand shames, In fire, to each Bogotan g brow ! How clap in pride Grenada s hands, How plows Venezuela s heart, And how, through Cartagena s lands, A thousand chiefs and heroes start. Sodeno, I ae/, ID ! they rush, Each with his wild and Cossack rout A moment feels the fearful hush, A moment hears the fearful shout! They heed no luck of arts and arms, But all tJn-ir country s perils feel, And, sworn for freedom, bravely break, The glittering legions of Castile. I see the gallant Roxas clasp The towering banner of her sway; And Monagas, with fearful grasp, Plucks down the chief that stops the way ; The reckless Urdaneta rides, Where riven tin- i-arth the iron hail; Nor long the Spanish foemaii hide*, The strokes of old Zarazu s flail ! Oh, generous heroe-*, how ye rise ! How plow your states with equal fires Tis there Valencia s banner flies, And there Cumaila s soul aspires; There, on each hand, from eaat to west, From Oronook to Panama, Each province bares its noble hrea-t, Each hero save in Bogota! At the first sudden gush of the music from within, the father of the danis.-l started to his foot, and, with confusion in his coun tenance, was about to leave the apartment. But Bolivar arrested liis footsteps, and in a whisper commanded him to be silent and remain. The conspirators, startled if not alarmed, were com pelled to listen. Bolivar did so with a pleased attention. Ho was passionately fond of music, and this was of a sort at once to appeal to his objects and his taste. His eye kindled as the song proceeded. His heart rose with an exulting sentiment. The moment, indeed, embodied one of his greatest triumphs the tribute of a pure, unsophisticated soul, inspired by Heuven BOLIVAR S APPEAL. 4ft with the happiest and highest endowments, and by earth witb the noblest sentiments of pride awl country. When the music .1. /.--.labariata was about to apologize and to explain, but Bolivar airaiu gently and affectionately arrested liis utterance. " Fear nothing. said lie. " Indeed, why should you fear ? I am iu the irivater danger here, if there be danger for any; and 1 \v..uld as xoM-i place my life in the keeping of that noble damsel, as in the arms of my mother. Let her remain, my friend ; let her hear and see all ; and above, do not attempt to apologize for her. She is my ally. Would that she could make these men of Bogota feel with herself feel as she makes even me to feel." The eloquence, of the Liberator received a new impulse from that of the improvisaf rice. He renewed his arguments and en- in a different spirit. He denounced, in yet bolder lan- _e than before, that wretched pusillanimity which, quite as much, he asserted, as the tyranny of the .Spaniard, was tho under which the liberties of the country groaned and :ed. And now, I a-k." he. continued, passionately, "men of Bo- illy purpose to deny yourselves all share in the -I rvand peril of the effort which is for your own emancipation. Are your brethren of the other provinces to maintain the con flict in your behalf, while, with folded hands, you submit, doing nothing for yourselves? Will you not lift the banner ; Will you not draw -word in your own honor, and the del- of your l :id families? Talk not to B . et contri bution*. It is your manhood, nt your nn iiey, that i- needful -access. And can you withhold yourselves while \ \\ pr- fcO hunger after that liberty for which other men are f : peiil all manhood, money, lit 1 , hope, everything but honor and the sense of freedom. But why speak of peril in : Per re. Jt is the inevitable child of life, natural to all conditions to repose a well as action, to the obsc which never goes abroad, n* well as to that adventu.-e which for ever seeks the field. You incur no more peril in openly braving your tyrant, all :ie man, than you do thus tamelv sitting bfnenth hi*. \nd trembling for ever lett his capricious will may slav as it en*lffve*. Re von hut 44 SOUTHWARD HO true to yourselves openly true and the danger disappears as the night-mists that speed from before the rising sun. There is little that (It-serves the name of peril in the issue which lies before us. We are more than a match united, and filled with the proper spirit for all the forces that Spain can send against us. It is in our coldness that she warms in our want of unity that she finds strength. But even were we not superior to her in numbers oven were the chances all wholly and decidedly against us 1 still can not see how it is that you hesitate to Iraw the sword in so sacred a strife a strife which consecrates the effort, and claims Heaven s sanction for success. Are your souls so subdued by servitude, are you so accustomed to bonds and tortures, that these no longer irk and vex your daily con sciousness ? Are you so wedded to inaction that you cease to feel ] Is it the frequency of the punishment that has made you callous to the ignominy and the pain ? Certainly, your viceroy gives you frequent occasion to grow reconciled to any degree of hurt and degradation. Daily you behold, and I hear, of the exactions of this tyrant of the cruelties and the murders to which he accustoms you in Bogota. Hundreds of your friends and kinsmen, even now, lie rotting in the common prisons, de nied equally your sympathies and every show of justice, perish ing daily under the most cruel privations. Hundreds have per ished by tlii- and other modes of torture, and the gallows and garote .see.m never to be unoccupied. Was it not the bleaching skeleton of the veneraMc llermuno, whom I well knew for his oin and patriotism, which I beheld, even as I entered, hang ing in chains over the gateway of your city ? Was he not the victim of his wealth and love of country I Who among you is secure . He dared hut to deliver Jiimxdt as a man and, as he -uil eied to stand alone, lie was destroyed. Had you, when he spoke, but prepared yourselves to act, flung out the banner of resistance to the winds, and bared the sword for the last noble struggle, Hermano had not perished, nor were the glorious work only now to be begun. But which of you, involved in the same peril with Hermano, will find the friend, in the moment of his need, to take the first step for his rescue ? Each of you, in turn, having wealth to tempt the spoiler, will be sure to need friendship. It seems you do not look for it am<Mr on* TIMIDITY OF WEALTH. 4o another where, then, fin you propose to find it ? "Will yon ; for it among tlio Cartagenians among tin 1 otlier prov inces to Bolivar iritJiouf ? Vain expectation, if yon are un willing to peril anything for yourselves tritJnn ! In a tyranny ind M reckless a< i-> y..ui>. yon must momentarily tremble ! :Ter at the hands of your despot. True man hood rather prefers any peril which pnts an end to this state of anxiety and fear. Thus to tremble with apprehension ever, is ever to he dying. It is a life of death only which ye live and anv death or peril that comes quickly at the summons, is to be preferred before it. If, then, ve have hearts to feel, or hopes to warm ye a pride to suffer consciousness of shame, or an ambition that longs for better things affections for which to covet life, or the coinage with which to assert and to defend your affections ye can not, ye will not hesitate to determine, with souls of freemen, upon what is needful to he dnie. Ye have hut one choice as men ; and the (pie.-tin which is left for ye t< is that which determines, not your p. .not even your lives, hut simply your rank and stature in the world of humanity and man." The Liberator paused, not so much through his own or the exhaustion of the subject, as that hi:- hearers should in turn be heard, lint, with this latter object, 1 ,;:;< uas profit- lr-s. There were tlioe among them, indeed, who had their answ - ifl exhortations, bur these were not of a character to iisc boldly f..r their patr n >urage. Their profes- ample, hut were confined to unmeaning gen eralities. "Now is the time --now!" was the response of Bolivar to all that was said. But they faltered and hung back utterance of his spa-inn.iically-uttered " now ! now 1 " Jl" Mowed ttail tare, ra-jerly. \\i\\\ a hope that gradually T(i -A en- blank and inex- had been meaningless in- Several of them were of that clasp of quiet citi/ens, unac tonied to any enterprises but those of trade, who are always slow to peril we;:l:!i bv a direct issue with their despotism. They felt the truth of Bolivar *- fcqtti : - They knew that their tr. azures were only so many baits and lures to the cupidity and exactions of the royal emissaries, but. they still relied on their 46 SOUTHWARD HO! habitual caution and docility to keep terms with the tyranny at which they yet trembled. AYhen, in the warmth of his enthu siasm, Bolivar depicted the bloody struggles which must precede their deliverance, they began, indeed, to wonder among them selves how they ever came to fall into that mischievous philos ophy of patriotism which had involved them with such a restless rebel as Bolivar! Others of the company were ancient hidal gos, who had been men of spirit in their day, but who had sur vived the season of enterprise, which is that period only when the heart swells and overflows with full tides of warm and impetuous blood. "Your error," said he, in a whisper to Senor Don. Joachim de Zalabariata, " was in not bringing young men into your counsel-." " We si i all have them hereafter," was the reply, also in a whi>per. \YY ^hall see," muttered the Liberator, who continued, though MI silence, to scan the assembly with inquisitive eyes, and an excitement of soul, which increased duly with his efforts to subdue it. He had found some allies in the circle some few generous spirits, who, responding to his desires, were anxious to be up and doing. But it was only too apparent that the main body of the company had been rather disquieted than warmed. In this condition of hopeless and speechless indecision, the emo tions of the Liberator became scarcely controllable. His wholo frame trembled with the anxiety and indignation of his spirit He paced the room hurriedly, passing from group to group, appealing to individuals now, where hitherto he had spoken col lectively, and suggesting detailed arguments in behalf of hopes and objects, which it does not need that we should incorporate with our narrative. But when he found how feeble was the influence which he exercised, and how cold was the echo to his appeal, he became impatient, and no longer strove to modify tho expression of that scorn and indignation which he had for some time felt. The explosion followed in no measured language. "Men of Bogota, you are not worthy to be free. Your chains are merited. You deserve your insecurities, and may embrace, even as ye please, the fates which lie before you. Acquiesce in the tyranny which ofibnds DO kingrr, but be Kim* Ujut ntqui- INIHti.NATIi N Till. IMI UoVVI- \TIMCK. 47 escence never yet has disarm* . 1 the despot when his rapacity needs a victim. Ymir live.- and , < which ye dare not peril i n : of freedom lie equally at his mercy. He will not pause, as you do, to use them at his pleasure. To save them from him there is but one way to employ them against him. There is no security against power but in power; and to check the insolence of foreign strength you must oppose to it Own. This ye have not soul to do, and I leave you to the :iv you have chosen. This day, this night, it was yours to resolve. I have perilled all to move you to the proper resolu tion. You have denied me, and I leave you. To-morrow un- indeed 1 am betrayed to-night" looking with a sarcastic smile around him as he spoke "I shall unfurl the banner of the republic even within your own province, in behalf of Bogota. and leek, -ven against your own desires, to bestow upon you th .M- ble^ings of liberty which ye have not the soul to conquer for yourselves." CHAPTER II. II AUi i.v had these words been spoken, when the guitar again sounded from witl.in. Every ear wa- instantly hushed as the strain ascended a strain, mre ambitious than the preceding, of melancholy and indignant apostrophe. The improvvisatrice \\.-i- no longer able to control the j.a i.mate inspiration which from the Mem eloquence "f tll Liberator. She caught from him the burning sentiment of scorn which it was no longer his policy to repress, and gave it additional effect in the polished sarcasm of her song. Our translation will poorly suf fice to convey a proper notion of the strain. fhen be it o, tf ervili-R yo will l.>, Whrn manhood s oul had broken every chain, Twere CHIT** a Mo.<iiip now to make yo I For 8 ioh condition tutored long in vain ; may we werji th tintum-i ni our land, Though woman * ti-ui- wt-n- iif\T known to take One link away from that opprcnivi- band -uul t-nough to bi Oh! there wore ht-aitt of might in other dnyv Brave chieft, whoe memory till i dear to fam ; Alat foivour* ! the gallant deed* we praiM But >*vw mor^ deeply ni mir chrek 48 SOUTHWARD H" ! A* In m the midnight gloom the weary eyr, With sen>e that ran not the bright dawn forget, Looks ^ndly hopeless, from the vacant sky, To that where late, the glorious day-star set! Y -t all s not midnight dark if, in your land, Thrre bo some gallant hearts to brave the strife; One single generous blow from Freedom s hand May speak again our sunniest hopes to life; If but one blessed drop in living veins Be worthy those who teach us from the dead, Vengeance and weapons both are in your chains, Hurled feiirleiiy upon your despot s head f Y -t, if no memory of the living p.i-t Can wake ye now to brave the indignant strife, "IV ere nothing wise, at least, that we should last When death itself might wear a look of life ! Ay, when the oppressive arm is lifted high, And scourge und torture still conduct to graves, To strike, though hopeless still to strike and die! They live not, worthy freedom, who are slaves! As the song proceeded, Bolivar stood forward as one rapt in ecstacy. The exultation brightened in his eye, and his manner was that of a soul in the realization of its highest triumph. Not BO the Bogotans by whom lie was surrounded. They felt the terrible sarcasm which the damsel s song conveyed a sarcasm immortalized to all the future, in the undying depths of a song to he remembered. They felt the humiliation of such a record, and bung their heads in shame. At the close of the ballad, Bolivar exclaimed to Joachim de Zalabarietta, the father: " Bring the child before us. She is worthy to be a prime inin- Lsier. A prime minister ? No! the hero of the forlorn hope ! a spirit to raise a fallen .standard from the dust, and to tear down an.l trample that of the enemy. Bring her forth, Joachim. Had your men of Bogota but a tithe of a heart so precious! Nay, could her heart be divided among them it might serve a thou sand --then-, were no viceroy of Spain within your city now !" And when the father brought her forth from the little cabinet, that girl, flashing with inspiration pale and red by turns slightly made, but graceful very lovely to look upon wrapped in loose white garments,, with her long hair, dark and flowing uncoiifiued, and so long that it was easy for her to THK PROMISK. 49 \\alk upon it* the admiration of the Liberator was insuppres- sible. " Bless you for ever," he cried, " my fair Princes ; of Free dom ! You, at least, have a free soul, and one that is certainly inspired by tlie threat divinity of earth. Von shall he mine ally, Miough I find none ^ther in all Bogota Miflkvently courageous. In you, my child, ii yon and yours, there is still a redeeming spirit which shall save your city utterly from shame !" While he spoke, the emotions of the maiden were of a sort readily to show how easily she should be quickened with the inspiration of lyiic song. The color came and went upon her white cheeks. The tears rom>, iii^r and bright, upon her f.yda-lio heavy drops, incapable of suppression, that .swelled one after the other, trembled and fell, while the light blazed, even more brightly from the showers in the dark and dilating orbs which harbored such capacious fountains. She had no words at first, hut, trembling like, a leaf, sink upon a cushion at the feet of her father, as Bolivar, with a kiss upon her forehead, :sd her f p. ni hi> cla>p. Her courage came back to her a moment after. She was a thing of impulse, whose moven w.-re as prompt and unex pected as the inspiration by which she sung. Bolivar had scarcrly turned from her, as if to relieve her tremor, when she recovered all her strength and cou. ago. Sud denly rising from the cushion, she seized the hand of her father, and with an action equally passionate and dignified, she led him to the hibi-rator, to whom, speaking for the first time in that presence, she thus addressed herself: " He is yours he has always been ready with his life and money. Believe me, for I know it. Nay more ! doubt not that there are hundreds in Bogota though they be not here who, like him, will be ready whenever they hear the summons of your trumpet. Xr will the women of Bogota be wanting. There will l.e many of them who will tak- pons of : who use thrm not. and do as brave deeds for iheir country as lid the dames of Magdalena when they slew four hundred Sj aniards."t A : i. (( .mi cux- iimoug ih maidi ot" South America. Ti.i* fmble lau{lter took place on the night of the ICth ut J -..<, 1816, :ho al\ice and with tin.- particSpnrwn of the Vomcn of MoinjH X, t-^a \ 3 50 ,n \VARD HO! "All! I remember! A most glorious achievement, and woi- tliy to be written-in letters of gold. It was at Mompox, where they rose upon the garrison of M>rill>. Girl, you are worthy to have l>een the chief of those women of Magdalena. You will Le chief yet of the women of Bogota. I take your assurance with regard to them ; but, for the men, it were better that thou peril nothing even in thy speech." The last sarcasm of the Liberator might have been spared That which his eloquence had failed to effect was suddenly ac- ounplibhed by this child of beauty. Her inspiration and presence were electrical. The old forgot their caution and their years The young, who needed but a leader, had suddenly found a genius. There was now no lack of the necessary enthusiasm. There were no more scruples. Hesitation yielded to resolve. The required pledges were given given more abundantly than required ; and, raising the slight form of the damsel to his own height, Bolivar again pressed his lips upon her forehead, gazing at her with a respectful delight, while he bestowed upon her the name of the Guardian Angel of Bogota. With a heart bound ing and beating with the most enthusiastic emotions too full lor further utterance La Pola disappeared from that imposing presence which her coming had filled with a new life and impulse, CHAPTER III. IT was nearly dawn when the Liberator left the city. That night the bleaching skeleton of the venerable patriot Heiinano was taken down from the gibbet where it had hung so long, l<y hands that left the revolutionary banner waving proudly in its place. This was an event to startle the viceroy. It was fol lowed by other events. In a few days more, and the sounds of lifui city on au iil.itul it the rivrr M;i-,l,ii.-ii;i. Tin- event has enlisted tl- niuflu o! muny u i ! and |>ui-t, who giv\v wild \vhi-n tln-y .:..iu;ige of Thoe Homo* of Magdalenn. Who, in one fearful night, Slew full four hundn-d tyrant*, Nor fhrunk from blood in fright. Such women de**rve the apostrophe of Macbeth to hi* wif : Siir.j f:to nicTi children oaiv." PROGRESS OF THE WAR. 51 Insurrection were heard throughout the province * iO city still moving secretly sending forth supplies and intelligence by th. but unable to raise the standard of rebellion, while Za- man<, the rifitroy, doubtful of its loyalty, remained in posses- HOU <>f it.-. >trong places with an overawing force. Bolivar him self, under these circumstances, was unwilling that tin 1 , patriots should throw a>ide. the mask. Throughout the province, how ever, the rising was general. They responded eagerly to the call of the Liberator, and it was easy to foresee, that their cause ultimately prevail. The people in conflict proved them selves equal to their rulers. Th*> Spaniards had been neither moderate when strong, nor were they prudent now when the conflict found them weak. Still, the successes were various. The Spaniards had a foothold from which it was not easy to ex- pel them, and were in possession of resources, in arms and mate rial, derived from the mother-country, with which the republi cans found it i.D easy matter to contend. Hut they did contend, and this, with the right upon their side, was the great guarantee for success. What the Colombians wanted in the materials of MOM than supplied by their enr>-gy and patriotism; and, however slow in attaining their desired object, it was yet evident to all. except their enemies, that the issue Vmly in their own hands. wo years that the war had been carried or, the I observer could, perhaps ^ee lut little change in the respective relations of the combatants. The Spaniards still continued to maintain their foothold wherever the risings of the patriots had lieen premature or partial. Hut the iv -f the f c : hourly undergoing diminution, and the, grra f l> ^enii"_r of the productions of the country, incident to its insurrectionary I .tinn, had Mil traded largely from the temptations to the further prosecution of the war. The hopes of the patriots natu rally rose with the depression of their enemies, and their in creasing numbers, and improving skill in the use of their weap ons, not a little contributed to their endurance and activity. But for this history we must look to other volumes. The question for us is confined to an individual. How, in all this time, had La Pola redeemed her pledge to the Libernr . ihi whom he hud described an the gunnlLan genius of Bogoln.* 52 SOUTHWARD HO ! adhered to the/ enthusiastic faith which she had voluntarily pledged to him in behalf of herself and people ? Now, it may be supposed that a woman s promise, to partici pate in the business of an insurrection, is not the thing upon which much stress is to be laid. We are apt to assume for the so.x a too humble capacity for high performances, and a too small sympathy with the Interests and affairs of public life. In both respects we are mistaken. A proper education for the sex would result in showing their ability to share with man in all his toils, and to sympathize vith him in all the legitimate con cerns of manhood. But what, demands the caviller, can be ex pected of a child of fifteen I and should her promises be heH against her for rigid fulfilment and performai.ee ? It might be enough to answer that we are writing a sober history. There is the record. The fact is AS we give it. But a girl of fifteen, in the warm latitude of South America, is quite ;;.* ir.:iture as the northern maiden of twenty-five ; with an ardor in her nature that seems to wing the operations of the. mind, making that intu itive with her, whi. h, in the person of a colder climate, is the result only of long calculation and deliberate thought. She is sometimes a mother at twelve, and, as in the case of La Pola, a heroine at fifteen. We freely admit that Bolivar, th^i : v li greatly interested in the improvvisatrice, was chiefly grateful to her for the timely rebuke which she administered, through her peculiar faculty of lyric song, to the unpatriotic inactivity of her country men. As a matter of course, he might still expect that the same muse would take fire under similar provocation hereafter. But he certainly never calculated on other and more decided services at her hands. He misunderstood the being whom he had somewhat contributed to inspire. lie did not appreciate her ambition, or comprehend her resources. From the moment of his meeiinu with her she became a woman. She was already a politician as she was a poet. Intrigue is natural to the genius of the sex. and the faculty is enlivened by the possession of a warm imagination. La Pola put all her faculties in requisition. Her soul was now addressed to the achievement of some plan of co-operation with the republican chief, and she succeeded, where wiser persons must have failed, in compassing the desirable fr.cilities. POLITIC? OF THE IMPROVVISATRICE. 58 Living in Bogota the stronghold of flic enemy she exer- , a policy and address which disamied BHBfHCton. Her father and his family were to be paved and shielded, while they re mained under the power of the viceroy, Zamano a military des pot who had already acquired a reputation for cruelty scarcely inferior to that of the worst of the Roman emperors in the latter days of the empire. The wealth of her father, partly known, made him a desirahle victim. Her beauty, her spirit, the charm of her song and conversatior. v/ere exercised, as well to secure favor for him, as to prorurr the needed intelligence and assis- f>r the Liberator. She managed the twofold object with admirable success disarming suspicion, and, under cover of the confiiiei.i-e which she inspired, succeeding in ejecting constant UuicAtk>D with the patriots, by which she put into their , all the plans of the Spaniards. Her rare talents and .v urn- the chief -ourco of her RfeeetB. She subdued her ; int-MiM- nature her wild impul-e and eager In-art employing them r.uly to impart to her fancy a move im- pre.-siv.- and spiritual existence. She clothed her genius in the brighter and [ lors. fpoitini: above the precipice of 1< !- in n r . and making of it a background and u relief to heighten the of her srcminglv wilful fancv. Song came at hrr sum- . and disarmed thr MT IOU- cjuestioner. In tl. t her I enemies she was only the impr<>\ vk-itrice a rarely gifted creature, living in the clouds, and totally regardless of the thii .L < mild thus beguile from the younir oHicers of the Spanish army, without provoking the slightest apprehen- of any sinister object, the secret plan and purpose the new supply the contemjtlatrd enterprise in short, a thousand tilings wii;, b. a^ an inspired idiot, might be yiel-led to hrr with inditYen me, which, in the easy of one solsoitou- to know, would narded with the n, She was the j.rin- cess of the tertulia that mode of evening entertainment so com mon, yet sr precious, among the Spaniards. At these pa;- she ministered with a grace and influence which made the 1 !f her father a place of general resort. The Spanish gallants thronged about her person, watchful of her - . and yielding alu. coin pass, and delightful spiritn- nlity of her vou^. .V her <f iv> M SOUTHWARD HO ! offence than of being totally heartless, with all her charms, and of aiming- at no treachery more dangerous than that of making conquests, simply to deride them. It was the popular qualifica tion of all her beauties and accomplishments that she was a co quette, at once so cold, and so insatiate. Perhaps, the woman politician never so thoroughly conceals her game as when she masks it with the art which men are most apt to describe as the prevailing passion of the sex. By these arts, La Pola fulfilled most amply her pledges to the liberator. She was, indeed, his most admirable ally in Bogota. She soon became thoroughly conversant with all the facts in the condition, of the Spanish army the strength of the several armaments, their disposition and destination the oper ations in prospect, and the opinions and merits of the officers all of whom she knew, and from v horn she obtained no smnll knowledge of tin- worth and value of their absent cornr These particulars, all regularly transmitted to Bolivar, v, re quite as much the secret of his success, as his own genius and the valor of his troops. The constant disappointment and de feat of the, royalist arms, in the operations which were conduct ed in the. province, of Bogota, attested the closeness and correct ness of her knowledge, and its vast importance to the cause of the patriots. (1IAPTKR IV. Unfortunately, however, one of her communications was in tercepted, and the cowardly bearer, intimidated by the terrors of impending death, was persuaded to betray his employer. He revealed all that he knew of her practices, and one of his state ments, namely, that she usually drew from her shoe the paper which she jra\ ( him, served to fix conclusively upon her the proofs of her offence. She was arrested in the midst of an ad miring throng, presiding with her usual grace at the tertulia, to which her wit and music furnished the eminent attractions. Forced to submit, her shoes were taken from her feet in the presence of the crowd, and in one of them, between the sole and the ) :.!n^ , was a memorandum designed for Bolivar, containing the Jotails, in anticipation, of one of the intended movements of th? viceroy. She was not confounded, nor did she bink bneatli DETKCTION AND lxxM. 55 this discovery. Her soul M-emed to ri-c rather into an unusual M of .serenity ami strength. She encouraged her friends witli smiles and the sweetest seeming indifference, though she well know that her doom was certainly at hand. She had her consolations even under this conviction. Her father was in safety in the camp of Bolivar. With her counsel and assistance ho would save much of his property from the wreck of confiscation. The plot had ripened in her hands almost to maturity, and, be- very long, B-_ t would speak for liberty in a formi dable j l-nmitirnuin nto. And this was mostly her work! What more was done, by her agency and influence, may be readily conjectured from what lias been already written. Enough, that she herself i elt that in leaving life she left it when there was little more left for her to do. La Pola was hurried i mm the tertulia before a military court martial law then prevailing 1 in the capital with a rapidity corresponding with the BtlppOffti enormity of her offences. It was her chief Jiang that she was imt hurried there alone. We have not hitherto mentioned that she had a lover, one Juan de mere, to whom she was affianced a worthy and noble youth, who entertained for her the most passionate attachment It is a somewhat curious fact that she kept him wholly from anv knowledge of her political alliances; and never was man more indignant than he when she \vas arrested, or more con founded when the proofs of her guilt were drawn from her per- Bon. His oflence consisted in his resistance to the authorities who seized her. There was not the slightest reason to suppose that he knew or participated at all in her intimacy with th< triots and Bolivar. He was tried along with her. and both con demned for at this time condemn : trial were words of 8vn< n\ OOI import to be shot. A respite of twelve hours from execution was granted them for the purposes of o.nfe^ion. Zamano, the vici-my. anxious for other victims, spared no n. to procure a full revelation of all tin ; our heroine. The priest who waited upon her was the one who attended on the viceroy himself. He held out lures of pardon for both, here and hereafter, upon the one condition only of a full declaration of her secret* and accomplices. Well might the leading people wf Bogota tremble all the while. But be wns firm in her re- .")!) -OtTHWARI) H(>! fusal. Neither promises of present mercy, nor threats ol the future, could extort from her a single fact in relation to her pro ceedings. Her lover, naturally desirous of life, particularly hi the possession of so much to make it precious, joined in the en treaties of the priest ; but she answered him with a mournful severity that smote him like a sharp weapon " Gomero ! did I love you for this ? Beware, lest I hate you ere I die ! Is life so dear to you that you would dishonor both of us to live ? Is there no consolation in the thought that we shall die together?" "But we shall be spared we shall be saved," was the reply of the lover. " Believe it not it is false ! Zamano spares none. Our lives are forfeit, and all that we could say would be unavailing to avert your fate or mine. Let us not lessen the value of this >,u rifice on the altars of our country, by any unworthy fears. If you have ever loved me, be firm. I am a woman, but I am >tiong. Be not less ready for the death-shot than is she whom you have chosen for your wife." Other arts were employed by the despot for the attainment of his desires. Some of the native citizens of Bogota, who had been content to become the creatures of the viceroy, were em ployed to work upon her fears and affections, by alarming her with regard to persons of the city whom she greatly esteemed and valued, and whom Zamano suspected. But their endeavors were met wholly with scorn. When they entreated her, among other things, " to give peace to her country," the phrase seemed to awaken all her indignation. "Peace! peace to our country!" she exclaimed. "What peace ! the peace of death, and shame, and the grave, for ever !" And her soul again found relief only in its wild lyrical overflow. What peace fur mir country, when vc vc made her a grave, A den for the tyninl, ;i ci-ll for the slave; A pestilent plague-nrnr, accusing und curst, A* vile in tin- vilest, und wore than the worst ! The chnin n-:iy ) hniki-!i, the tyninny oYr, But the nweet charms that blciicd her ye may not restore ; Not your blood, though poured forth from life s ruddiest v >iu Shall free her from tiirrow, or cleans* her from uin VI Vi: LA I ATKIA. 67 Ti* ih" gii f hat ye mny not rtmove the disgrace, Tliii : th the blackness of hell all your race; Ti the nonow that nothing nviy C nf shame, That has wrought 119 to madness, and tilled us with flame. Years may p;u-, but the memory d< ej> in our souls, Shall make tin- tali- darker as Time onward rolls; And the future that trows fiom our ruin shall know It> own, and its country s, Hti.l liberty s f>,-. And still, in the |>I:IYT at it-* altars shall rise, Appeal for the \ t e irth ;md of skies; Me;i shall pny that the curse of all time may pursue And plead for the curse of eternity too! M mfo. ily vengeful in spirit their prayer, Since the weal of the whole world fit-bids them to spate What hope would there he for mankind if our race, Through the rule of the brutal, is robbed by tue bnr ? What hop.- for the future, \vha f hope for th^ fre , And where would the promise of liiu r If Time had no tenor, no doom for the slave, \Yho would stub his own mother, and shout o er her grave ! Such a response as this effectually silenced all those cunning agents of the virrnty wh urged their arguments in In-half of their country. Nothing, it was srm. nuihl le dune with a spirit s" intlexihle : and in liis 1 ury Zaniano <>rdi i red the coujile f .rth to ins-ant f\.-cutiu. Bogota was in mourning. Its peoj.h- 09T- cri-il their lieads. a few only exerjited, and refused to he -!! Or comforted. The priests wh" attended the victims received i as f>m-erned the secrets of the patriots; and they retired in chagrin, and without granting ahsolntion to either vic tim. The firing party made ready. Then it was. t -r the fir>t time, that the spirit of this nohle maiden seemed to shrink from the approach of death. " Butclic! xclaimed to tin- vict-roy, who stood in his balcony, overlooking the seen.- of exerution. " Butidier ! \ "U i;en the heart t kill a woman!" These were the only words of weakness. She recovered her self instantly, nnd, preparing for her fate, without looking for any effect from her words, she proceeded to cover her face with the .\uya, or veil, which she wore. Drawing it aside for the pnr- . the words " I n-t- l,i Pn>ri . " embroidered in letters ot 58 gold, were discovered on the basqvina. As the signal for exe cution was given, a distant hum, as of the clamors of an ap proaching army, was heard fitfully to rise; upon the air. " It is he ! He comes ! It is Bolivar ! It is the Liherator !" was her cry, in a tone of hope and triumph, which found its echo in the bosom of hundreds who dared not give their hearts a voice. It was, indeed, the Liberator. Bolivar was at hand, pressing onward with all speed to the work of deliverance ; but he came too late for the rescue of the beautiful and gifted damsel to whom lie owed so much. The fatal Imllets of the executioners pene trated her heart ere the cry of her exultation had subsided from the ear. Thus perished a woman worthy to be remembered with the purest and proudest who have done honor to nature and the sex ; one who, with all the feelings and sensibilities of the woman, possessed all the pride and patriotism, the courage, the sagacity and the daring of the man. CHAPTER V. " \Vo ilitl keep timf, sir, in our catches. 1 [ Twelfth NigKt. As a matter of course, the contribution of our fair companion was received with warmest thanks and congratulations. She had delivered herself of the pleasant laboi, as if there had been a pleasure in the service unaffectedly, with equal ease, modes ty and spirit. Her narrative was grr.ceful, while her lyrical efforts were mark-ed by an enthusiasm which was regelated, in turn, by the nicest delicacy and good taste. My Gothamite friend was all in raptures, and I fancied th:t his praises were by in i menus of ungracious sound in the ears of Miss Burroughs. Selina, by the way - - ! .. name which my long intimacy with her permitted me to use familiarly was youni: enough for senti- iiH-ut was, a> 1 believed, quite fre^ of any attachments; though too quiet to figure conspicuously in a fashionable jam. just in the situation which could most effectually ex hibit her more charming qualities Mv friend Duyckman ntly touched. There was a probability, indeed so I fancied that each of them, before long, would be inclined to say, in the language of Nicholas Bottom, " I shall desire you .if more acquaintance, pood master Pease Blossom." I could look on Mich a ir:-o\vth of liking between the parties with great coui- plai-am-y. To one who is no hm^er in the Held, the swi-- picture in the world is in the gradual approach of two young fond hearts to one another they themselves, perhaps, quite unconscious uf the tendency, yet as docile as the ductile needle to the directing tinker of the pule. For awhile the conversation became general among the group. The night was passing inseiibibly. It was so calm, soft, seductive, that sleep was forgotten. The care^ of trade, the tasks of toil, the intensity of study, affected mme of ua. 60 SOUTHWARD Ha! Each, with a fresh sense of freedom, was free also from all of physical exhaustion. Why sleep ? There were lister.t-rs, and each unlocked his stores. The oyster war was re-called, and other anecdotes given. As we swept along by the shores >f New Jersey, which we could no longer see, her people, char acter, and histoiy, furnished our topics. It was admitted that the Jerseyans were a sterling sort of people. They had shown good pluck in the Revolution, and their country had furnished the battle-fields of some of onr most glorious actions Monmouth, Princeton, Trenton. These recalled Washington, and Lee, and Lafayette, and many others. It was admitted that " The Jerseyan, when a gentleman, was of the best models; and even when not exactly a gentleman, was still to be recog nised as a good fellow. Without being the swashing, conceited Gothamite, he was yet very far from resembling the prim, demure broad-brims of the Quaker city. In other words, he was gay and gallant, without rudeness or foppery ; and firm and thoughtful, without beiu^ strait-laced and puritanical. In brief, he had a character of his own, and was not made up of the odds and ends of all sorts of people." Our son of Gotham did not exactly relish the comparison thus made by one of the group, and replied in a rather stale sarcasm : " The less said by way of comparison between Jersey, as between New York and Philadelphia, the better. As old Franklin phrased it she is the barrel on tap at both ends." The retort followed from the former speaker. " These two cities are the sewers of Jersey. She uses them for common purposes employing them where needful for her common uses, without being responsible for their morals, or troubled with their nuisances. She is fortunate in escaping the evils of great cities, which she can nevertheless use at pleasure." This was a new view of the case which luid never occurred to our Gothamite, and required reflection. He had. DO imme diate answer. The other speaker continued, and made his contributions to our entertainment by a statement of certain facts wliich might be wrought into story. " Jersey," he said, " even along the shores, and, in recent periods, is not without its picturesque and romantic. It is not DALTOX THE STRANGER. 61 long, since that tin" coast which we arc passing was distinguished infamously by a class of cruel outlaws, who wore not the less murderous because they pcrfonne.il their crimes under the cover of night and tempest. Here, in situations favorable to their .-.cc irse i trade, dwelt a race of land pirate.-, such as roved the wastes of the Mississippi Mich as not many years ago occu pied the Keys of Florida * K h as still mislead and prey upon the innocent and unsuspecting, on the dreary land routes to rnia. These were wreckers, who lived upon waifs cast up by the sea, and who hung 1 out false lights, when the nights were dark and .stormy. t<> beguile the unwary and exhausted mariner. Everybody is aware of the sort of life which they pursued, fur many years, durinir a period still fresh within the memories of men ; though no one can conjecture the extent to which they carried their nefarious traffic. I heard a story, not long ago, told by a sea-captain along this route, which he assured me he had from the very best authority. We were all agog to hear, and our Jerseyan thus proceeded : " It appears that some twenty years ago there suddenly ap peared a stranger in the countrv along shore in a lonely and sequestered .sp.it ---of whom nobody knew anything. Briefly, no one was particularly curious to inquire. He was moody, reserved, somewhat sullen, and a person whose aspect g warning of irritable passions, while his physique was one of great muscular activity and power. He described himself as an Englishman, and went by the name of Dalton. As far as the people could gather from himself and others, lie was under stood to have been a sailor, and a deserter from the royal navy This was, to a small degree, a sur-f of sympathy for him particularly an he had hern cruelly treated in the service. Some accounts spoke of him as one who. in Midden frav, had used a marlin-spike with a little too heavy a hand up-n an : lent and brutal lieutenant. In leaving the servic.-. r. in Oft, and at short notice, he yet took up another trade which still kept him in daily commerce with the ocean. The sight of this field was, perhaps, more natural to his eyes- than any He made his way along shore to a portion of the coast where the restraints of society and law were fewest. Here he natu rally became a wrecker, and gathered his spoils along the sea (5 2 SOUTHWARD HO ! side, after a fashion but too common with his neighbors. Every storm brought him tribute, and his accumulations began to be considerable. Wrecks increased fearfully after his appearance in the. neighborhood ; and, for the goods thus brought to these wild outlaws, by a wretched fortune, they had but one duty to perform to bury out of sight the. human sufferers who were quite as frequently the victims of their cruel snares as of the treacherous shores and tempests. " Dalton prospered in the horrid trade; and the rude cabin in which he dwelt alone, and which was visited but rarely, began to improve in its furniture. Bedsteads and beds, beyond wha f he himself could use or seemed to need, were accumulated in his sol itary chamber. Chairs and tables and mirrors followed. Supplies of crockery, and other things, implying the presence of woman, were gradually brought from the cities ; and conjecture exagger ated the value of his stores and treasures. At length, the mys tery of these proceedings was explained. Dalton was now heard to speak of mother, wife, and sister all of whom he expected from England to whom he had written, and sent, the necessary money for emigration. He spoke of these relations with a show of feeling which occasionally softened, and even sweetened, his ,-pect and utterance ; and seemed to entertain for them severally a degree of affection, which could hardly have been expected from his nature. He was a coarse, uneducated man, and the villanous scrawl which declared his wishes to his kindred, was revised by one of his neighbors, better read than himself, from whom, it seems, these particulars were afterward obtained. IT- letter was despatched, and he spoke frequently of the family which he expected, and for which he had prepared his dwelling, lilling it with comforts, to which, in all probability, they had never before been accustomed. 11 But months elapsed, bringing him no answer to his entreaties. Meanwhile, he still continued his fearful and criminal employ ments. Still he prospered in all merely pecuniary respects. He became the envy of those who regarded his accumulations as the proper and permanent objects of desire. But the wages of sin and death are delusions also; mockeries, which mortify the very meanest hearts, even when they are most sought, and most in possession. THE LEE SHORE. : " One dark and threatening evening in September, the wind blowing a gale which inerea>ed in fury as tin- night came on, a sail wa< dimly descried in the distance. In the growing dark- disappearcd. But, through the night, at intervals, tin- booming* of a cannon might he heard. Th< - -U of terror soon ceased ; swallowed up in the united mar of -CT, and storm and thunder, The billuws. in moimtjiin rollers, came in upon tlie sandy shore. But the tempest did not affr ^r!.: our wreckers. The/ welcomed the increasing violence of the storm. They were abr,r.< and busy one of them at leaM. 1 -dton had marked the vessel, dimly seen at sunset, ir his prey. The course of the wind, the M as.>n. the. violence of the gale, the proximity nf the fated craft to the lecshore, all con tributed to ill! him with the horrid hope of plunder at the >:\- life and humanity. He stole out from his hovel, under cover of the darki iless of the driving fury of the wind, to an elevated hammock of sand, where he fired a beacon of tar- barrels. What mocking hopes did this blaze awaken in the bosoms of the hapless creatures in that barque? He thought nothing of them. Possibly, other lights were kindled, like those of Dalton, and with like charitable purposes. The diabolical purpose- was aptly answered by the watchful "That night, while Dalton crouched in hi.s cabin, he fancied that he heard human voices appealing to him, above all the \ of the storm. It was not the lingering human feeling within his ;. which made him listen and tremble with Grange and sti fling >ci)>ati..ns. But, he fancied that he was called bv name. He fancied that the rtic6l were familiar, and it seemed to him that, in his very ears were syllabled in shriek^, the >everal words brother, husband, -<>n. He \va> par.tly/.ed. A cold i his frame. He could not -tir. He could not speak. He sat beside his chimney in a :u].<>r. which forbade that he should either >leep or go forth ! : habitual guilt is a thing of rare , hardihood and endurance. Cupidity came to his relief. He meditated the great gains of his trade. The prey was in the toils, beyond possibility of escape, and before the dawn its struggles w have ceased. The morning came. With the lii reak of light he was forth and upon the sands. The storm had sub 61 SOUTHWARD IK) sided, (lie sun had opened his eyes, all brightness, upon the beautiful world. But the sens wen- still tumultuous, and Dalton could see that a large fragment of the stranded ship, was still tossing in their wild embraces in a little cove which the wave- had eaten into the sands. Everywhere before him were the proofs of wnv.k and ruin. Hrre a mast and spar, there a bit of deck and bulwark ; there rolled a barrel in upon the reef, and tin-re floated away a naked raft and hammock. "As he wandered, seeking *tid picking up his spoils, he hap pened Badooolj upon other trophies of the storm. On the very edge of the s-.a, uhere it blended with the shore in comparative calm, lay two human bodies locked closely in a last embrace. B->th were females. Their h< ads vested upon the sands. Their garments, and the arms of one, were lifted to and fro by the billows. Did they live? lie approached them with feelings, strange to him, of equal awe and curiosity. He had a fearful presentiment of the truth. He drew them from the waters. He unclasped them from that strong embrace which they had taken in death. He beheld their faces. . " Mother! Sister! " He knew them at a glance ! " And it was his hand that had fired the beacon which had conducted both to death. 1 M v wife ! my wife ! I have drowned my wife ! " Where was she ! He looked for /// in vain. The remorse less sea gave up no other of its victims. But he found a box in which were his own letters. They told her fate. " His horror and remorse, too lately awakened, suffered him to keep no secrets. His first outcry revealed the whole terrible history. He had avenged humanity upon himsi]f. Even among the wild creatures with whom he herded, the terrible judgment upon his own QUMifcbfa soul, inflicted \>\ his own deet!, was too awful to MMMii to need other penalties. He was suiVeied to go free. He remained only long enough in the neighborhood to see the poor corses deposited in earth, and then fled, leaving all behind him, fled into the interior, and, it was said, nine years afterward, that he was then to be found, somewhere in Ohio, a sad, gray-headed man, a devout Christian, reconciled to the Church, and waiting humbly for that change, which, it was his THK 1MUJHIM OF l.OVK. G5 hope and should be ours, might witness tlio purification of his stains through the saving grace of his Redeemer." Our Jerseyan, having finished his voluntary yarn, was voted the thanks of the company; and it was then unanimously agreed that our Gothamite should take up the reel, and see what he could do, at warp and woof, in the business of invention. We were promised a story of the troubadours, I think, sir," said Miss Burroughs. W> all concurred in the subject thus indicated, and, after certain modest preliminaries, Duyckman gave us a curious pic ture of the fantastical sentiment serious enough in its way of which we may find so many remarkable examples in the his tory of chivalry and the crusades. It may not be amiss to ap prise the reader that he will find an actual biography in what follows. TH K 1 II.fiRIM OK LOVE. " Sails, oaru, thut might not save, The deuth he sought, to Geoffrey Ilucl-l pave." PETRARCH. THK history of the Provencal troubadours is fall of grateful and instructive material curious as hi>trv. instructive as de veloping a highly-artificial state of * ml full of interest an literary biography. To the young poet, the study is one which will teach many useful lessons of his art. To the pas- sionatw dreamer of romance, it will yield delicious provocations to revery, in which all his ideals will be satisfied. These biog raphies should be written out by poets ; not in \vrxr. tor that might suggest doubt* of their veracity, but in a prose at once sparkling and sentimental ; uniting the oriental fancy of d, with the sighing pathos of a Norton or a Landon. We commend the idea to study and examination; and will content ourselves, in the meantime, with a brief sketch of one of the most remark able troubadours of his age and order. Geoffrey Rudel was a prince of Blaye, a* well as a trouba dour. In those days, nobility was not inconsistent with letters. Gt> SOUTHWARD HO ! Our poet was one of those who could wield the sword as ^ell as the lyre. He was a knight of high reputation, and a gentleman ; and, as such, wore the honors of chivalry with all the grace of one " to the manner born." But, with all these possessions, there was one deficiency, which was considered fatal to the perfection of his character. His grace and com were acknowledged in court and chamber. He could make his enemy tremble in the field. As a poet he had fire and senti ment, and was peculiarly sensible to the glories of the visible world. He was the favorite of princes, and was ranked among the friends of no less a personage than Richard Coeur de Lion. But he had never once been troubled with the tender passion. He had never been beguiled to love by beauty. He acknowl edged the charms of woman, but he remained unenslaved. He could sing of the attractions which he did not feel. He had his muse, perhaps his ideal perfection, and to her he sung. He portrayed her charms, but he neither found nor seemed to seek them. Tradition vaguely hints at efforts which he made, to discern a likeness in the living world to the exquisite creation embodied in his mind. But he seemed to search for her in vain. His wanderings, seeking for this perfect creature, were wholly without profit. It does not seem that he exulted in his insensi bility. An object of universal admiration himself, he himself constantly strove to admire. He did admire, but he did not love. The object of pursuit eluded his grasp. In those days, it was deemed no impropriety, on the part of the fairer sex, to seek openly the conquest of the brave knight and the noble poet. Beauty sought Geoffrey Rudel in his solitude. She brought him rarest tribute. She spoke to him in songs, sweet as his own, and with oriental flowers more precious than any which his care had cultured. She did not conceal the passion which his accomplishments had inspired ; but she declared her secret in vain. His heart seemed invulnerable to every shaft. Hi soul remained inaccessible to all the sweet soliciting of love. It must not be thought that he found pride in this insensi bility. He felt it as a misfortune. For the troubadour not to love, was to deprive his verses of that very charm which alone could secure them immortality. For the knight to be untouched by the charms of woman, was to wither the greenest chaplet THE INDOLENT KNIGHT. 67 which valor had ever fixed upon his lirow. He declared his griefs at tin- insusceptibility of his heart. His prayer embodied a petition that he might be made to love. But he prayed for heavenly succor, and he looked for earthly loveliness, in vain. His mind was greatly saddened by his condition. His isolation impaired hi> energies. He ceased to sing, to seek the tourney and the court, and delivered himself up to a musing and medi tative life, which was only not utter vacancy. At a season of general bustle among the nations, he sank into apathy. He had served in arms with Richard, but the entreaties of that impetuous and powerful monarch no longer succeeded in be guiling him from big solitude. The world \\ as again arrayed in armor the whole wide world of Christendom moving under the impulses of religious fanaticism, at the wild instance of St. Bernard. Preparations were in progress for the second cnisade, but the stir of the multitude aroused no answering chord in his affections. He put on no armor; his shield hung upon his walls ; his spear rusted beneath it, and no trumpet was sounded at 1. Like one overcome with sloth, Geoffrey Kudel lay couched within the <juiet retreats of his castle near Hour- deaux, and gave no heed to the cries and clamors of the world without. But his soul had not lapsed away in luxuries He was immersed in no plea-i:: .-xciting than tl UN soul was full of sadness rather than delight. His l\r forth the tenderest pieadii.^. an-i the mo.-t touching la:..eiif ation. His heart WU lilled with sorrow, as he entreated vainly that it should be filled with love. Very sweet were his ballad*; plain tive al\\ay-. and teeming uih faiu :;-, which faiuly sought to ally themselves to affections. With a soul given up to .ontfiij- plation>, which, if not loving, were not warlike, he gave no heed to the nio\ ements. or even the reproaches of his brethren knights and troubadours. The preaching of St. Bernard touch ed not him. We do not know that he ever listen. > that great apostle of the crusade- ; nor, indeed, can we j-n-h-nd to it that his conversion e\er form.-.! a .special object with the preacher. But the entreaties of others were urged upon him, and without success. He answered them with a nielancholy denial, which ib>clared hi- more than his indirlerence. of his ditties, written at this period, have been preserved 68 SOUTHWARD HO! to us. They arc remarkable for their delicacy, their plaintive- m -< of tone, the nice taste by which his spirit was informed, and the grief of those yearnings, the denial of which was the true cause of his lethargy. The muse to which he now yielded himself was that of a latent affection. The wild spirit of war fare had no voice for his soul. He sung but why not suffer him to speak for himself, those tender sensibilities which he has put into verse, not wholly unworthy of his renown ? Our rude English version may show the character of his sentiment, if not the peculiar art and the ingenuity of his strain. He speaks in this sonnet of his despondency, and of that ideal which he de spairs to find in life. " From nature comes the lesson of true love She teache* me, through flowers end fruits, to grace My foi-ri in pay apparel, and to prove For how much heart my own ran fi.n.i-h place. The nightingale hit* tender mate caresses, Caressed in turn by mutual look and strain ; Ah ! happj birds, whom genial love thus blessex, Ye t-;ir;i me what to aeek, yet teach in vain. I languish (till in silence your delight The shepherd with his pipe the eii.Ker child, That makes his labor speak in pleasures wild AU that I hear, and all that lives in sight Still mock me \sith denial. In my woe The whole world triumphs. Still the image glows, More and more brightly on my yearning eye A thousand passionate hopes deny repose, And warm rue still with promises that fly! Oh! my soul s image, when shall these be o er, When shrill 1 si-c thcr nrar, and srrk thee nrvri more. 1 This is a sweet murmur, not overstrained, and happily ex pressed. It should have silenced the reproaches which were at length showered upon his head. It shows him to have possessed a soul at once tender and passionate, if not susceptible; and such now was the usual burden of his song. But it failed to convince his neighbors. Beauty, disappointed in all her en deavors, proclaimed him an insensible. We little know, at this day, how keen ami terrible was such a reproach, at a period when love was the very s-.nl ,,f chivalry. Knighthood regarded him as a recreant to its order, which ii, sifted upon a mistress as, THE LADY OF TRIPOLI. ! the first an-1 most powerful incentive t. valor. He was called by inanv cruel epithets cold, selti>h, ungentle; barren of heart, capricious and peevi>h ; loving himself only, like anothei Narcissus, when a whole world, worthy of a better heart, crowd ed around him soliciting his love; and this, too, at the very moment when he was repining with the tendere.-t yearnings, for nme one object, precious over all, upon whom to expend the whole wealth of his affections. But he was not long to yearn thus hopelessly. The fates were about to giv; an an>wer to the cruel reproaches under which he had Miriered. They were about to show that his passion was intense in proportion to the inheijuency of its exert- :.,.-. \ii< de>!iny wa > t uito a> curious as it is touching : we say this by way of warning. The reader mu>t know that we are writing <r.ber history. "We are not now practicing with arti ul rou**ficei -ipou his fancy. The chronicles are before us as we write. We are fettered by the ancient record, in complexion of the most sombre black-letter. It was while Geoffrey Uudel thus lay, sad and sighing, at his castle of T.laye, near Bordeaux, that news came from the Holy Land, which set Christendom o.ice more in commotion. Th-- Crusaders had gone forward in iron legions. They had successful in every battle, and their triumphs were upon every tongue. Jerusalem, the Holy City, had fallen before their Arms, alter prodigie.s of valor had been >hown in its defence. But deeds of knighthood, and the bloody triumphs of the battle field, weiv not alone the theme of the troubadour and rh-. trav- eller. The story which, above all. had served to enliven the imagination, and charm the lyre of Kurope, v\ as that o a ceitain "luntess of Tripoli a lady, whose bravery, under circum stanci .s of particular difficulty and peril, was deemed the Mibjn-t qr* greatest wonder and delight. Her beauty had been already Ming. It was now ennobled in I mvenral minMn -1>\ , by in stances of courage, iiiagnanimitN . and great ne>s of soul, such as had seldom been shown by her sex before. Her elastic t\ the fmnne.-> of her soul, the grace of her carriage, the l\eliness of her face and per-m. were duly recorded in a thousand ditties. The pilgrims from the Holy Land could speak of nothing The troubadour caught up the grateful history, and found new 70 SOUTHWARD HO ! inspiration in the recital. Faint echoes of the story reached our disconsolate poet, and fell with a renovating influence upon his spirit. He heard, and hearkened with a greedy interest. The recital touched the dormant chords of his nature. He grew excited as he listened, suddenly flung ofl his lethargy, and soon his lyre began to emulate and excel all others, in rehearsing the charms of her person and the beauties of her soul. He all at once realized his ideal. The countess of Tripoli was the creature of all his imaginings. The image in his soul had found a living likeness. It had long been the image in his dreams it was now the object of his waking passion. It filled the measure ot his hopes ; it heightened the glory of his dreams. He loved he was no longer without a soul. THE imagination of our troubadour thu? powerfully excited, it was not surprising that he should enjoy a glorious vision of the lady of his thoughts. He lay sleeping, during a slumberous summer evening, in a favorite bower of his garden : his lute, resting beside him, was silent also; but lie still clasped between his fingers the illuminated missal, in which the wandering monk, scarcely less infatuated than himself, had sought to enshrine the beauties of the Lady of Tripoli in the character of tin HIe>sed Virgin. In the deep draughts of delirious passion which the picture had helped to enliven, the troubadour might well lapse away from delicious fancie.s into as delicious dreams. The warm sun of his region helped the influence. The birds of I rovenco mini.xtered also winging overhead those sweet <- ( ij>n>, n>s, hall play, half sentiment, which seem to have furnished the model for many of the best specimens of Provencal poetry. The fln\vei> jzav. i ortli a soft, persuasive fragrance. The leaves floated to and fro upon the slenderest green vines, under the. balmy influence >{ the southern breeze, ever and anon stooping to his floating hair, and trembling over his somewhat pallid cheek. A favorite greyhound slept at his feet, his long l-i >\vn nose resting upon the gayly-wroughl .^Uppers which enclosed I hem. Warm fancies, working with the, .season and the scene, proved to our poet as deliciously unrcotizing as those fabled breezes THE VISION OK I UK TROUBADOUR. 71 that swoop with delirium the poppy gardens of Yemen. The protracted denial <t his previous life was all OOttpeMtfecl in the intoxicating fancy of the hour. The creature of his imperfeet waking desires, grew to a perfect being iu his dreams, lie lfa4 transported to Paradise, a region which, at that moment, he ;ouM find at Tripoli only. And she came forth the first, to hid him welcome. His reception was not only one of blessing hut of ceremonial. The lady of his love was environed l.y state; hut this did not lessen the benignity of her favor. Princes w. -re grouped armnd her the severe and stately forms of the Knights of the Temple the humbler, but not les* imposing Bribers ..f : ! t Il-.spital and many others, knights and nobles, with their banners and their shields. And he himself he, prince of Blaye -was in the midst of the splendid circle the person to whom all eyes were drawn upon whom her eye was specially fastened she. the nearest to his heart and person, the lovely countess of Tripoli. But a moment was the glorious vision vouchsafed him; but, even as it began to fade away growing momentarily more and more dim, without growing less beautiful he caught the whispered words of her parting salutation "Hither to me, Rudel hither to me aid the love that thou -eekest, and the peace shall they not both be thine ?" in. THIS was a bliss too great for slumber. It was a bliss too precious to lose at waking. Rudel necessarily awakened with the excess <f rapture. He started to his feet with a new im pulse The birds sang, hut vainly, from his trees. The flowers in vain stretched forth to his hand. He heeded not the endear ments ,t his greyhound, who started up at the same moment with his master, and whined, and lifted his paws to receive the accustomed caresses. He saw these things no longer. The old temptations and pleasures were discarded or forgotten. A new soul seemed to inform his spirit. A new hope was embodied in his heart. He had received in that dream an inspiration. What was tenderness Minplv in his heart before, was now passion. His dream was reality. He no longer sighed he felt, lie lived 72 SOUTHWARD HO ! at last ; for, until ono loves, he can not be said to live. The life of humanity is love. The new passion prompted new ener gies. Geoffrey Rudel was still at Blaye, but he might soon be at Tripoli. He made his preparations for Tripoli accordingly. Once more his good steed was put in exercise. His shield waa taken from the wall. His lance was cleansed of its rust, and glittered gayly in the sunbeams, as if rejoicing in its resumed employments. The proud spirit of knighthood was once more rekindled in the bosom of our hero. He was again a living man, with all the tenderness which inspires bravery to seek adven ture. It was easy now to feel all the enthusiasm at which it was his wont to smile ; and he could now look with regret and mortification at those days of apathy which kept him in repose when St. Bernard went through the land, preaching his mission of power. He could nov. r.n.lerstand tlie virtue of leaving home and family, friends and fortune, to fight for the Holy Sepulchre. The spirit of the crusade sudde.nly impiv : irnated his soul. Sol emnly he took n j) the cross literally, in the figure upon his garments and made hi.s preparations lor embarking for the Kast. Never had a change so sudden been wrought in human bosom. Nor did he conceal the true occasion of the miracle. When did troubadour ever withhold the secret of his passion j It was his pride to reveal. Geoffrey Rudel loved at last. He, too, could be made to yield to the spells of beauty. His lyre was not silent. He unfolded himself in the most exquisite im- provvisations, which we should but coldly render in our harsh language of the North. He who had been all apathy before, \v;t- now all excitement. His limits trembled with the wild feve; in liis vein-;. A deep spot of red grew suddenly apparent on hi.s faded cheek. A tone of nervous impatience now distin guished the utterance which had hitherto been gentle and for bearing always. His muse spoke more frequently, and witn a spasmodic energy, which had not been her usual characteris tic. We preserve another of his sonnets, feebly rendered into our dialect, which he penned just before leaving Provence i->r tfie East : " Sin- I M.lnic, \vlium, savi- in nightly dn-ains, Tiii->i -yfs linvr iii-Vr Ix-liflci, vi-t ;nn I sur* Sht; is no oilier tlnui the thing she s-t > A tiling for !ovr nrnl Wr<mhip -\. imoic THE TROUBADOUR DEPARTS. 7$ On not y,ur .l.,ik-.-\.-.| heautie, of lli-- Jewish or Saracen nor yet the fair, Your bright-cheeked maid* of Christendom, the belt For saintly virtues Hn<! endowment* rare May rank with her whom yet I do not see, To whom I may not speak who does not know My homage, yet who nightly comes to mi , And bids my hornvs revive, my passion glow. With day *he di.-appears, and then alone, I know that she is distant: I will fly; the <!]> spai-- liftvi-en thai foreign gky, And bait? to her the heart so much her own. The (eaa will not betray me, when they know I. is mv euiileand bids me death defy." His preparations were not long delayed. His soul was too eager in its new passion to permit of any unnecessary waste of time. \l\^ Hame bad become a frenzy the leading 1 idea of his mind, which reason had ceased to re>ist. and which friends no longer ventured to combat. His preparations completed, and the hark ready, his pen records one of the usual vows of knight- errantry. In the. following sonnet, he professes that humility which was commonly vet forth quite too ostentatiously to he sin cere always; hnt which, in his case, the, spqual of our story will show to have been deeply seated in his s<nl. We shall not find it necessary to call the attention particularly to the delicacy of the sentiments contained in these selections a delicacy, we may add, which speaks more certainly for the particular instance re us, than it ordinarily did, at that period, for the general character of chivalry : " Tis sworn that I depart ami rlail in wool With pilgrim Ifaffbefano her eyes I go Glad, if with pity for my love urn! wo, She suffers me within IM-I palace rule. But this wen- to.> much jov. Enough to In- Near th- blest city \\hirii .-li. ki-ep., though there, The triumph of the Sai And full a captive to his |> ( >w ,-tn<l Heaven grant me the sweet hlr-nim; in the prayer! Transport me thither let me, in her sight, The rapture, l-orii ot : .., share, And live to ionc within her huppy light, The love that fills my soul, to pour into her ear." 4 74 SOUTHWARD HO ! The sentiment that touched the soul of Geoffrey Rudel, was certainly no common one. It may have been a fanaticism, but it was such a fanaticism as could only happen to a poet. In in ferior degree, however, the frenzy was not an unusual one. It belonged to the age and to his profession, if the performances of the troubadour, at any time, could properly deserve this title ! Common to his order, it was heightened as well as refined by the peculiar temper of his individual mind, and by that con templative, inner or spiritual life which he had lived so long. Though spoken aloud, and fondly and frequently reiterated, it was no momentary ebullition. The passion had fastened upon his mind and his affections equally, and was fixed there by the grateful image that informed his dreams. These, repeated nightly, according to the tradition, gave him no time to cool. Their visitation was periodical. Their exhortation was pres sing. They proved upon his strength, and his physical powers declined in due degree with the wondrous increase of his mental energies. He set sail for Palestine with all the fervor of his enthusiasm upon him, as warm and urgent as when it had seized upon him first. The voyage was protracted, and the disease of our pilgrim underwent increase from its annoyances. But, if his frame suffered, the energies of his soul were unimpaired. His muse was never in better wing or vigor. Still he sung, and with all the new-born exultation of a lover. The one hope of his heart, the one dream of his fancy, gave vitality to every ut terance. The image of the beautiful and noble Countess of Tripoli was reflected from, and through, all his sonnets, as through a mirror of magic. Of their usual burden, a single specimen will suffice : " When my foot presses on those sacred shores To me thrice sacred, ns they hear the sign, That, lifted hiph, nil Christendom ndores And tin- proud hennty I have lo\ed a* mine My sonp shall speak my passion she shall hear How rnurh I love )io\v powerful is the sway, Her charms maintain o er heart so far away, That, until now, no other chains could wear. Ah, nine, she will not lot me sinp i > vain Such deep (l-v. itinti, Mich abiding trust, Love, so wholly born of her own lieaiily, must Touch her sweet spirit with a pleasing pain ! TIN: I Yivi; riioritADOUR. 75 Shou. / -h pruvo ruthless no, it can not be My god-sire gave such c\il fate to me." The last allusion in this poem may not be so readily under- 1 in our times. It is still a subject of some discussion. It is thought by some to have reference to the old tradition of gifts wed by fairies upon persons in their infancy. Our own no tion is, that it is taken from one of the institutions of chivalry. A knight was said to be born only when he had received the honors of knighthood. At this ceremony he had a god-father or sponsor. This person was usually chosen by the novice in con sideration of his high renown, his bravery and good fortune. A tin portion of these good qualities were naturally siippo-rd capable of transmission. The sponsor answered for the good qualities of the youthful squire, and bestowed on him his bles sing with his counsel. The allusion in the verses quoted is not obscure, if we remember the relationship between the parties. IV. BUT we must not linger. The excitement of our troubadour increased with the voyage. It was hardly restrainable within the bounds of sanity a< the ship approached her port of destina tion. Rudcl wa.s beloved by all on board. His grace, talent, gallantry, and cnth iMasm, had touched all hearts. The curious history of his passion had lifted him in their admiration and wonder. They saw, with many misgivings, that it was growing momently at the peril . f his life and reason. Hut it was vain to expostulate with one so completely lifted by his fervor beyond the reach of ordinary arguimnt. He ate but little and had no appetite. His ailments, derived \\ holly from the strange flame by which he was possessed, were yet stimulating inflm which gave him strength in the absence of mortal nutriment. Very thin, indeed, were the cheek- which yet brightened with the liveliest intelligence. The skin of his face had become 8O delicately white and transparent, that the blue veins stood out prominent upon hi- forehead, and you might trace everywhere the progres.s ..f the fiery blood through his face and hands. Hi- eye wore a wild, unnatural intensity that seemed to dart through the beholder. And yet it was apparent, even then, that the 76 SOUTHWARD HO! Blanco which seemed to penetrate your soul, was full of intelli gence to which you were not a party. The soul of that glance was elsewhere, far in advance of the slowly-sailing ship, in search of the mistress of his desires. Fearful was the fever that preyed upon his enfeebled lV:;in.v Yet, while momently sinking in the sight of all, his heart was full of hope and courage. There was a cheering and sur prising elasticity in his tones an exulting consciousness of as sured success in voice and asj.cvt which made him superior to all human anxieties. While no one even supposed he could over reach the shore alive, he himself had no doubts that he would certainly do so. His confidence in this destiny raised strange supernatural convictions in his brother knights, the com panions of his voyage. Their interest in his fate increased as they beheld and listened. He spoke to them freely, and poured forth, at frequent moments, the sentiments which were inspired by his passion. The exquisite sonnets which were thus delivered, seemed to them the utterance of a being already re leased from human bonds ; they were so tender, so hopeful, and withal so pure. The extravagance of his Hame was forgotten in its purity. The wildness of his delirium was sweet, because of its grace and delicacy. They spread their fruits before him, and poured forth their beakers of Greek wine, to persuade him to partake of more nourishing food than any which his passion could provide; and he smiled as he tasted of their fruits, and lifting the goblet to his lips, he chanted : "Ay, hriiifi inr wine <>t Cyprus, The sweetest of tin- UH>M . And we will drink, while passing, A brimful draught of love, The liiughing wine of Cyprim, A brimful draught for me; And I will yield while; passing The goldet to the sea ! Yes! Bring me wine of Cyj And, without quaffing, he flung the beaker into the deep. He needed not the stimulus of wine. As he had no longer a rel ish for earthly nourishment, so it had no power upon his blood or spirit. THK Ml U.I/KU. 77 They were cheered at length with the sight of the shores of Palestine, the Promised Land, indeed, to him. But such an enthusiasm as that which had possessed his >"iil could not have been entertained by any mortal, except at vital ha/ard. His joy became convulsion. Lifted from the vessel and placed with his t eet upon the earth, he sank down in a SWOON, to all appear ance dead. But the faith which he had in the p -^nlse of his dream, was sufficient to reanimate his strength. Borne on a lit ter to the nearest dwelling, the wonderful story of his ras#ion, and of his voyage in pursuit of its object, was soon borne through Tripoli. It reached, among others, the ears of the noble lady \s-lio had been so innocently the cause of his misfortunes. Then it was that he realized the vision that blessed him while he slept At Blaye. The princess of Tripoli wa> sensible to all his sor rows. She was touched by the devotion of the troubadour, and, even as lie lay in a state of swoon that looked the image of ^eath itself, liis ears caught once more the endearing summons, and the accents of that melodious voice, which had aroused him from his despondency and dreams. Once more it whispered to his exulting soul the happy invitation : "Hither to me, Rudel, hitherto me ; and the love that thon seekest and the peace shall they not Loth b.- thine?" V. Tur-r. drar \\-opU iiim from his swoon. He opened liis eves upon the light, but it was only to close them for ever. But they bad gaii" ! all that was precious in that one opening The s lMtrle glance apmnd him, by the dying t mubadour. sin .u -ed li Mi all that lie had sought. Her holy and BWett face was the first that he beheld. Her c\, -, smiled encouragement and love. It was lin- precioni embrace that succored hU sinking frame. These tender offices, let it not be forgotten, were not. in those days, inconsistent with the purest virtue. The young maiden was frequently nane and phy sfcUn to tlie rtnuigter kftif b t She brought him nourishment and medicine, dressed his wounds, .scrupled at no act, however delicate, which v. sary to bis recovery. Our countess had been laugh; ? perform these offices, not merely as acts of duty, but as acts ..f lev 78 SOUTliWAKD Ho 1 It is probable that a deeper interest in the sufferer before her gave a warmer solicitude to her ministrations. She had heard the whole story of our troubadour, and of the influence which she had possessed in rousing him from Ins apathy into life, even though that awakening had been, finally, fatal to life itself. Of his gracrs and virtues she knew before, and many were the admirer* who hi*d already taught her how sweet and passionate. and how purely due to herself, were the songs and sonnets of Rudel. It was even whispered that their offices were by no means necessary to her knowledge. There were those who insisted that there had been some strange spiritual commerce between tlio parties, though so many leagues asunder. The story ran that Geoffrey Rudel had been as much the object of her dreaming fancies as she had been of his. They said that while he beheld her in the inspiring vision of the noonday, in his garden at lilaye, she herself, in a state of prolonged trance at Tripoli, was conscious of his presence, and of her own inter est in his fate, elsewhere. It is certain that she betrayed no surprise when she heard his story fr.im mortal lips. She be trayed no surprise at his coming, and she was among the first to attend the bedside of th dying man. He felt her presence, as one, even in sleep, feels the sudden sunshine. Ht- breathed freely at her approach, as if the flitting soul were entreated back for a moment, by her charms, to its prison-house of mortality. She embraced him as he lapsed away, while her eyes, dropping the biggest tears, were lifted up to heaven in resignation, but with grief. He, in that mysterious inoir.r;vt, gazed only upon her. 1 1 is fading glance was filled with exultation. His hope was realized* He expired, thrice happy, since he expired in her arms. The prophetic vision had deceived him in no single particular. She was one of the first to receive and welcome him. Hi- reception had been one of state and sympathizing ceremonial. He beheld, even as he died, the very groups which hi- dream had shown him. There were the severe and stately aspects of the Knights <>t the Temple there again were the humbler Brothers of the Hospital. Princes and barons drew nigh in armor and resting upon their .shields, as at a solemn ser vice ; ami he was in the midst, the figure to whom all eyes were addressed, and she, tl e nearest to his heart, was also the near- THK BRIDAL OF PKATH. 79 est to his person. The love and tin- peace which she had prom ised him completed the full consciousness of his exulting spirit. All these things had really come t<> pass. But the stately ceremonial, which his flattering fancies hail pemuufad him \\ a-> his ln-iilal. \vas in troth his funeral. Dying, thus surrounded, he felt that it was a bridal also. In the brief communion which his eyes enjoyed with those of her he loved, he felt that their soul- were united. She said to him, as plainly as eyes could speak " Tlie hive and the peace thou seekest, shall they not be thine ?" and in this happy faith he yielded up his spirit on her bosom. He was magnificently buried among the Knights Templars at Tripoli. Scarcely had this last ceremonial taken place, when the woman he had so worshipped made a sign, which seemed to confirm the previous rumors of their strange spiritual sympathies. Her heart was certainly more deeply interested in his fate than might well have been the case, had their mutual souls not communed before. The very day of his death, -he who had lived a princess, in the very eye of pleased and wondering nations, suddenly retired from the world. Sin- buried her head, if not her secret, beneath the hood of the el<>i>:.T. "They were placed to -deep apart." says the ancient chronicle, " but, by the Virgin s grace, the\ wake together!" An old I roveiiral author, whose name is unknown, write* : "The Viscount Geoffrey Rudel, in passing the seas to visit his lady, voluntarily died for her sake." His passion has been deemed worthy of the recording IIIUM- of Petrarch, who says: " Hy the aid of sails and oars, (ieoilroi Undid obtained the boon of death which he desired." We ha\ e furnished the ample history of this event. In one of the ancient metaphysical dis>- c unions so common in the Courts of Love, during the pie valence of chivalry, one of the questions proposed for discussion was as follows : "Which contributes most powerfully to inspire l..\e MMiti- meut or sight I the heart or the eyes 1" The case was at once decided in favor of sentiment when the story of our tronhadonr was told. Once more, this narrative is no tiction, though of the purest school of fiction. Its facts arc all to be found in the sober records of a period, when, however society was not quite sober. CHAPTER VI. " O, the sacrifice, How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, It was i the offering." Winter s Tal<\ THE ladies had retired, but midnight still found a sufficiently large group gathered together on the upper deck. By this time others of the party had added themselves to the circle of racon teurs, and from one of these we obtained another curious history from the pages of chivalric times, and the troubadours of Pro vence. The narrator assured us that it was a veritable biogra phy. LOVE S LAST SUPPER; A TRUE STORY OF THE TROUBADOURS. CHAPTER . IN the first conception of the institution of chivalry it wa doubtless a device of great purity, and contemplated none but highly proper and becoming purposes. Those very features which, in our more sophisticated era, seem to have been the most absurd, or at least fantastic, wore, perhaps among its best securities. The sentiment of love, apart from its passion, is what a very earnest people, in a very selfish period, can not so well understand : but it was this very separation of interests, which we now hold to be inseparable, that constituted the peculiarity of chivalry the fanciful in its characteristics rendering senti ment independent of passion, and refining the nude desire hy the exercise and influence of tastes, which do not usually accom pany it. Am<nr the Provencal kniirhts and troubadours, in the palmy days of their progress, lo\e wa> really the most innocent and the most elevated of sentiments. It seems to have been nursed without guile, and was professed, even when seemingly Ginu.u MK m: i 81 in conflict with the rights of others, without tlio slightest notion of wrong-doing or ofl ence. It did not vex tin- temper, or im pair the marital securities of the husband, that the beauties of his dame were sung with enthusiasm by the youthful poet; on the contrary, lie who gloried in the possession of a jewel, was scarcely satisfied with fortune unless she brought to a just knowl edge of its splendor-, the hard who alone could convey to the worl a similar sen>e of the value of his treasure. The narra tive rt-hich we have gathered from the ancient chronicles of Pn sence, and which we take occasion to say is drawn from the most veracious sources of history, will illustrate the correctness of these particulars. One of the most remarkable instances of the sentiment of love, v, armed into passion, yet without evil in its objects is to be found in i he true and touching history of Guillaume de Cabestaign, a ooble youth of Roussillon. Though noble of birth, (iuillaume was without fortune, and it was not thought improper or humili ating in those days that he should serve, as a page, the knight whose ai .-.ere known to his own as associates. It was in this capacity that he became the retainer of Raymond, lord of Roussillon. Raymond, though a haughty baron, was one who possessed certain generous tastes and sentiments, and who showed himself capable of appreciating the talents and great merits of Guillaume de Cabestaign. His endowments, indeed, were of a character to find ready favor with all parties. The youth Wiis not oidy graceful of carriage, and particularly hand some of face ami per>ni. but he possessed graces of mind and manner \\ l.ich especially commended him to knightly sympathy and ad;.iir;ti,,n. He belonged to that class of unjn-nrvixatnri to whom t! ! Provence gave the name of troubadour, and was quite as ready to sing the praises of his mistress, as he was to mount honv. and charge with sword and lance in her defence and hor.or. His HUIM-, taking her moral aspect from his own, wa pure and mode.M in her behavior indulging in no song or sentiment which would not fall becomingly on the most virgin ear. His verges \\.-ie distinguished equally by their del; and fancy, and united to a spirit (" the m -t generous and exult ing life, a taste of tlie utu..t .simplicity and purity. Not less gentle than buoyant, 1; -nee timid in approach, and jov- 4* 32 SOUTHWARD HO ! giving in society; and while he compelled the rc?jct of men by his frank and fearless manhood, le won the hearts of the other sex by those gentle graces which, always prompt and ready, are never obtrusive, and which leave us only to the just appreciation of their value, when they are withdrawn from our knowledge and enjoyment. It happened, unfortunately for our troubadour, that he won too many hearts. Raised by the lord of Roussillon to the rank of gentleman-usher to the Lady Marguerite, his young and beau tiful wife, tb graces and accomplishments of Gulllaume de Cabestaigu, soon became quite as apparent and agreeable to her as to the meanest of the damsels in her train. She was never so well satisfied as in his society ; and her young and ardent soul, repelled rather than solicited by the 8tern nature of Ray mond, her lord, was better prepared and pleased to sympathize with the more beguiling and accessible spirit of the. page. The tenderest impressions of love, without her own knowledge, soon seized upon her heart ; and she had learned to sigh as she gazed upon the person that she favored, long before she entertained the slightest consciousness that he was at all precious to her eyes. He himself, dutiful as devoted, for a long season beheld none of these proofs of favor on the part of his noble mistress. She called him her servant, it is true, and he, as such, sung daily in her praises the equal language of the lover and the knight. These were words, however, of a vague conventional meaning, t<> which her husband listened with indifferent ear. In those days every noble lady entertained a lover, who was called her servant. It was a prerogative of nobility that such should be the case. It spoke for the courtliness and aristocracy of the party ; and to be without a lover, though in the possession of a husband, was to be an object of scornful sympathy in the eyes of the sex. Fashion, in other words, had taken the name of chivalry ; and it was one of her regulations that the noble lady should possess a lover, who should of necessity be other than her lord. In this capacity, Raymond of Roussillon, found noth ing of which to complain in the devotion of Guillaume de Cabes- taign to Marguerite, his wife. But the courtiers who gathered in hor train were not so indulgent, or were of keener sight. They soon felt the preference which she gave, over all others, to onr FIRST Sl KKCH ()! LOVE. 83 S-oul a.! ur. They felt, and they NMh i N-d it the more readily, as they were not insensible to his personal superiority, (iuil- lauine himself, was exceeding slow in arriving- at a similar con sciousness. Touched with a fonder sentiment for his mistress than was compatible with his security, his modesty had never suflfered him to suppose that lie had been so fortunate as to in spire her with a feeling such as ho now know within himself. It was at a moment when he least looked for it, that he mado the perilous discovery. It was in the course nf a discussion upon the various signs of love such a discu^;,,n as occupied the idle hours, and the wandering fancies of chivalry that she said to him, somewhat abruptly " Surely thou, Guillaume, thou, who canst sing of love so ten derly, and with go much sweetness, thou, of all persons, should be the one to distinguish between a feigned passion and a real one. Methinks the eye of him who loves truly, could most cer tainly discover, from the eye of the beloved one, whether the real flame were yet burning in her heart." And even as she spoke, the glance of her dark and lustrous eye settled upon his own with such a dewy and quivering fire, that his soul at once became enlightened with her secret. The troubadour was necessarily an improrrisatore. Guillaume de Cabestaign was admitted to be one of the most spontaneous in his utterance, of all his order. His lyre took for him the v-nce which he muld not well have used at that overpowering moment. H Ming wildly and triumphantly, inspired by his new and rap turous consciouMioss, even while her eyes were yet fixed upon him. full still of the involuntary declaration which made the in spiration of his song. These varies, which embodied the first impulsive sentiment which he had ever dared to hivatho from his heart of the passion which had h>ng been lurking within it, have been preserved lor us by the damsels of Provence. We trail-date them, necessarily to the great detriment of their melody, from the sweet South, where they had birth, to our harsher Runic region. The song of Guillaume was an apos trophe. Touch the wiping string ! Thou \vli .H- ln-atity tire* me; Oh! how vuiiiiy would I ting Tin- ( HUMID thul inipirrfc io v SO Ul H WARD HO! This, dear heart, beli Were the love I ve given, Half as warm for Heaven a* tliee, I were worthy heaven ! Ah ! should I lament, That, in evil hour, Too much loving to repent I confess thy power. Too much blessed to fly, Yet, with shame confessing, That I dread to meet the eye, Where my In-art finds blessing. Such a poem is beyond analysis. It was simply a gush of enthusiasm the lyrical overflow of sentiment and passion, such as a song should be always. The reader will easily understand that the delicacy of the sentiment, the epigrammatic intenseness of the expression, is totally lost in the difficulty of subjugating our more stubborn language to the uses of the poet. A faint and in ferior idea of what was sung at this moment of wild and almost spasmodical utterance, is all that we design to convey. The spot in which this scene took place was amid the depth of umbrageous trees, in the beautiful garden of Chateau Roussil- lon. A soft and persuasive silence hung suspended in the at mosphere. Not a leaf stirred, not a bird chirrupped in the foliage ; and. however passionate was the sentiment expressed by the troubadour, it scarcely rose beyond a whisper harmonizing in the subdued utterance, and the sweet delicacy of its sentiment with the exquisite repose and languor of the scene. Carried be yond herself by the emotions of the moment, the feeling of Mar guerite became so far irresistible that she stooped ere the song of the troubadour had subsided from the car, and nre.-^ed her lips upon the forehead of her kneeling lover. He seized her hand at this moment and carried it to his own lips, in an equally involuntary impulse. This act awakened the noble lady to a just consciou-ness of her weakness. She at once recoiled from his gra.sp. "Alas!" she exclaimed, with clasped hands, " what have I done?" "Ah, lady !" was the answer of the troubadour, "it is thy goodness which has at length discovered how my heart is de- ;<>.v voted to thee. It is thy truth, and thy nobleness, dear lady, which I love and worship." By these ahalt thou km>w me ever, Guillaume of Cabes- taign," was the response ; " and yet I warn thee," she continued, I warn and I entreat thee, dear servant, that thou approach me not so near again. Thou hast shown to me, and siirpri>ed from me, a mo>t precious but an unhappy secret. Thou ha>t too deeply found thy way into my heart. Alas ! wherefore ! when-fore !" and the eyes of the amiable and virtuous woman were suffused with tears, as her innocent soul trembled under the reproaches of her jealous conscience. She continued 1 can not help but love thee, Guillaume of Cabestaign. but it shall never I.e said that the love of the Lady Marguerite of Rou>sillon was ..tber than became the wife of her lord. Thou, too, sh alt know me, by love only, Guillaume; but it shall be such a love as shall work neither of us trespass. Yet do n..t thou cease to love me as before, for, of a truth, dear sen-ant, me affections of thy heart are needful to the life of mine." The voice of the troubadour was only in his lyre. At all vcntN his leply has been only preserved to us in song. It was in the inline^ ol his joy that he again poured forth his melody : \Yh.-n- sjMviids tin- pl. a-mnt garden, blow tin- jiri-ri-.u-i ll. My happy lot hath found m.- Tin- bud of all tin- bpl H.-.-IM-II fnimrd it \viih a lik Iti very !M>lf in *xvTtnPM, \Yhi-ir Minn- iTiiwns tin- h. iiuty, And Invi- pl.-t. neM. Still hunihlf in |>issi-inns, Th;tt hurnl.l. nil ihiit pinv,- her, 1 ].iv in tiif .-iff -i-tiiinn, That snHVi tin- t" !<>M- iir ; And in my joy I ni i And in my t<>: rs I *iin. Tin 1 1<^< li)i* >th-r* iiidi- away, Sh<- *uffcn nx- to bring hrr. Tbii ritrht in ilu- my Imrnoge, KIT wbilo tii.-v gjM-uk her beauty, Ti I alone tbat frol it wrll, And love with prrfVrt duty. 86 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER II. IT does not appear that love trespassed in this instance be yond the sweet but narrow boundaries of sentiment. The lov ers met daily, as usual, secretly as well as publicly, and their professions of attachment were frankly made in the hearing of the world ; but the vows thus spoken were not articulated any longer in that formal, conventional phraseology and manner, which, in fact, only mocked the passion which it affectedly pro fessed. It was soon discovered that the songs of Guillaume de Cabestaign were no longer the frigid effusions of mere gallantry, the common stilt style of artifice and commonplace. There was life, and blood, and a rare enthusiasm in his lyrics. His song was no longer a thing of air, floating, as it had done, on the winglets of a simple fancy, but a living and a burning soul, borne upward and forward, by the gales of an intense and earnest pas sion. It was seen that when the poet and his noble mistress spoke together, the tones of their voices mutually trembled as if with a strange and eager sympathy. When they met, it was noted that their eyes seemed to dart at once into each other, with the intensity of two wedded fires, which high walls would vainly separate, and which, however sundered, show clearly that they will overleap their bounds, and unite themselves in one at last. Theirs was evidently no simulated passion. It wafc too certainly real, as well in other eyes as their own. The worlu, though ignorant of the mutual purity of their hearts, was yet quick enough to discern what were their real sentiments. Men saw the affections of which they soon learned, naturally enough, to conjecture the worst only. The rage of rivals, the jealousy of inferiors, the spite of the envious, the malice of the wantonly scandalous, readily found cause of evil where in real ity offence was none. To conceive the crime, was to convey the cruel suspicion, as a certainty, to the mind of him whom the supposed offence most affected. Busy tongues soon assailed the ears of the lord of Roussillor., in relation to his wife. They whispered him to watch the lovers to remark the ea^er inti macy of their eyes the tremulous sweetness of their voices, and their subdued tones whenever they met the frequency of their meetings the reluctance with which they separated j and they THE JEALOUS LORD. fc< dwelt with emphasis upon the pointed and pas. ionate declara tion-, the intensity and ardor of the sentiments which now filled the songs of the troubadour n very different from what they had ever been before. In truth, the new passion of Guillaume had wrought wondrously in favor of his music. He who had been only a clever and dextrous imitator of the artificial strains of other poets, had broken down all the fetters of convention, and now poured forth the most natural and original poetry of his own, greatly to the increase of his reputation as a trouba dour. Raymond de Roussillon hearkened to these suggestions in silence, and with a gloomy heart. He loved his wife truly, as far as it was possible for him to love. He was a >tem, harsh man, loud of the chase, of the toils of chivalry rather than its sports; was cold in his own emotions, and with an intense selt- iii that grew impatient under every sort of rivalry. It was not difficult to impress him with evil thoughts, even where he had hestowed his confidence ; and to kindle his mind with the most terrible suspicions of the unconsciously offending parties. Once aroused, the dark, stern man, resolved to avenge his sup posed wrong ; and hearing one day that (Juillauine had gone out hawking, and alone, he hastily put on his armor, concealing it under his courtly and silken vestments, took his weapon, and rode forth in the direction which the trouhadour had taken. Ho overtook the latter after a while, upon the edge of a littL- river that wound slowly through a wood. Guillanme de Cahe-.taigu approached his lord without any misgiving; but as he drew near, a certain indefinable sunn-thing in the face of Raymond, inspired a feeling of anxiety in his mind, and, possibly, the secret con- M-iouHiH ss in his own bosom added to his uneasiness. H,. rr . membered that it was not often that great lords thus wandered forth unattended; and the path which Raymond pursued was one that (Juillauine had taken because "fits nhscurilv, and with the desire to find a solitude in which he might brood securely over his own secret fancies and affections. His doubts, thus awa kened, our trouhadour prepared to guard his speech. He boldly approached his superior, however, and was the first to bre*k silence. " You here, my lord, and alone! How does this chain e * 88 SOUTHWARD HO ! "Nay, Guillaume," answered the other, mildly; "I heard that you were here, and hawking, and resolved to share your amusement. What lias been your sport?" "Nothing, iny lord. I have scarcely seen a single bird, an- 1 you remember the proverb Who finds nothing, takes no* much. " The artlessness and simplicity of the troubadour s speech and manner, for the first time, inspired some doubts in the mind of Raymond, whether he could be so guilty as his enemies had reported him. His purpose, when he came forth that morning, had been to ride the supposed offender down, wherever he en countered him, and to thrust his boar-spear through his body. Such was the summary justice of the feudal baron. Milder thoughts had suddenly possessed him. If Raymond of Rous- sillon was a stern man, jealous of his honor, and prompt in his resentment, he at least desired to be a just man ; and a lurking doubt of the motives of those by whom the troubadour had been slandered, now determined him to proceed more deliberately in the work of justice. He remembered the former confidence which he had felt in the fidelity of the page, and he was not insensible to the charm of his society. Every sentence which had been spoken since their meeting had tended to make him hesitate before he hurried to judgment in a matter where it was scarcely possible to repair the wrong which a rash and hasty vengeance might commit. By this time, they had entered the wood together, and were now concealed from all human eyes. The Lord of Roussillon alighted from his horse, and motioned his companion to seat himself beside him in the shade. When both were seated, and after a brief pause, Raymond addressed Uie troubadour in the following language : "Guillaume de Cabestaign," said be, "be sure I came not hither this day to talk to you of birds and hawking, but of some thing more serious. Now, look upon me, and, as a true and loyal servant, see that thou answer honestly to all that 1 shall ask of ther. The troubadour was naturallv impressed by the stern sim plicity and solemnity of this exordium. He was not unaware that, as the knight had alighted from his steed, he had done so heavily, arid under the impediment of concealed armor His THE JEALOUS INQUISITIi >\. ft9 doubts and anxieties were necessarily increased l>y this dis covery, hut so also was his firiiui ---. He felt that much de- :ed upi.n his coolness and address, and he steeled himself, with all his soul, to the trial which was before, him. The recol lection of Marguerite, and of her fate and reputation depending upon his own, was the source of no small portion of his present resolution. His reflections were instantaneous; there was no unreasonable delay in his answer, which was at once manly and circumspect. " I know not what you aim at or intend, my lord, but by Heaven! I swear to you that, if it be proper for me to answer yon in that you seek, I will keep nothing from your knowledge that you desire to know!" Nay, Guillaume," replied the knight, 4< I will have no con ditions. Yon shall reply honestly, and without reserve, to all the questions I shall put to you." "Let me hear them, my lord command me, as you have the right," was the reply of the troubadour, "and I will answer you. \s ith my conscience, as far as I can." " I would then know from you," responded Raymond, very solemnly, " on your faith and by your God, whether the verses that you mak- an- inspired by a real passion ?" A warm flush passed over the cheeks of the troubadour ; the pride nf the artist was offended by the inquiry. That it should be questioned whether he really felt what he so pav?ionately declared, was a disparaging judgment upon the merits of his song. " Ah ! my lord," was the reply, expressed with some decree of mortification, "how could I siuj; as I dty uidos 1 really felt all tin* p:i>-i-ii which I declare. In ^o,,d >....th. tlu-n. I tell you. love has the entire possession of my soul. " " And verily I ludievf thee. ( iuillaume," was the subdued answer of the hanm ; H I believe thee. my friend, tor, unless a real passion was at his heart, no troubadour could thou. But, something more of thee, (riiillaume de Gabenta Prithee, now, declare to we the name of the lady whom thy verses celebrate." Then it was that the cheek of our troubadour grew pale, and hi heart sunk within him; but the piercing eye of the banm 90 mw.uM) no! was upon him. lie liml no moment for hesitation. To faltei now, ho was well assured, was to forfeit love, lite, and every thing that was proud and precious in his sight. In the moment of exigency the troubadour found his answer. It was evasive, but adroitly conceived and expressed. "Nay, iny lord, will it please you to consider? I appeal to your own heart and honor can any one, without perfidy, de clare such a secret? reveal a thing that involves the rights and the reputation of another, and that -other a lady of good fame and quality ? Well must you remember what is said on this subject by the very master of our art no less a person than the excellent Bernard de Ventadonr. He should know what says he ?" The baron remained silent, while Guillaume repeated the fol lowing verses of the popular troubadour, whose authority he appealed to : " The spy your secret still would claim, And asks to know \our lady s name ; But tell it ;:ot fjr \-ry shame ! " The loyal lover sees the snuie, And neither to the wave.- n.r ail- Betrays the secret of his l.iir. " The duty that to l.rve we owe, I.-, while tn her we nil m.iv show, On cithers m>thin tn luv.tow. Though seemingly well adapted to his object, the quotation of our troubadour was unfortunate. There were yet other verses to this instructive ditty, and the Baron of Roussillon, who had listened very patiently as his companion recited the preceding, soon proved himself to have a memory for good songs, though he nerer pretended to make them himself. When (Juillaunu- had fairly finished, he took up the strain after a brief intro duction. " That is all very right and very proper, Guillaume, and 1 gainsay not a syllable that Master Ho nan! hath written ; nay, raethinks my proper answer to thee lieth in another of his vei which thou shouldst not have, forgotten while reminding me of its companions. I shall refresh thy memory with the next that THE LOVER S HUSE. !1 follows." And without waiting for any answer, the baron pm- ceeded to repeat another stanza of tic old p.em, in very cmlit- able style and uiar .er for an amateur. This remark (iuillaiiino de Cabestciig:i corM not forbear making to himself, though he was conscioi r -l tlie same time that the utterance of the baron iarly slow and subdued accents accents that above a whisper, and which wen- timed as if every byiJ.ible were weighed and spelled, ere it was confided to expres hi- .11. The verse was as follows : \N i> yii lil hr naiiii- to those \\ . whrii tin- sarri il truth i shown, M;iy help t Mi;ikr tin- nuiiil our own." "Now, methinks," continued the baron, " here lieth the wis dom of my qne>t. Who better tlian myself can lielp to secure thee thy desires, to promote thy passion, and gain for thee. the favor of the fair? Tell me, then, I command thee, Guillaume, and I promise to help thee with my best efforts and advice." Here was a dilemma. The troubadour was foiled with his own weapons. The quotation tnm his own authority was con elusive against him. The argument of Raymond was irresistible. Of his ability to serve the young lover then- could be no (jues. tion ; and as little could the latter doubt the readiness of that friendship assuming his pursuit to be a proper one to which he had been so long indebted for favor and protection. He could e\cu>e himsi-lf by DM fnrthrr eva-ion ; and, having admit ted that he really and deeply loved, and that his verses declared a real and living pas.-iu. it became absolutely necessary that our troubadour, unless he would conlirm the evident Mi^picions of his lord, should promptly find fur her a :i;unr. lie did so. The emergency seemed t justify a taNeli ..... I ; and, with firm :its, (iuillaume did n>t scruple to declare himself devoted, heart and soul, to the beautiful Lady Aghos de Tarrascon, the S ster of Marguerite, his real mistress. At the pressing >"licita- tion of Raymond, and in order to render applicable to this < certain of his verses, he admitted himself to have received t nun this lady certain favoring smilrs. upon which his hopes of future happiness were fomiddd. < Mir troubadour was }>ersua<l< beieet the name of this lady. " V er all others, for two reasons. He believed that she suspected, or somewhat knew of, the 92 SOUTHWARD Ho ! mutual flame which existed Lctween himself and her sister; and he had long been conflci.ni.9 of that benevolence of temper which tlie former possessed, an-! which he fondly thought would prompt her in some degree to sympathize with !jim in his neces sity, and lend herself somewhat to his own and the extrication of Marguerite. After making his confession, he concluded by imploring Raymond to approach his object cautiously, and by no means to peril his fortunes in the esteem of the lady h professed to love. CHAPTER III. BUT the difficulties of Guillaume de Cabestaign were only begun. It was not the policy of Raymond to be satisfied with his simple asseverations. The suspicions which had been awa kened in his mind by the malignant suggestions of his courtiers, were too deeply and skilfully infixed there, to suffer him to be soothed by the mere statement of the supposed offender, lie required something of a confirmatory character from the lips of Lady Agnes herself. Pleased, nevertheless, at what he had heard, and at the readiness and seeming frankness with which the troubadour had finally yielded his secret to his keeping, he eagerly assured the latter of his assistance in the prosecution of his quest ; and he, who a moment before had coolly contem plated a deliberate murder to revenge a supposed wrong to his own honor, did not now scruple to profess his willingness to aid liis companion in compassing the dishonor of another. It did not matter much to our sullen baron that the victim was the sis ter of his own wifd. The human nature of Lord Raymond, of Roussillob, his own dignity uninjured, had but little sympathy with his neighbor s right* and sensibilities. He promptly pro posed, at that very moment, to prm-red on his charitable mis sion. The castle of Tarrascon was insight; and, pointing to its turrets that rose loftily above the distant hills, the imperious finger of Raymond gave the direction to our troubadour, which he shuddered to pursue, but did not dare to decline. He now began to feel all the dangers and embarrassments which he was about to encounter, and to tremble at the distract- and ruin which seemed to rise, threatening and dead before him. Never was woman more virtuous than the lady Agnes. Gentle and QUK K-WTrn U-ONMX. 93 beautiful, like her -i-ter Marguerite, her reputation had bc0fc more fortunate in escaping wholly tin 1 a>saults of tlio malignant. She. had always shrnvn an atVectionate indulgence f>r <>ur trou- h.id"iir, .-u id a delimited interest in his various ftccomplishmxUt* ; and he now remembered all her goodness and kindness onlv to < r himself. in his heart, for the treachery of which ke bad joi-t been guilty. His remorse at what he had said to Raymond was not the leu deep and distressing, from the conviction that he felt that there had been no other way loft him of escape from hi-; dilemma. We are bound to believe that the eagerness which Raymond, of Ivou-nllon, now exhibited was not so much because of a desire to bring about the dishonor of another, as to be perfectly satis lio.i that he himself was free from injury. At the castle of Tanas -on. the Lady A as found alone. Slie gave the kindest reception to her guests ; and, anxious to behold things througL the medium of his wishes rather tlian his doubts and tears, Raymond fancied that there was a pecidiar sort of tender ness in the tone and spirit of the compliments which she ad- div<-ed to the dejected troubadour. That lie was disquieted and dejected, she was soon able to discover. iTis uneasiness made itself apparent before they bad hem long together; and the keen intelligence of the feminine mind \va- accordingly very ! to comprehend tli- :>quiet, when. drawn aside by Raymond at the earliest opportunity, she found herself cmn>-: \aniined by the inijtatient baron on the nature ;.nd olijcet of her own atVectinnx. A glance of the eye at Guil- launie de Ca! M she listened to the iiujiiines of the sus- pii iou> Raymond, revealed to the quick-witted womM* the extent of hi> apju-ehensioiis, and possibly the danger of he.- sifter. Her readv instinct, and r.jually prompt benevolence of heart, at once decided all the answers of the lady. " Why que-tion me of lovers . " she replied to Raymond, with a pretty querulousm-vs ,,f t"in- and manner; "certainly I have lovers enow as many as 1 choose to have. Would you that I should live unlike other women of birth and quality, without my servant to sing my praises, and declare hi> readiness to die in my behalf?" Av. ay. mv lady." answered the knight. Invors I well 94 SOUTHWARD HO ! kncr* you possess ; for of these 1 trow tha* no lady of rank and beauty, such as yours, can or possibly should be without ; but is there not one lover, over all, whom you not only esteem for his grace and service, but for whom you feel the tenderest inter est to whom, in fact, you prefer the full surrender of your whole heart, and, were this possible or proper, of your whole person ?" For a moment the gentle lady hesitated in her answer. The question was one of a kind to startle a delicate and faithful spirit. But, as her eyes wandered off to the place where the troubadour stood trembling as she detected the pleading ter ror that was apparent in his face her benevolence got the better of lici scruples, and she frankly admitted that there reallv was one person in the world for whom her sentiments were even thus lively, and her sympathies thus warm and active. " And now, I beseech you, Lady Agnes," urged the anxious baron, " that you deal with me like a brother who will joy to serve you, and declare to me the name of the person whom you so much favor." "Now, out upon it, my lord of Roussillon," was the quick and somewhat indignant reply of the lady, "that y<m should presume thus greatly upon the kindred that lies between us. Women are not to be constrained to make such confession as this. It is their prerogative to be silent when the safety of their affections may suffer from their speech. To urge them to confess, in such cases, is only to compel them to speak unneces sary falsehoods. And know I not you husbands all ? you have but a feeling in common ; and if I reveal myself to you, it were as well that I should go at once and make full confession to my own lord." " Nay, dearest Lady Agnes, have no such doubt of my loyalty. I will assure thee that what you tell me never finds it way to the ear of your lord. I pray thee do not fear to make this con fession to me ; nay, but thoti must, Apnes," exclaimed the rude baron, his voice rising more earnestly, and his manner becoming passionate and stern whin, he grasped her wrist firmly in his convulsive fingers, and, drawing her toward him, added, in the subdued but intense tones of half-suppressed passion, " I tell , hidy, it bclio OVPS me ninch to know this secret." IH -\ni\; AND NTPnBB, 95 The lady cli.l not immediately yield, though tin- manner of Raymond, from this moment, determined her that she would do so. She now conjectured all the circumstances of the case, and felt the necessity of saving the tr<ml>adur for the sake of her sister. But she played with the excited ban>n awhile longer, and, when his passion grew so impatient as to be almost beyond his control, she admitted, as a most precious secret, confided to bis keeping only that he might serve her in its gratification, that she had a burning passion for Guillaume de Oabestaign, of which he himself was probably not conscious. The invention of the lady was as prompt and accurate as if the tnul>a<lour had whispered at her elbow. Raymond was now satisfied. He was relieved of his suspicions, turned away fn.m the Lady of Tarrascon, to embrace her supposed lover, and readily accepted an invitation from the former, for himself and companion, to remain that night to supper. At that moment the great gate of the castle was thrown open, and the Lord of Tar rascon made his appearance. He confirmed the invitation ex tended by his wife ; and, as usual, gave a most cordial reception to his guests. As soon as an opportunity offered, and before the hour of supper arrived, the Lady Agnes contrived to withdraw her lord to her own apartments, and there frankly revealed to him all that had taken place. He cordially g*v his sanction to all that she had done. Guillaume de Cabestaign was much more of a favorite than his jealous master; and the sympathies of the noble and the virtuous, in those days, were always ac corded to t h< >se who professed a love so innocent as it was justly believed by this noble couple was that of the, Lady Marguerite and the troubadour. The harsh suspicions of Raymond were supposed to characterize only a coarse and brutal nature, which, in the assertion of its unquestionable rights, would abridge all those freedoms which courtliness and chivalry had established for the pleasurable intercourse of other parties. A perfect understanding thu> established between the wife and husband, in behalf of the troubadour, and in misleading the baron, these several persons sat down to supper in the rarest good humor and harmony. Guillaume de Cahe^taign recovered all hLs confidence, and with it his inspiration. He made several improvvisations during the evening, which delighted the com- 96 SOUTHWARD HO ! pany all in favor of the Lady Agnes, and glimpsing faintly at his attachment for her. These, unhappily, have not been pre served to us. They are said to have been ><> made as to corre spond to the exigency of his recent situation ; the excellent Baron Raymond all the while supposing* that he alone possessed the key to their meaning. The Lady Agnes, meanwhile, under the approving eye of her husband, was at special pains to show such an interest in the troubadour, and such a preference for his comfort, over that of all persons present, as contributed to con firm all the assurances she had given to her brother-in-law in regard to her affections. The latter saw this with perfect satis faction ; and leaving Guillaume to pass the night where he was so happily entertained, he hurried home to lloussiilon. oager to re veal to his own wife, the intrigue between her lover ;uid her sister It is quite possible that, if his suspicions of the troubadour were quieted, he still entertained some with regard , l o Marguerite. It is not improbable that a conviction that he was giving pain at every syllable he uttered entered into his calculations, and prompted what he said. He might be persuaded of the inno cence of the parties, yet doubtful of their affections ; and though assured now that he was mistaken in respect to the tendency of those of Guillaume, his suspicions were still lively in regard to those of his wife. His present revelations might be intended to probe her to the quick, and to gather from her emotions, at his recital, in how much she was interested in the sympathies of the troubadour. How far he succeeded in diving into her secret, has not been confided to the chronicler. It is very certain, however, that he succeeded in maknii: Marguerite very unhappy. She now en tertained no doubt, after her husband s recital. ! Oie treachery of her sister, and the infidelity of her lover ; and though she, herself had permitted him no privilege, incon**Hlc<nt v,ith the claims of her lord, she was yet indignant that ho tltould have proved unfaithful to a heart which he so well knew k) be thor oughly his own. The pure soul itself, entirely devoted to the beloved object, thus always revolts at the consciousness of itn fall from its purity and its pledges; and though itself denied doomed only to a secret worship, to which no altar may be raised, and to which there is no offering but the sacrifice of constant pri- 1M >\< H.lAllnv 97 ration yet it greatly prefers to entertain this sacred sense of isolation, to any enjoyment of mere mortal happiness. To f.-.-l that our affections are thus isolated in vain that we have yielded them to one who is inditYerent to the trust, and lives still for hU earthly passions is to suffer from a more than mortal depriva tion. Marguerite of Roussillon passed the night in extreme ag ony of mind, the misery of which was greatly aggravated hy the, . in her husband s presence, of suppressing every feel ing of uneasiness. But her feelings conld not always he sup- piv^-ed ; and when, the next day, on the return of the trouba dour from Tarrascon, she encountered him in those garden walks which had heen made sacred to their passion hy its first mutual revelation, the pang grew to utterance, which her sense of dig nity and propriety in vain endeavored to subdue. Her eyes brightened indignantly through her tears; and she whose virtue had withheld every gift of passion from the being whom she yet professed to love, at once, but still most tenderly, reproached him with his infidelity. "Alas! (Juillaume," she continued, after telling him all that sho had heard, " alas ! that my soul should have so singled thine, rut from all the rest, because of its purity, and should find thee thus, like all the rest, incapable of a sweet and holy love such as thon didst promise. I had rather died, Guillaume, a thou sand deaths, than that tlmu shouhlst have fallen from thy faith to :ne." "Hut I have not fallen 1 have not faltered in my faith, Marguerite! I am still true to thet to thee only, though I tor thee vainlv, and know that tlmu livest only for another. H.-ar UK . Marguerite, while I tell thee what has truly hap pened. Thou hast heard something truly, but not all the truth." And he proceeded with the narrative to which we have already listened. He had only to show her what had passed between her lord and him^lf, t" show how great had been his emergency. The subsequent events at Tarrascon, only con vinced her of the quick intelligence, an : lence of purpose by which her sister had been governed. Her charita ble sympathies had seen and favored the artifice in which lay the safety equally of her lover and herself. The revulsion n ( her feelings from grief to exultation, spoke in a gush of tears, which 98 SOUTHWARD HO ! relieved the distresses of her soul. The single kiss upon his forehead, with which she rewarded the devotion cf the trouba- dour, inspired his fancy. He made the event the subject of tho sonnet, which has fortunately been preserved to us ; MARGUERITE. " That there should be a question whom I love, As if.the world had more thrui one so fair? Would 1 tt know her name, behold the letters rare, God-written, on the icing of every dove ! Ask if a blindness darkens my fond eyes, That I should doubt me whither I should turn; A*k if my soul, in cold abeyance lies, That I should fail at sight of her to bum. That I should wander to another s sway, Would speak a blindness worse than that of sight, Since here, though nothing I may ask of right, Blessings most precious woo my heart to stay. High my ambition, since at heaven it aims, Yet humble, since a daisy * all it claims." The lines first italicised embody the name of the l^uly, by a periphrasis known to the Provencal dialect, and the name of the daisy, as used in the closing line, is Marguerite. The poem is an unequivocal declaration of attachment, obviously meant to do away with all adverse declarations. To those acquainted with the previous history, it unfolds another history quite &9 significant ; and to those who knew nothing of the purity of the parties, one who made no allowance for the exaggerated manner in which a troubadour would be apt to declare the privileges he had enjoyed, it would convey the idea of a triumph inconsistent with the innocence of the lovers, and destructive of the rights of the injured husband. Thus, full of meaning, it is difficult to conceive by what im prudence of the parties, this fatal sonnet found its way to the hands of Raymond of Roussillon. It is charged by the biogra phers, in the absence of other proofs, that the vanity of Margue rite, in her moments of exultation greater than her passion proud of the homage which she inspired, and confident in the inno cence which the world had too slanderously already bc^un to ques tion could not forbear the temptation of showing so beautiful a testimony of the power of her charms. But the suggestion lacks in plausibility. It is more easy to conceive that the fond heart THE TROUBADOUR S TABLKT. 99 of the woman would not suffer her to destroy so exquisite a tribute, nd tliat the jealousy of her lord, provoked by the arts of envious rivals, conducted him to the place of safe-keeping where her treasure was concealed. At all events, it fell into his hands, and revived all his suspicions. In fact, it gave the lie to the artful story by which he had been lulled into confi dence, and was thus, in a manner, conclusive of the utter guilt of the lovers. His pride was outraged as well as his honor. He had been gulled by all upon whom he had relied his wife, bib page, and his sister. He no longer doubted Marguerite s infidel ity and his own disgrace ; and, breathing nothing but vengeance, he yet succeeded in concealing from all persons the conviction which he felt, of the guilt which dishonored him, and the terrible vengeance which he meditated for its punishment. He was a cold and savage man, who could suppress, in most cases, the pangs which he felt, and could deliberately restrain the passions which yet occupied triumphant place in his heart and purpose. It was not long before he found the occasion which he de sired. The movements of the troubadour were closely watched, and one day, when he had wandered forth from the castle seek ing solitude, as was his frequent habit, Raymond contrived to steal away from observation, and to follow him out into the for- He was successful in his quest. He found Guillaume resting at the foot of a shadv tree, in a secluded glen, with : ablets before him. The outlines of a tender ballad, ten der but spiritual, as was the character of all his melodies, were already inscribed upon the paper. The poet was meditating, as usual, the charms of that dangerous mistress, whose beauty was ;icd to become his bane. Kavinond threw himself upon the pound beside him. " Vh ! well," said he, as he joined the troubadour, "this love of the Lady Agnes is still a distresMiig matter in thy thongl 11 lu truth, my lord, I think of her with the greatest love and ness," was the reply of (iuillaume. " Verily, thou dost well," returned the baron ; "she deser requital at thy hands. Thou owest her good service. And yet, for ..He M bo .so greatly atirctrth a lady, and who hath found 10 much favor in her bight, methinks thou seek fct her but seldom. Why is this, Sir Troubadour I" 100 SOUTHWARD HO! Without waiting for the answer, Raymond added, " But lot me see what thou hast just written in her praise. It is by his verses that we understand the devotion of the troubadour." Leaning over the poet as he spoke, as if his purpose had been to possess himself of his tablets, he suddenly threw the whole weight of his person upon him, and, in the very same moment, by a quick movement of the hand, he drove the coutcau de cJuisse, with which he was armed, and which he had hitherto concealed behind him, with a swift, unerring stroke deep down into the bosom of the victim. Never WHS blow better aimed, or with more energy delivered. The moment of danger was that of death. The unfortunate troubadour was conscious of the weapon only when he felt the steel. It was with a playful smile that Raymond .struck, and so innocent was the expression of his face, even while his arm was extended and the weight of his body was pressing upon Guillaume, that the only solicitude of the latter had been to conceal his tablets. One convulsive cry, one hideous contortion, and Guillaume de Cabestaign was no more. The name of Marguerite was the only word which escaped in his dying shriek. The murderer placed his hand upon the heart of the victim. It had already ceased to beat. CHAPTER IV. "Thou wilt mock me no more!" he muttered fiercely, as he half rose from the body now stiffening fast. But his fierce ven geance was by no means completed. As if a new suggestion had seized upon his mind, while his hand rested upon the heart of the troubadour, he suddenly started and tore away the gar ments from the unconscious bosom. Once more he struck it deeply with the keen and heavy blade. In a few moments he had laid it open. Then he plunged his naked hand into the gaping wound, and tore out the still quivering heart. This he wrapped up with care and concealed in his garments. A\ ith an other stroke lie Mii<t- the head from the body, and this he also concealed, in fragments of dress torn from the person of his victim. With these proofs of his terrible revenge, he made his way, un der cover of the dusk, in secret to the castle. What remains to be told is still more dreadful beyond belief, indeed, were it not that THE l RECItH:S MfiATS. the sources of our history are wholly above discredit or denial. The cruel baron, ordering his cook into his presence, then gave the heart of the troubadour into his keeping, with instructions to dross it richly, and after a manner of dressing certain favorite portions of venison, of which Marguerite was known to be par ticularly fond. The disli was a subject of special solicitude with her husband, lie himself superintended the preparation, and furnished the spices. That night, he being her only companion at the feast, it was served up to his wife, at the usual time of supper. lie had assiduously subdued every vestige of anger, unkindnesR, or suspicion, from his countenance. Marguerite was suffered to hear and see nothing which might provoke her ap prehensions or arrest her appetite. She was more than usually ;e and cheerful, as, that day and evening, her lord was more than commonly indulgent. He, too, could play a part when it suited him to do so ; and, like most men of stern will and great experience, could adapt his moods and manners to that livelier ca>t, and more pliant temper, which better persuade the feminine heart into confidence and pleasure. He smiled upon her now with the most benevolent sweetness ; but while he ear nestly encouraged her to partake of the favorite repast which she BO much preferred, he himself might be seen to eat of any other dish. The wretched woman, totally unsuspicious of guile or evil, undreaming of disaster, and really conscious of but little self- reproach, ate freely of the precious meat which had been placed before her. The eyes of Raymond greedily followed every morsel which she carried to her lips. She evidently enjoyed the food which had been spiced for her benefit, and as she continued to draw upon it, he could no longer forbear to unfold the exulta tion which he felt at the entire satisfaction of his vengeance. " You MM -in very much to like your meats to-night, Marguerite. Do yon find them good ?" "Verily," she answered, this venison is really delicious." then," lie continued, 1 have had it dressed purposely for you. You ought to like it. It is a dish of which you have always shown yourself very fond." " Nay, my lord, bnt you surely err. I can not think that I have ever eaten before of anything so very delicious as this." " Nay, nay, Marguerite, it is you that err. I know that the XUS SOUTHWARD HO ! meat of which you now partake, is one which you have always found the sweetest." There was something now in the voice of the speaker that made Marguerite look up. Her eyes immediately met his own and the wolfish exultation which they betrayed confounded and made her shudder. She felt at once terrified with a name less fear. There was a sudden sickness and sinking of her heart She felt that there was a terrible meaning, a dreadful mystery in his looks and words, the solution of which she shrunk from with a vague but absorbing terror. She was too well acquainted with the sinister expression of that glance. She rallied herself to speak. " What is it that you mean, my lord ? Something dreadful ! What have you done ? This food " " Ay, this food ! I can very well understand that you should find it delicious. It is such as you have always loved a little too much. It is but natural that you should relish, now that it is dead, that which you so passionately enjoyed while living. Marguerite, the meat of that dish which you have eaten was once the heart of Guillaume de Cabestaign !" The lips of the wretched woman parted spasmodically. Her jaws seemed to stretch asunder. Her eyes dilated in a horror akin to madness. Her arms were stretched out and forward. She half rose from the table, which she at length seized upon for her support. " No !" she exclaimed, hoarsely, at length. No ! no ! It is not tine. It is not possible. I will not I dare not believe it." " You shall have a witness, Marguerite ! You shall hear it from one whom, heretofore, you have believed always, and who will find it impossible now to lie. Behold ! This is the head of him whose heart you have eaten !" With these dreadful words, the cruel baron raised the ghastly head of the troubadour, which he had hitherto concealed beneath the table, and which he now placed upon it. At this horrible spectacle the wretched woman sunk down in a swoon, from which, however, she awakened but too quickly. The wan and bloody aspect of her lover, the eyes glazed in death but full still of the teuderest expression, met her gaze as it opened upon the light. The savage lord who had achieved the horrid butch- CATASTROPHE. 103 cry stood erect, and pointing at the spectacle of terror. Hi* scornful and demoniac glance the horrid cruelty of which he continued to boast her conscious innocence and that of her lover her complete and deep despair all conspired to arm her boul with courage which she had never felt till now. In the ruin of her heart she had grown reckless of her life. Her eye confronted the murderer. "Be it so!" she exclaimed. "As I have eaten of meat so precious, it fits not that inferior food should ever again pass these lips ! This is the last supper which I shall taste on earth !" 14 What ! dare you thus shamelessly avow to me your passion ?" " Ay ! as God who beholds us knows, never did woman more passionately and truly love mortal man, than did Marguerite of Boushillon the pure and noble Guillaume de Cabestaign. It is true / I fear not to say it now ! Now, indeed, I am his only, and for ever !" Transported with fury at what he heard, Raymond drew his dagger, and rushed to where she stood. But she did not await his weapon. Anticipating his wrath, she darted headlong through a door which opened upon a balcony, over the balustrade of which, with a >econd effort, she flung herself into the court be low. All this was the work of but one impulse and of a single instant. Raymond reached the balcony as the delicate frame of the beautiful woman wan crushed upon the flag-stones of the court. Life had utterly departed when they raised her from the ground ! This terrible catastrophe struck society everywhere with con sternation. At a season, when not only chivalry, but the church, gave its most absolute sanction to the existence and encourage ment of that strange conventional love which we have sought to describe, the crime of Raymond provoked a universal horror. Love, artificial and sentimental rather than passionate, was the soul equally of military achievement and of aristocratic society. It was then of vast importance, a> an dement of power, in the use of religious enthusiasm. The shock :iven to those who cherished this sentiment, by this dreadful history, was felt to all the extremities of the social circle. The friends and kindred of these lovers the princes and princesses of the land noble lords, knights and ladies, all combined, as by a common impulse, 104 snlTHWARD HO ! to denounce and to destroy the bloody-mi n ded criminal. Al- phonso, king of Arragon, devoted himself to the work of justice. Raymond was seized and cast into a dungeon. His castle was razed to the ground, under a public decree, which scarcely an ticipated the eager rage of hundreds who rushed to the work of demolition. The criminal himself was suffered to live ; hut he lived, either in prison or in exile, with loss of caste and society and amidst universal detestation ! Very different was the fate of the lovers whom man could no more harm or separate. They were honored, under the sanc tion of Alphonso, with a gorgeous funeral procession. They were laid together, in the same tomb, before the church of Per pignan, and their names and cruel history were duly engraven upon the stone raised to their memory. According to the Pro- venc,al historians, it was afterward a custom with the knights of Roussillon, of Cerdagne, and of Narbonnois, every year to join with the noble dames and ladies of the same places, in a solemn service, in memory of Marguerite of Roussillon, and William of Cabestaign. At the same time came lovers of both sexes, on a pilgrimage to their tomb, where they prayed for the repose of their souls. The anniversary of this service was instituted by Alphonso. We may add that romance has more than once seized upon this tragic history, out of which to weave her fic tions. Boccacio has found in it the material for one of the stories of the Decameron, in which, however, while perverting history, he has done but little to merit the gratulation of Art. He has failed equally to do justice to himself, and to his melancholy subject. CHAPTER VII. " Olc Baginny nebber tire." WE are now off the capes of Virginia, and you begin to smell the juleps. When the winds are fair, they impregnate the at mosphere gratefully 1 must confess full forty miles at sea, even as the Mi-M*>ippi gives its color to the Gulf, the same distance from the Balize. Should your vessel be becalmed along the coast, as mine has been frequently, you will be compensated by the grateful odor, morning and evening, as from gardens where mint and tobacco grow together in most intimate communion. The Virginian has always been a good liver. He unites the contradictory qualities which distinguished the English squire when he drew sword for the Stuarts. He has been freed from the brutal excesses which debased the character of his ancestor as described by Macaulay ; but he has lost none of the generous virtues, which, in the same pages, did honor to the same charac ter. He has all the loyalty and faith of the past lie still be lieves in the antique charms of his home and parish. He is brave and hardy, though indolent, and has a martial swagger peculiarly his own, which gives an easy grace to his courage while taking nothing from what is wholesome in his social de- me;i: Ynvinian is a lounger. He will sleep for days and hut only to stait into the nmst energetic and performing lite. See him as he drowses nt ease in the shade of hi.s piazza, his legs over the balustrade ; observe him as he dawdles nt the tavern, in a like attitude, with a sympathetic crowd of idlers around him. There he aits, as you perceive, in a rirketty chair, of domestic fashion, the seat of which is untanned bull s hitle his head thrown back, his heels in the air over an empty barrel, a huge plantation cignr protruded from hi* left cbeek. and a pint 106 SOUTHWARD HO ! goblet of julep, foaming amid green leaves and ice, beside him. There he will sit, and swear famously, and discuss politics by the hour, and talk of his famous horses, orators, and warriors for he is a good local chronicler always, and has a wonderful memory of all that has happened in the " Old Dominion." You will, if you know nothing of him, fancy him a mere braggart and a sluggard. But wait. Only sound the trumpet give the alarm and he is on his feet. If a sluggard, he is like the Black Sluggard in Ivanhoe. He only waits the proper provo cation. Like the war-horse, the blast of the trumpet puts his whole frame in motion. He kicks the chair from under him. He rolls the barrel away with a single lurch. The cigar is flung from his jaw ; and, emptying his julep, he is prepared for action ready to harangue the multitude, or square off against any assailant. His fault in war is want of caution. He never provides against an enemy because he never fears one. He is frequently caught napping, but he makes up for it, in the end, by extra ex ertions. There is a dash of Raleigh and John Smith both in his character, as when the "Old Dominion," when it had not a gun boat or a piece of ordnance, defied Cromwell, and declared at all hazard for the Stuarts. His loyalty is as indisputable as his cour age provided you let him show it as he pleases. He is as self-will ed as Prince Rupert, who, in most respects, was no bad representa tive of the Virginian ; bold, headlong, dashing, full of cournge and effrontery, fond of a rouse, and mixing fun, fight and devo tion, together, in a rare combination, which does not always of fend, however it may sometimes startle. A proud fellow, who loves no master, and who only serves because it is his humor to do so. He is profligate beyond his means. His hospitality, which was once his virtue, is, like that of some of his neighbors further south, becoming a weakness and a vice. He will not, however, repudiate, though his gorge rises at the thought of bank ruptcy. He is to: much of an individual for that has too much pride as a Virginian. But, I fear that his profligacy of life has tainted the purity of his politics. I could wish that Vir ginians were less solicitous of the flesh-pots of the national gov- eruuieut. VIRGINIA rOLIT! 107 The mention of Virginia rocalls one of the most interesting of our state histories. It is the pride of Virginia to have, been one of the maternal states of this country. She shares this distinction with Massachusetts and the Carolinas. I do not mean to say, simply, that her sons have contributed to form the population of rlier states. It is in the formation of their character that she lias been conspicuous. She has given tone and opinion to the new communities that have arisen along her frontier. She has equally influenced their social habits and courage. It would be a pleasant study, for the social philosopher, to inquire into the degree in which she has done this. It is enough that I suggest the inquiry." What a misfortune to Virginia that she is so near to the Dis trict of Columbia." "And that she has given five presidents to the confederacy." " Yes ! this effect is to make office a natural craving ; while, it is thought that every male-child horn since the days of Mon roe, is bora with a sort of natural instinct for, and a right to the -idency." " Yet, how curious now-a-dnys are the materiel for a piesi dent!" "Curious, indeed! yet this would be no great evil this change in the sort of clay supposed essential for the manufac ture if states preserved their integrity, their principles and pride, with their passion. But we grow flexible in moral in pro- poitioii to our appetites, and one who is constantly hungering will never scruple, at any sort of food. The eagle descends to the garbage of the kite, and the race who once wrought their "Ut of marble, soon content themselves with very rude im itations in putty." 1 i. -y iif.-d not he imitations "ither. We have reached that condition when it is no l<mgrr held essential, the counsel of Ham let to his mother, assume a virtue if you have it not. It is not only no longer held e^s, ntial to keep up the appearances of truth and patriotism, but one is apt t be laughed at for his pains. Kvrii to seem patriotic at Washington is held to be a gratuitous greenness." l.i-t in not sp,. a k of it. How much more grateful is it to back to the, rough, wild, half F.ivnere. 1 MT 1 rave ,ind honest 103 SOUTHWARD HO ! past. What a pity it is that our people do not read their own old chronicles. It is now scarcely possible to pick up any of the old histories of the states, which a sincere people, with any ven eration left, would be careful to keep in every household." " What an equal pity it is that these chronicles have been so feebly exemplified by the local historians. These have usually shown themselves to be mere compilers. They were, in fact, a very dull order of men among us. They were wholly deficient in imagination and art ; and quite incapable of developing grace fully, or even of exhibiting fairly, the contents of the chronicle. They merely accumulated or condensed the records ; they nev er displayed them. This is the great secret by which histories are preserved to the future and kept popular through time. Art is just as necessary in truth as in fiction a fact of which critics even do not always appear conscious. See now the wonderful success and attraction of Mr. Prescott s labors. His secret con sists chiefly in the exercise of the appropriate degree of art. His materials, in the main, are to be found in a thousand old volumes, available to other writers ; but it was in his art that the lumbersome records became imbued with life. His narra tives of the conquest of Peru and Mexico are so many exquisite pictures action, scene, portrait, all harmoniously blended in beautiful and symmetrical connection. His details, which, in common hands, were usually sadly jumbled, constitute a series of noble drninas all wrought out in eloquent action. His events are all arranged with the happiest order. His dramatis jH rxotrtr play their parts according to the equal necessities of the history and of their individual character. The parts harmonize, the persons work together, and the necessary links ]>re-rr\ <! between them, the action is unbroken to the close. All im-le- v.-mt matter, calculated to impair this interest, is carefully dis carded ; all subordinate matter is dismissed with a proper l-irv- ity, or compressed in the form of notes, at the bottom of his page. Nothing i dwelt upon at length, but that which justifies delineation, either from the intrinsic value of the material, or from its susceptibilities for art. Suppose the historian were to employ such a rule in the development of such chronicles as those of Virginia ? What a beautiful volume might be made of it! How full of admirable lessons, of lovely sketches, <>/" SMITH AND I nr urnNTAR. 100 fine contrasts and spirit-stirring actions. Tlie early vovn down to the time of Smith, would 1 onn the subject of ft most delightful chapter; and then we open upon tin- career of Smith himself that remarkable man, excellent politician, and truly noble gentleman and soldier. He seems to have been the la>t representative of an age which hail passed from sight before he. entered upon the sta^e. He was the embodiment of the best characteristics of chivalry. How manly his career with what a r.ohle self-esteem did lie prepare for the most trying issues how generous his courage how disinterested his virtues how devoted to the sex a preux clu-culicr, not unworthy to have supped with Bayard after the battle of Marignano. Neither England nor America has ever done justice to the genius or the performances of this man, and I tear that his name was some what in the \\.iv of his distinctions. It is difficult to believe in the hcroi>rn of a man named Smith. Men do not doubt that he will fight, but mere lighting is not heroism. Heroism is the model virtue; and we an- sb W to ally it with the name of Smith in deed, with anv name of a single sellable. There are really few or no flaws in the character of the founder of Virginia." "I am not sure of that ! What do you say to hi> treatment of the beautiful daughter of rowhatan . His coldness " "You have simply stumbled in the track of a popular error. It is a vulgar not inn that he encouraged and slighted the aflec- tions of Pocnhontas. All this is a mistake. He neither beguiled her with fal>e shows of love, nor was indifferent to her beauties or her virtu* 1 ; men- child to Smith, but twehe years old when he first knew her, and he about forty." "Hut his neglect of her when she went to K: -land" 44 He did not m-glrct her." " She reproached him for it." M YetJ the p. .or MVftgti i ber unsophisticated chil<; knew nothing of that convention which, in Kuvpe, ].iy U bur- densomcly upon Smith as upon hei-ell . Kven then. liou. he treated her as tenderly a^ it she were his own rhild, with this difference, that he was required to approach her as a princqps. His reserves were dictated by a prudent caution which did not venture to outrage the pedantic prejudices of the Scottish Solo mon, then upon the throne, who. if you remember, was very 110 SOUTHWARD HO! slow to forgive Rolfe, one of his subjects, for the audacity which led him to marry the princess of Virginia." " By the way, you have yourself made Smith an object of tho love of Pocahontas." " It was the sin of my youth ; and was the natural use to be made of the subject when treating it in verse." "Come as one of your contributions to our evening, give us your legend. Miss Burroughs will no doubt be pleased to hear it, and your verse may very well serve as a relief to our prose." "What do you say, Selina?" " Oh ! by all means the legend." " To hear is to obey." The circle closed about me, and, with many natural misgivings, and a hesitation which is my peculiar infirmity, I delivered my self as well as I could of the fabrication which follows : POCAHONTAS; A LEGEiND OF VIRGINIA. I. LIGHT was her heart and sweet her smile, The dusky maid of forest-bower, Ere yet the stranger s step of guile Bore one soft beauty from the flower ; The wild girl of an Indiiin vale, A child, with all of woman s seeming, And if her cheek be less than pule, Twa* with the life-blood through it streaming. Soft was the light that fill d her eye, And grace \viis in her every motion, Her voice waa touching, like the fligh, When passion first becomes devotion ; And worship still was hers her sire Beloved and fear d, a prince of power, Whose simplest word or glance of ire Still made a thousand warriors cower. Not such her swny, yet not the less, Branso it bettor pleased to bless, And won its rule by gentleness; Among a savage people, .still She kept from tftvage moods apart, And thought of crime, nnd dmum of ill r Rv."iv rt IIT "-] Jen hrNrf. IMF, KDKKST MAIDKN. Ill A milder tutor had been there, And, midst wild scenes and wilder men, Her spirit, like her form, was fair, And gracious was its guidance then. Her sire, that fierce old forest king Himself had ruled that she should be A meek, and ever gentie tl:. To clip his neck, to clasp hi* knee; To bring his cup when, from the chase, He came o erwearied with its toils; To cheer him by her girlish grace, To sooth him by her sunniest smiles: They rear d her thus a thing apart From deed* thnt make the savage mirth, And haply had she kept her heart As fresh and gentle as at birth ; A Christian heart, though by it* creed rnt.-uight, yet, in her native wild, Free from all evil thought or deed, A sweet, and fond, und tearful child; Scarce woman yet, but hnply nigh The unconscious changes of the hour When jouth id sad, unknowing why, The bud dilating to the flower, And sighing with the expanding birth Of passionate hopes, that, born to bless, May yet, superior still to earth, Make hiippy with their pure impress. Such, in her riiiidhood, ere the blight Of failinj fortunes touch d her race, Was r><-!ihontus still, a bright And blessing form of youth and grace; Beloved of all, her father s pride, His passion, from the rest ] A love for which he would have died, The verv life-blood of his heart. The kinc would eek the chase to-day, And mighty it tin- wild array Thnt gather* nigh in savage play, A nation yields its ear; A bison herd so goes the tale Is trampling down the cultured vale, And none who love the land may fail To father when th*v hear. 11- SOUTHWARD HO ! He goes the father from his child. To seek the monster of the wild, But, in his fond embraces caught, Ere yet he goes, he hears her thought Her wish the spotted fawn the pme f The pet most dear to girlhood s eyes, Long promised, which the chase denies. Stern is the sudden look he darts Among the assembled crowd, as now His footstep from the threshold parts, And dark the cloud about his brow. " We hunt no timid deer to-day, And arm for slaughter, not for play Another season for such prey, My child, and other prey for thee; A captive from the herd we seek, Would bring but sonow to thy cheek, Make thee forget what pence is here, Of bird, and bloom, and shady tree, And teach thine eyes the unknown teal No more . " He puts her from his grasp, Undoes, with gentle hand, the clasp She takes about his neck, ind then, Even as he sees her silent grief, He turns, that stern old warrior-chief, And takes her to his arms again. It shall be ns thou wilt the fawn, Ere from the hills the light is gone, Shall crouch beneath thy hands." How sweetly then she smiled his eye Once more perused her tenderly, Then, with a smiie, he put her by, And shouted to !>i hands. III. They came . a word, a look, is all The thicket hides their wild array; A thousand warrior*, plumed and tit!!, Well itrrnM and painted for the fniy. The maiden watch d their march, a doutl Rose in her heart, which, us they went, Her tongue had half-way spoken out, Suspicious of their fell intent. 4 A bison herd yet why the frown Upon my father s brow, nnd why 1HK \VAli 1 AKTY. \\.\ The war-lull on each warrior s crown, The wnr-\vlnop us they galheiM : Th.-y toll of stranger braves a r With thunder clad, and pule of fa.-r, And lightnings in their grnap who dart The bolt ungeen with deadliest nim A midden shuck, a nisli of flume Still fatal, to the focman s ho.irt. Ah ! much I frar, with these to fight, Our warriors seek the wood* to-day; And they will hack return hy night With I. in i id tokens of the fray ; With captives duom d in robes of lire I " M.oth the spirits of those who fell, And glut the red and raping ire Of those \vh> hut avenge too well! Ah ! father, could my praver avail, Such should not be theii ..port and pride | It were, methinks, a lovelier tale, Of peace along onr river s side; And groves of plenty, fiUM with song Of hirds tiiat crowd, u happv throng To hail the happier throns helow ; That tend the maize-fields and pi,. The cLi the hiri-Ji ( unoe, And seek no prey and have no for ! Ah! not for im if tin re should come A chii-f to l.e.u n, .- to his I, mm Let him not hope, with bloody speur, To win me to hi* heart and will Nor boHt- in hope to pica-,.- mine ear, Of victim* he has joy d to kill. No! let mo be a maiden still ; I care not il they mock, and ay The child oi l o\\ i,iit;ui sits lone, And lingers hv the publi \\ ith none t<i hearken to l,-r moan She ll sit. nor sigh, till one appear* \\ t,o tin, Is 1,0 jo\ j,, 1,11,01111 teurg." IV. Now ink tlie day-l:ir, a:.. I the f-ve \N ith dun and pu Sudden the dark urciuU. lh. :* on wild rapi.i ru>h and tlii;l,t ; The muiden lea\ her fu t buwets, Where Ute *h w\v Ur idle flu t -is t 114 SOUTHWARD HO! Chill d bv the gloom, but chill d the rnor* As from the distant wood she hears A slHek of death, that, heard before, Hath grown familiar to her ears; And fills her soul with secret dread Of many a grief the young heart know, In loneliness, by fancy fed, That ever broods o er nameless woes, And grieves the more nt that relief Which finds another name for grief. Too certain now her cause of te;ir, That shout of death awakes again ; The cry which stuns her woman ear, Is that of vengeance for the slain. Too well she knows the sound that speak* For terrors of the mortal strife; The bitter yell, whose promise reeks With vengeance on the captive life. " No bison hunt," she cried, " but fight, Their cruel joy, their sad delight ; They come with bloody hands to bring Some captive to the fatal ring; There s vengeance to be done to-day For warrior slaughter d in the fray ; Yet who their foe, unless it be The race that comes beyond the sea, The pale, but powerful chiefs who bear The lightnings in their grasp, and flin/t Their sudden thunder through the nir, With bolts that fly on secret wing ? The Massawomek now no more Brings down his warriors to the shore; And twus but late the Mmiacan, O ercome in frequent fight, gave o er, And liow d the knee to I owhatun. Scarce is gone three moons ago Since they laid the hatchet low, Smoked the calumet, that pn-w To a sign for evriy eye, And by this the warriors knew That, the Spirit from above, As the light smoke floated high. Bless d it with the breath of love. Tis the pale-face, then, and lie. Wild in wrath, and dread to see, Terrible in ft> hi, ah mr WAR COUNCIL OF rnWHATAN 11,. If against my father s heart He hath sped his thunder-dart V. N"w gather the wnrriors of Powhatan nigh, A r<> -k is his throne, His footstool 11 ston<>; Dark the cloud on his brow, keen the fin- in hi* eye; To a ridge on hit forehead, swells the vein ; His hand grasps the hntchet, which swings to and fro As if rrady to sink in the brain, But seeking in vnin for the foe ! Thus the king on the circle look* round, With a .speech that hath never a sound ; His eye hath a tliirst which imparts What the lip might but feebly essay, And it speaks like an airow to their hearts, A ; f \r-Ming them bound on the niey. Tti? brow of each <jhie( is hi sir, nidi u loftiness born of his own: And the king, like the lion from his lair, Looks pri.u.l on the props of his throne. His eagle tind his r;_-i .,t- there, His vulture, hi* cougar, his fox, And, cold on the edge of his rocks, The war-mill* rings his alarum and cries, "I strike, and my enemy dies!" Lift* the soul of the monarch to henr, Lifts the soul of the monarch to And, quick at his summons, the chieftain* draw near, And, shouting they sink on the knee, Then ri.se and awnil his d. VI. sing in conscious majesty KoliM nround his fiery As some meteor, hung on high, Tells of fearful things to be, In I! : Which the victim mny not (lr>e It may be to onr nlone, Of the thfiii.tnmi farms that wait, At the fiiiifMiM.l of the throne is lips for peech, Im* : ra speak lo human sense, La the , m n -.p-rs T}->r. 116 SOUTHWARD HO ! One descends, n form of light, As if borne with downward flight, You may hardly gather whence , Slight, the form, and with a grace Caught from heaven its native place Bright, of eye, and with a cheek, In its glowing ever meek, With a mnideu modesty, That puts Love, a subject, by; And such soft mid streaming tresset, That the gazer stops and bli Having sudden dreams thnl spell Reason on her throne, and make All the subject thoughts rebel, For the simple fancy s Kike Such the vision now ! The ring Yields, and lo ! before the king, Down she sinks beneath the throne Where lie sits in strength alone, She upon a lowly stone ! And her tresses settle down Loosely on her shoulders brown Heedless she, the while, of aught But the terror in her thought. Eager in her fears, her hand Rests upon his knee IHT rye Gazing on the fierce command Throned in his with majesty She alonr at that dark hour, l):ii.- .-ipproHfh the man of power. VII. Dread the pause that followed then In those ranks of sav;ige men; Fuin would I owbalan d<-< lure Whnt is working in his soul ; But the eye that meets him there, As the maiden upward looks, Spells him with a sweet contio. Never long his spirit brooks Such control his nnpry rye Seeks her with reproving fire, And her lips, with fond reply, .Part to calm the rising ire; Soft the accents, yet the sound Strangely breaks the vlenoe round. THE DARK SPOT. 117 VIII. " Is t thus fhou keep st thy word with mo? I ae** not here the spotted fnwn, WhJrh fhou didst promise me should !<<, Kre daylight from the hills was gone, A captive all unharmed caught. For this, to wreathe its nerk, I sought The purple flower that crowns the wood,- And gnther d from the sandv shore The singing shell with crimson core, A* it were dropp d with innocent hlood. To thee I know the task weir light To rouse the silver-foot and tak<-, Even in its weeping mother s sight. The bleating captive from the hrake. Vet, here, no captive wails for me ; No trophy of thy skill and toil ; Not even the hiiton-heud I ^ The youthful huntei * proper spoil. Hul, in its Head ;ih \ wherefore now, My father! do not check thy child ! \Vhy is the dark spot on thy hrow, And why thy aspect Htern and wild 1 What may this menn ? no hison ci Nor fiiiling sport, not often vain, Haiti fixM llmt sipn upon your fnre, Of j)assioiuit> Jritr ;md rnoiial paii] ! Ah! no! rnethinks tlic f.-ai ful mood 11 iih found its hirth in hostile hlood The war-whoop, shouti-d as ye went, This told me of your fell intent; The deiith-whoop, erinn imr, Declared, as well, defeat and sham.- . " " Ay !" erieil the monnrdi, " w-ll yr speak MM- words upon mv (I: In hurtling eharai-teis tl. For venpeunre on mine r ncmy. Ti tnie as fhoti hnnf said, my ehild, We mrt our loemen in thr wild, And from the ronfliYt henr away Hut dealh and shaun- to |.iri\.- tlir fciy. Vniidy rn;r waniors fought, our ii--, LI. 6i , 118 SOUTHWARD HO ! The pale-face with hie thunder-fires, His lightning-shafts, and wizard charm* Hath buffled strength and courage. We May fold our arms the glorious race, That from the day-god took their birth Must to the stranger yield the place, Uproot the great ancestral tree, And fling their mantles down on earth. Yet shall there be no vengeance? Cries, From earth demand the sacrifice ; Souls of the slaughter d warriors stand, And wave us with each bloody hand ; Call for the ghost of him who slew In bloody rites, a warrior true, And shall they call in vain 1 To smooth the path of shadows, Heaven A victim to the doom hath given, Whose heart, with stroke asunder riven, Shall recompense the slain !" X. While fury took the place of grief, Impatient then tho monarch chief, A btalwart savage summon d nigh ; "The pale-faced warrior bring the brav* Shriek o er the valley for their slave, I hear them in the eagle s cry, The wolf s sharp clamors he must die No coward he to shrink from death, But, shouting in his latest breath, Its pangs he will defy. It joys my soul at such a fate, Which, though the agony be great, Can still exulting sing, Of braves, the victims to his brand, Whose crowding ghosts about him stand, To bear him to the spirit-land On swift and subject wing !" The block is prepared, The weapon is bared, And the warriors are nigh with their tomahawks rear ci ; The prisoner they bring In the midst of the ling, And the king bids tho circle axound bim be cfcar d. THK VICTIM AT THE STAKE. 119 The wrath on his brow at the sight Of the prisoner they bring to his doom. Now kindles his eye with a lordly delight, As the lightiiinp-flitsh kindles the gloom. He rise*, he *\\ny, with a hrrath, And hush d grows the clamor of death ; Falls the weapon that groan d with the thirst T< drink from the fountain accurst; Stills the murnnur that spoke for the hate Thut chafed but to wait upon fate. XII. How trembled then the maid, an rose That captive warrior calm nnd stern, Thus girded by tin- wolli^h tors His fearless spirit still would spurn ; How bright his glance, how fair his fnce, And with what proud nnd liberal grace Hi* footsteps five advance, as still He follows firm the bloody nuMW Thiil guided to ihe gloomy ; Where stood the savage net to kill! How fills her soul with dread dismay, Beholding in his form and air How noble in the unwonted prey Thus yielded to the deathsmnn there! Still fearless, though in foreign land, No \\o:ipon in his fettered hand, (iiit by a dark and hostile bund That never knew to s| Hi* limb", but not his spirit bound, How looks the god-like stranger round ! An heetil- -- of the doom, a* when, In sight of thirty thousand men, HP stood by Regnll s walls, and slew The brnvest of her chiefs that came II | -! in beauty s sight to do, Kin- honor, finding shame! As little moved I Y I": i to and fear, As when, in fair Chnratzn s smile Exulting, he was doorn d to bear The Tartar s blows and bondage vile ; And flow him in hid ronnluto mood, Tbotlgll Tenor s worst besMe him tood, And nil her slouthhoiinds follow d fust. Death, hunger. ht*. n venomeii* brood, 120 SOUTHWARD HO ! Where er his flying footsteps past.* Not now to shrink, though, in hit eyes, Their eager hands, at last, elate, Have track d him where the bloodstone lie* And mock him with the shaft of fate ! With courage full as great as theirs, He keeps a soul that laughs at fears; Too proud for grief, too hnive for tears, Their tortures still he mocks, and boasts His own great deeds, the crowding hosts, That witness d, and the shrieking ghoslt His violent urm set free ; And, while his heart dilates in thought Of glorious deeds in hinds remote, The pride of Europe s chivalry, It seem d to those who gazed, that still The passion of triumph seem d to till, While nerving with a deathless will, The exulting champion s heart! Half trembled then the savage foe, Lest sudden, from the unseen bow, He mill might send the fatal blow, He still might wing the dart. But soon as o er the captive s soul, Some tender memories scem d to roll, Like billowy clouds that charged with stream*, Soon hide in saddest gloom the gleam* Of the imperial sun, and hush, In grief, the day s dilating flush Of glory and pride, the triumph fell The soul obey d the sudden spell! A dream of love thai, kindled far, In youth, beneath the eastern star, Is pulsing from his hope, to be The last best light of memory. Soft grew the fire within his eyes, One trni the wanior s strength defies, His soul a moment fallen then, As if the pliancy were shame, Dishonoring all his ancient fame, He stood ! the inasler-man of men ! XIII. That moment s sign of weakness broke The spell that still d the crowd ! The chief, * Se the Life of Captain Jobn SrnitL, the fgunder gf Virginia; lit wju.lrov* fcujoug the Trka, &.c. AT THE STAKE 121 With mockery in hi* accent spoko For still the savage mocks nt grief "No more! why should th impatient death Forbear, till with the woman * breath, Her trembling fear, her yearning- sigh For life hut vainly kept with shame, Hi- wrongs hi* own and people s name! I would not have the warrior die, Nor to the last, with hiittlp rry, tine, shout his fiime ! :.iin the crime of tear* that flow, A sign of suff -ring none should know Hut him who flings aside the how, Atnl shrinks the brand to hear, Let not our sons the weaknes- 1. tVom the foe in .shame tley flfi-, And by thi-ir souls no lone i Grow raptive to tlieir f-Hr: For him! I pity while I -scorn The tribe in which the \vr-ich wits born ; And, as I paze mound. I plnd me that mine ae-d eye Sees none of ull who gather nifh, Who drendj! to lu-ar llu- wru-whoop * sound, Not one who fears to die!" XIV. They ca*t the prisoner to the ground. With c\ves fnim neighboring, vine* they bound. Hin brow upon the ancient look They laid with wild and hitter mock, Thnt joy d to mark the deep despair That moment in tin- prisonefs r\e, As sudden, swung aloft in uir, H< fi < the hloodv mace on high ! But not for him to plead in fear No sipn of pity comes to cheer, And, witii on<- ph. nt unwhisper d prayer, I ! yii-hU him up to die. Keen are the eyes that wntrh the blow, Impatient till the blood shall flow, A thousand hearts that gloating glow, In enter cilence hush d : The arm that wields the mace is bending, The instiuni -iM o| death descending, A moment, HIM! die m<>ihil tinks. 6 A moment, and the spirit soar*, The earth his purring life-blood drinks, The spirit tlies to foreign shores: A moment ! and the maiden rush d From the low stone where still affrighted, Scarce dreaming what she sees is true With vision dim, with thoughts benighted. She sate ;is doom d for slaughter too; And stay d the stroke in its descent, While on her childish knee she bent, Flings one iirm o er the captive s brow. Above his forehead lifts her own, Then turns with eye grown tearless now, But full of speech as eye alone Cnn speak to eye and heart in p -ayer For mercy to her father s throne ! Ah ! can she hope for gjercy there 7 XV. And what of him that savage wire? Oh! surely, not in vain she turn* To where his glance of mortal ire, In Hrid lipht of anger hums. A moment leaps he to his feet, When first her sudden form is seen, Across the circle darting fleet, The captive from the stroke to screen. Above his head, with furious whirl, The hatchet gleams in act to fly; But, as he sees the kneeling girl, The pleading glances of her eye. The angel spirit of mercy waves The evil spirit of wnith away, And all accord . err yet she craves Of that her eye alone can pray. Strange is the weakness horn of love, That melts the iron of hi* soul, And lifts him momently above His passions and their dark control ; And he who pity ne er had shown To captive of his bow and spear, By one strong sudden sense has grown To feel that pity mny be dear As venge.-ince to the henrt, when still Love keeps one lurking-place, and grows, Thus prompted by a woman s will, Triumphant o er n thourmd foen. LOVK S TKIl MPH. 123 Twas HS if ml Jen, tourh d by Heaven, The eal that ki-pl tin- rock was riven; As if the waters slumbering deep, Evon from the very birth of light, Smote by its smile, hnd leurn d to leap, R.-joii-inp to their Maker s sight. How could that stern old king deny The an^el jik-adiiig in her eye? How mock the sweet imploring grace, That breathed in beauty from her face, And to her kneeling action gave A power to soothe, and still subdue, Until, though humble as the slave. To more than queenly sway she grew t Oh ! brief the doubt, O ! short the strife T She wins the captive s forfeit life. She break* hi* bands she bids him go, Her idol, but her country s foe; And dreams not, in that parting hour, The gyves that from hi* limbs she teait, Are light in weight, und frail in power, To those that round her heart she wears. CHAPTER VIII. Nest egg of the Old Dominion. WITH joined hands, Smith and Pocahontas conduct you natu rally to Jamestown, that abandoned nest of the Sire of Eagles. James river is one of the classic regions of the country. We should all of us, once in a life, at least, make it the object of a pilgrimage ! It is full of associations, to say nothing of it as a fine spacious stream, which, when a better spirit and knowledge of farming shall prevail and a denser population shall inhabit its borders, will become a channel of great wealth, and present a throng of quiet beauties to the eye wherever its currents wander. " But the imputation of a sickly climate rests upon James river." " This is due wholly to the sparseness of the settlements, the lack of drainage, the want of proper openings in the woods for the progress of the winds, and to the presence of a cumbrous and always rotting undergrowth. Population will cure all this. It is doing it already. The farming settlements are improving, and the health of the river is said to be improving along with them. You will have pointed out to you, along the route, a number of well-cultivated plantations, some containing four or five thousand acres, which are represented as being among the best man aged and most profitable in the state. With the substitution of farming for staple culture, this progress would be rapid." "But the genius of the Southron, particularly the Virginian, has always inclined more to extensive than to careful cultivation. His aims were always magnificent. He must have large estates. He can not bear to be crowded. Like his cattle, he must get all the range he can ; and, in the extent of his territory, he neg lects its improvement. Indeed, his force that is, his labor was never equal to his estates. The New York farmers have JAMESTOWN. 126 been fanning upon hit* waste domains. Their policy differs from his in i.ne essential particular. They concentrate the energies \\lm-li he ilitVuses. They require but small territory, and they make the most of it. Lands which, in the hands of the Virgin ian, were no longer profitable for tobacco, the New-Yorkers have limed t>r uheat ; and what he sold at a dollar per acre, in many instances will now command seventy-five dollars. The character of the Southron is bold and adventurous. This leads him to prefer the wandering to the stationary life. He needs excite ment, and prefers the varieties and the vicissitudes of the forest, to the tame drudgery of the farmstead. His mission is that of a pioneer. The same farmer who now makes his old fields flour ish in grain, thirty bushels to the acre, would never have set foot in the country, until the brave Virginian had cleared it of its savage inhabitants, the wild beast, and the red man." " James river conducts you to Jamestown. Jamestown and \ugustine are among the oldest landmarks of civilization in Anglo-Norman America. You approach both, if properly minded, with becoming veneration. The site of Jamestown is an island, connected by a bridge with the main. The spot is rather a pleas ing than an imposing one. It was chosen evidently with regard to two objects, .security from invasion by the sea, and yet an easy communication with it when desirable. Here, squat and hidden like a sea-fowl about to lay her eggs, the colony escaped the vigilant eyes and ferocious pursuit of the hungry Spaniard." What a commentary up>n the instability of national power is the fact, that, at this day, this power has no longer the capa city to harm. In the time of Elizabeth, the Spaniard was the world s g i Shark. Now, he is- little better than a skip- j u k in the maw of that Behemoth of the nations, whose sea- ah he ceitainly did something to retard. In the time of Roundhead authority, the Dutch were a sort of corpulent sword- fish of the sea; now y>u may hetter liken them to the great lazy turtle, fat and feeble, whom morn adroit adventurers turn upon their backs to be gratia rel up at leisure. Both of tbete nations may find their revenues, and recover position in ether days, when the powers by which they were overcome shall fall into their errors, and contrive, through sheer blindness, their own emasculation." 126 SOUTHWARD HO ! "Did you ever read Purchas, his Pilgrims? He has a de scription of Jamestown in 1610, written by William Strachey. If you are curious to see it, I have it in my berth, and marked the passage only this morning." Some curiosity being expressed, the book was brought, and the extract read. It may possibly interest others, in this con nection, to see where the first tree was hewn in the New World by the hands of the Anglo-Norman. "A low levell of ground about halfe an acre, or-(so much as Queene Dido might buy of King Hyarbas, which she compassed about with the thongs cut out of one bull s, and therein built her castle of Byrsa) on the North side of the river is cast almost into the forine of a triangle, and so pallazadoed. The South side next the river (howbeit extended in a line, or curtaine six score foote more in lengthe, than the other two by reason of the ad vantages of the ground doth so require), contains one hundred and forty yards : the West and East side a hundred only. At every angle or corner, where the lines meet, a bulwarke or watchtower is raised, and in each bul warke a piece of ordnance or two well mounted. To every side, a proportionate distance from the pallisado, is a settled streetc of houses, that runs along, so as each line of the angle hath his streete. In the midst is a market place, a storehouse and a carps du garde, as likewise a pretty chappelle, though (at this time when we came in) as min ed and unfrequented: but the Lord, Governor and Captaine General! , hath given order for the repairing of it, and at this in stant many hands are about it. It is in lengthe three-score foote, in breadth twenty-four, and shall have a chancell in it of cedar, and a communion table of the blacke walnut and all the pews of cedar, with fair broad windows, to shut and open, as the weather shall occasion : a pulpit of the same wood, with a font hewn hollow like a canoa ; with two bells at the West en$. It is so cast as it be very light within, and the Lord Governor and Captaine Generall doth cause it to be passing sweete and trim med up with divers flowers ; with a sexton belonging to it." "So much for the Church the first English Church, be it remembered, ever raised in America. This should render the description an interesting one. And now something for the uses to which it was put. We see that Strachey found it in a ruinous KARI.V DKVOTION OP VIRGINIA. 127 condition. This was in 1610. You are not to suppose that the ruin of the church arose from the neglect of the worshippers. It was rather the result of the more pressing ini>f<irtunes of the colonist?. Smith was superseded by Lord Delaware in 1609, who brought with him a host of profligate adventurers, some of whom Smith had sent out of the colony, tied neck and heels, as crimi nals. It was an evil augury to him and to the colony that they I brought back. They brought with them faction, confusion, and misery. Insurrection followed the Indians revolted and commenced the work of indiscriminate massacre, and the church and religion necessarily suffered all the disasters which had be fallen society. But, with the restoration of the. church under Delaware, let us see what followed. ( )ur Puritans make a great outcry about their devotions. They are perpetually raising their rams home, perhaps quite as much in the hope of bringing down the walls of their neighbors, as with the passion of religion. ( hir Virginia colonists boast very little of what they did in the way of devotion. Let us hear Strachey still further on this subject : " Kverv Sunday we have sermons twice a day, and every Thursday a sermon having two preachers which take their wekely turnes and every morning at the ringing of a bell, about ten of the clocke, each man addresseth himself to prayers, and so, at four of the clocke before sniper. " Verily, but few of the, guid folk of Virginia or Xew Eng land are so tVerjuent now-a-days at their religious exercises! The mithorities of Virginia set the example : " I udav, when the Lord (Jovernor and Captain Gen crall gocih to church, he is accompanied with all the Cunsail- lors, Captains, other officers, and all the gentlemen, and with a guard of Halberdiers, in his lordship s livery, faire red cloaks, to the number of fifty, both on each side and behind him : and being in the church, his lordship hath his seate in the Q).ier in a green velvet chair, with a cloatli, with a velvet cushion id on a table before him on which he kneeleth, and on each side sit the Counsell, Captains, and officers, each in their place; and when he returneth home again, he is waited on to his house in the same manner. " Something stately, these devotions, but they were those of 128 SOUTHWARD HO ! the times, and of the politician. Religion has a twofold as pect, and concerns society as well as the individual, though not in the snme degree. And this, would you believe it, was just ten years before the Puritans landed at Plymouth. Our Vir ginians were clearly not wholly regardless of those serious per formances which their more youthful neighbors, farther East. claim pretty much to have monopolized. But to return. It may interest many readers to see what Strachey further says of the ancient city of Jamestown. " The houses first raised were all burnt, by a casualty of fire, the beginning of the second year of their siat [settlement] and in the second voyage of Captain Newport ; which have been bet ter rebuilted, though as yet in no great uniformity, either for the fashion or the beauty of the streete. A delicate wrought fine- kind of mat the fiuf&MJ make, with which (as they can be trucked for, or snatched up*) our people so dress their chambers and inward rooms, which make their homes so much the more handsome. The houses have large and wide country chimnies in the which is to be supposed (in such plenty of wood) what fires are maintained ; and they have found the way to cover their houses, now (as the Indians), with harkes of trees, as du rable and good proofs against stormes and winter weather as the best tyle, defending likewise the piercing sunbeams of summer and keeping the inner lodgings coole enough which before would be in sultry weather like stoves, whilst they were, as at first, pargetted and plaistered with bitumen or tough clay ; and thus armed for the injury of changing times, and seasons of the the year, we hold ourselves well apaid, though wanting array *This matching up bothered us in the cnse of a people so devout in their attendance upon church, hut, turning to the Journal of the Plymouth Pilgrims (Cheever s) we found at their vi-ry f r<t entrance upon Indian hind a similar case of snatching up, which proves the practice to have heen no ways improper, even if not exactly religious. At page 34, we read, that our heloved Pilgrim*, found where the " naked salvage*" had put away a hasket of corne, four or five bushels. " \Ve were in suspi-u.se \\hat to do with it," says our simple chroni cler, but the long and short of the suspense and consultation resulted in their taking off the commodity ir. other words, " snatching up," which they did, with the. avowed determination if they ever met with the owner to satisfy him for his grain. Our Virginian*, I fancy, did their snatching precisely on HIP ^nm^ term* CONVERSION OF POCAHONTAS. 129 hangings, tapestry, and guilded Venetian cordovan, or more spruce household garniture, and wanton city ornaments, remem bering the old Epigraph " We dwelt not here to build us Barnes Ami Hulls for pleasure and pood cheer, But Hulls we Iniilil (or UH nml ours To dwell in them while we live here. 11 The Puritans could not have expressed themselves more de voutly. Here are texts to stimulate into eloquence a thousand annual self-applausive orators, for a thousand years to come. That this was the prevailing spirit of those who gave tone to the colony, and not the. sentiments of a single individual, hear fur ther ot the manner in which that most excellent ruler, the Lord Delaware, first made his approaches to the colony. This, he H remembered, was in 1(110, ten years liet ore the Plymouth pil grims brought religion to the benighted West : " Upon his lordship s landing, at the south gate of the Palle- sado (which looks into the river) our governor caused his com pany to stand in order and make a guard. It pleased him that I (William Strachey) should bear his colours for that time: Hi-* lordship landing, fell upon his knees, and before us all made a long and silent prayer to himself, and alter marching up into the town : when at the gate. 1 bowed with the colours and let them fall at his Lordship s feet, who paed into the chapelle, when- he heard a sermon by Master Bucke, our Governor s preacher. &C. "To pray to himself, perhaps, was not altogether in the spirit of that very intense religion which some portions of our countrv so love to culogi/e ; but methinks it was not bad for our Virginia (lovrrnor. whom their better neighbours were wont to suppose ne\er prayed at all. Hut they worked, too, as well as praye*!. these rollicking Virginians: and their works survive them. The conversion of IWalnmtas the possession of that bright creature of a wild humanity has been long since envied to Virginia by all the other colonies. Take the account of her conversion from a letter of Sir Thomas Dale : " Powhat.ufs daughter 1 caused to be carefully instructed in the Chr atian religion, who after she had made some good progresse therein, renounced publickly her Country s Idolatry 130 SOUTHWARD HO ! openly confessed her Christian Faith, was, as she desired, bap tized, and is since married to an English Gentleman of good un derstanding as by his letter unto me, containing the reasons of his marriage unto her, you may perceive. Another knot to bind the knot the stronger. Her father and friends gave appro bation of it, and her uncle gave her to him in the Church : she lives civilly and lovingly with him, and I trust will increase in goodnesse as the knowledge of God increaseth in her. She will goe into England with mee, and were it but the gaining of this one such, I will think my time, toile, and present stay, well spent " Enough of our old chronicler for a single sitting. I trust the taste will lead to further readings : too little is really known of our early histories. We gather the leading facts, perhaps, from the miserable abridgments that flood the country, and too frequently pervert the truth ; but, at best, the tone, the spirit of the history is sadly lacking. We want books which shall not only see the doings of our fathers, but trace and appreciate their sympathies and feelings also. But the bell rings for sup per, and the captain signalizes us with an especial leer and wave of the hand. With you in a moment, Senor, as soon as I have laid old Purchas on his pillow." CHAPTER IX. "To erve bravely is to rome linking off you know." If run/ IV " ONE lingers thoughtfully among the ruins of Jamestown. It 18, of cour.-e, the mere fife which will now interest you in its con templation. There is little or nothing to be seen. It is the as- ociation only, the genius loci, that offers provocation to the con templative spirit. You behold nothing but an empty and l"iiL r - abandoned nest ; but it is the nest of one of those maternal birds whose prolific nature has filled the nations. The ruins which remain of Jamestou n consist only of a single tower of the old church. In the dense coppice near it. you set 1 the ancient piles which cover the early dead of the settlement. The towe.r is a somewhat picturesque object by itself, though it depends for its charm chiefly <>n its historical associations. It is enough of the ruin for the romantic, and, seen by moonlight, the arches and the " rents of ruin," through which i\y and lichen, shrub and creeper, make their appearance, are objects which fancv will find precious to those even who never turn the pages of our musty chronicles, and hear nothing of the mournful whispers of the past. What stores of tradition, wild song and wilder story, are yet t<> be turned up with the soil of this neighborhood, or laid bare in the search among the ruins of this ancient tow er. Could it only speak, what a fascinating hist.r\ \\.-uld it reveal. What gioiiOM traditions ought to in\e>t the locality. What memories are awakened by iN simple ineiitii.n. What pictures ! not paint to the fancy and the thought !" Talking of traditions of the Old Dominion, I am reminded <>l" one which was told me manv \r.n- Ago bv a fellow tra\eller, as we pursued our ^ ay up James river. He insisted that there were go ( d authorities tor the str\ \\hich I had ra.-hlv imputed to his own invention. He was >ne of th>r peraOOi who never 132 SOUTHWARD HO! scruple at a manufacture of their own, when the tiling wanted is not exactly ready to their hands, and I dare not answer for the chronicle." " Let us have it by all means." The ladies seconded the entreaty, and our fellow-voyager began. " You are aware," said he, " that in the early settlement of Virginia, as perhaps in the case of all colonists in a new coun try, there is always at first a lamentable dearth of women. The pioneers were greatly at a loss what to do for wives and house keepers. Nothing could be more distressing." "As Campbell sings it, of a more select region " Thr world WHS sad, the garden was a wild, And mini tin- hfimit sighed till woman smiled. " " Precisely ! Our Virginians felt particularly lonesome along the wildernesses of James river, as is the case even now with our Californians along the Sacramento and other golden waters." " Nay, they are much more charitable now. The gold re gions are not so barren of beauty as you think. This may be owing to the greater safety of the enterprise. In 1600 a young woman incurred some peril of losing a scalp while seeking a swain in the territories of that fierce Don of Potomacke, Pow- hatan." " The danger certainly was of a sort to demand consideration. It \vas one which the old girls might be permitted to meditate almost as cautiously as the young ones. At all events, our guid folk in the Old Dominion felt the need of a supply, the demand being n<> les> earnest than pressing. Thev commissioned their friends and agents in England to supply tln-ir wants with all despatch, making the required qualifications as moderate and few as possible, the better to insure the probability of being pro vided. The proprietaries, alter a solemn counsel together, ar rived at the conclusion that the requisition was by no means an unreasonable one ; a conclusion to which they arrived more readily from the great interest which their own wives respect ively took in tin- discussion. Efforts were accordingly made for meeting the wishes o: the colonists. Advertisements, which, it is said, are still to he found in the news organs of the day were put forth in London and elsewhere, announcing the nature of the demand and soliciting the supply. Much, of course, was WIVES WANTED. 133 said in tavor of the beauty and resources of the country in which the\ ;>ected to seek a home. Much ulso was urged in behalf of the individual settlers, whose demands were most ur gent. They were of good health and body, very able and dil igent, men of moral and muscle, very capable of maintaining church and state, and contributing in a thousand ways to the growth and pood of both. I ertain of them were especially 4cxibed with names given, not omitting sundry cogent particu lars in resju-ct tn their moneyed means, employments, and general worhlly condition. In brief, aide-bodied, \vell-limhed and well- visaged young women, were assured of finding themselves well matched and honorably housed within the sylvan paradise of 1 owhatan, as soon as they should arrive. The ad\ ei tisements prudently forbore to insist upon any special certificates SO necessary when housemaids are to be chosen -of character and manners. A small bounty, indeed, was offered with outfit and free passage. " The appeal to the gentle hearts and Christian charities of the sex, was not made in vain. A goodly number soon offered themselves for the adventure, most of whom were supposed likely to meet the wishes of the hungry colonists. The standards u -re not overly high the commissioners, appreciating the sell-sacri ficing spirit which governed the damsel were not disposed to \acting. Then- were some of the damsels of much and decided gn.wth -Mine were distinguished more by size than sweeti others again might though they modestly forebore to do so -this is the one failing of the sex boast of their ripe antiquity ; none of them were remarkable tor tln-ir beauty, but as ail parties agn-ed to e\;de this (,.pic for reasons no doubt good enough in those days We \siil not make it a subject of discussion in ours. There was one onlv. among t . about whom the ( mmisMon.-is came to a dead pause an absolute halt and finally to a grave renewal of their deliberations. I; ; i.-;. thus in danger of rejection, wns comely enough to tiir ling to the standards adopted in the general ognitioii ,,i applicants. She was fair enough, and strong rnough. and there could be no doubt that she was quite old enough, but there was not quite enough of her. " She was minu.* a leg ! 134 SOUTHWARD HO! " Was this a disqualification or not ? That was the difficult , question. When first presenting herself, it was observed that she had advanced a foot. The foot was a good one a foot of size and character, and the log which accompanied it, and of which more was exhibited than was absolutely necessary tc the examination, was admitted to be an unobjectionable leg. But somehow, one of the commissioners begged leave to see the other. This literally occasioned a halt. In place of the required mem ber, she thrust forward a stick of English oak, which might have served to splice the bowsprit of a Baltimore clipper. " There was a sensation a decided sensation. The commis sioners were taken all aback. They hemmed and hawed. A consideration of the peculiar case was necessary. " My good woman, quoth one of the commissioners, who served as spokesman. You have but one leg. " You see, your honor. But it s sure I shall be less apt to run away from the guid man. " True ; but whether that consideration will be sufficient to reconcile him to the deficiency. " Why not ? answered the fair suitor, seeing that I am n woman for all that. " But you are not a perfect woman. " Will your honor be so good as to mention if you ever did meet with a perfect woman . " This was a poser. The commissioners were men of expe rience. They had seen something of the world. They were all women s men. The woman was too much for them. They went again into consultation. The question was a serious one. Could a woman be & complete woman a perfect one was not now the question who had but a single leg? The subject of discussion was reduced to this : what are the requisites of a wife * in Virginia ? The result was, that they resolved to let the woman go, and take her chance. They could not resist a will so determined. They were naturally dubious whether any >f tlie sturdy adventurers in the realm of Powhatan would be alto gether willing to splice with a lame damsel not particularly charming, or attractive in any respect: but women for such an xjiedition were not in excess. The demand from James river for wives was exceedingly urgent ; the woman s frankness pleased THE L\ME DUCK. 185 the commissioners, ami her confidence of success finally encour aged them with a similar hope *>n her behalf. They gave her the necessary funds ami certificate, partially persuaded that \ in >t;ttf, \\ h . <:,-.[ r.ni find sonn- i;:indiT fur li-r mate. And the cripple went on her way swimmingly." - And the event ?" Justified the faith of the legless damsel in the bounty of IV .N idenee. Very great was the rejoicing in James river, when the stout vessel wearing Knglish colors was seen pressing up the stream. They knew what they had to expect, and each va- eager fr hi< prize. The stout yeomanry of Jamestown turned out *// n-h in his best costume and behavior; and as each had yet to make his choice, and a-, a wife is always, more or less, the subject of some choice, each was anxious to get on board the ship in advance of his comrades. Never wa< there sneli a scramble. Wives rose in demand and value; ami but little time was consumed in seeing the parties paired, and, two by two. returning from the vessel to the shore. HOW proudly they departed our brave adventurers, each with his pretty commodity tucked under his arm ! The supply fell short of the demand. There were se\ eral who retired with sad hearts, and h.uely as they came. All were snatched up except our lame girl ; but she was not the person to despair. She put on her sweetest smiles, as the unsnpplied seekers circled about her. They had no objection to her face. Her smiles were suf ficiently attractive ; but that leg of Knglish oak, which she in vain strove to pucker up under her petticoats. The truth had leaked .ut ; and it was no go. Though grievously in want of the furniture so necessary to a warm household, it was rather too much to require our u ell-shaped and dashing Virginians to couple with a damsel of but one leg; and after circling her with wobegom- visages, half-doubting what to do, they at length dis- apj" 1 V -lie. resolved to await a new ship, and a bride of adequate members. The prospect for our lame duck became rather unpromising; but Fortune, amid all her blindnesses and caprice-;, is usually governed by a certain sense .f propriety and fitness. It so happened that there was a cobbler in the colony. whose trade had been chosen with reference to the painful fact 136 SOUTHWARD H<>! that he had no leg at all. He, poor fellow, needing a wife as much as any of the rest, had but little hope of having his wants supplied by the present consignment. It was doubtful whether he could have ventured to hope under any circumstances still more absurd to hope when the supply was small, the seek ers many, and all in the market before himself. And when he saw those returning who had failed to secure companions, he naturally gave up all notion, if he had ever dared to entertain any, of gratifying his domestic ambition. But as these disap pointed adventurers crossed him on their return, and saw the wistful eyes which he cast upon the vessel, they bade him deri sively go and seek his fortune. " Now s your chance, old fellow! He soon gathered the intelligence, and at first his soul revolted at the idea of coupling with a lame woman. " A woman, said he to himself, gains enough when she gets a husband. She ought to be finished at the least. Nothing should be wanting. " But a moment s reflection made him more indulgent. He seized his cratches and made toward the vessel. Then he be thought himself again and made toward his cabin. But the tempter prevailed, and he hobbled slowly forward. With help he was at length brought into the vessel and the presence of the waiting spinster. " She had been long enough on the anxious benches. They had been a sort of torture to her patience as well as her hope. " Why/ said he as if only now apprized of her deficiency you ve got but one leg. " And you ve got none, she answered pertly. "This threw him into u cold sweat. He now feared that he should lost- his prize. What of that ? said he better a lame donkey than no hi>r>-. 1- it a match I I m for you. "It was now her time to demur. She walked all round him, he wheeling about the while with the, utmost possible effort, to show how agile, he could he, legless or not. The man was good- looking enough, minus his pins; and after a painful pause to one of the parties at least she, gave him her hand. " The cobbler s rapture was complete. A chair was slung down the ship s side. Scarcely had this been done wher MAT HKl> Afl WKLL AS PAIRED. 137 one of the former seekers reappeared. He was now willing to take the lame damsel; but our cobbler suffered no time for de liberation. He did not dare exercise any foolish generosity in leaving it to her t<> choose between the two. " His choler was roused. It was hit betrothed to whom the wooer came, and, with a tremendous flourish of one of his crutches our cripple made at the intruder. This demonstration was sufficient. !! wa> allowed to retain liis prize. The can didate hurried off, cooling his thirst with whatever philosophy lie could muster. When the bridal took place, many were the jests at the expense of mir cripple coujile. Kven the priest who united them was not unwilling to share in the humor of the scene, making puns upon the occasion, Mich a- have been cheap ened .somewhat liy a too frequent circulation. " 1 know not, good people, 1 he said, whether you can prop erly contract marriage, seeing that you both lack sufficient understanding. " No man should marry with a woman, said one of the spec- 1 wh- teaches the utter ii.-ele-Mie-s of his own vocation. " And why they .should he married under a Christian dis pensation. 1 can not -er, AJ the comment of a third, set-ing that neither of them are prepared to give proper heed to their " It will be a marriage to hind, .said a fourth, seeing that neither can \\ell run away from the other. 8 \\"ii t trouble him long, said he who had come a moment too late, she has already one foot in the gra\e. "The crutch of the cripple \\ a- again uplifted. " Tar-on, .-aid he. make u- fast, please, as 8OOI1 E8 pO681- hle. 1 leckou, if there s hut "lie leg between us, there s no law agin our children having a full complement. " Whereat the betrothed hlu.shed prettily, and the ceremony proceeded." Our companion s narrative might be all true, for what we know. It.s elements were all probable enough. But tin- -try rather whet than pacified the appetite ; other legends were called for, and the following legend of Venice, founded also OB history, succeeded to that of the Virginian. 138 SOUTHWARD HO ! THE BRIDE OF FATE. CHAPTER I. IT was a glad day in Venice. The eve of the Feast of the Pnrification had arrived, and all those maidens of the Republic, whose names had been written in the " Book of Gold," were assembled with their parents, their friends and lovers a beau tiful and joyous crowd repairing, in the gondolas provided by the Republic, to the church of San Pietro di Castella, at Olivolo, which was the roidence of the patriarch. This place was on the extreme verge of the city, a beautiful and isolated spot, its pre cincts almost without inhabitants, a ghostly and small priesthood excepted, whose grave habits and taciturn seclusion seemed to lend an additional aspect of solitude to the neighborhood. It was, indeed, a solitary and sad-seeming region, which to the thoughtless and unmeditattve, might be absolutely gloomy. But it was not the less lovely as a place suited equally for the pic turesque and the thoughtful ; and, just now, it was very far from gloomy or solitary. The event which was in hand was decreed to enliven it in especial degree, and in its consequences, to im press its characteristics on the memory for long generations after. It was the day of St. Mary s Eve a day set aside from imme morial time for a great and peculiar festival. All, accordingly, was life and joy in the sea republic. The marriages of a goodly company of the high-born, the young and the beautiful, \\ere t<> be cdel rated on this occasion, and in public, according to the custom. Headed by the doge himself, Pietro Candiano, the city M-nt f>ith its thousands. The ornamented gondolas plied hu-!ly fniiii an dcrly hour in the morning, from the city to Oli volo ; and there, amidst music and merry <rratuIatioiiR of friends and kindred, the lovers disembarked. They were all clad in their richest array. Silks, which caught their colors from the rainbow, and jewels that had inherited, even in their caverns, their beauti- s from the Mm and -tars, met the eye in all direc tions. Wealth had put on all its riches, and beauty, always modest, was not satisfied with her intrinsic loveliness. All that conl l delight the eye. in personal decorations and nuptial orna ments, was displayed to the eager gaze of curiosity, and, for a Tin: HKART S SACRIFICE. 139 moment, the treasures of the city were transplanted to the soli t lde and waste. But gorgeous and grand as was the spectacle, and joyous as was the crowd, there were some at the festival, some young, throbbing hearts. wh<>, though deeply interested in its proceed ings, felt anything hut gladness. While most of the betrothed thrilled only with rapturous anticipations that might have hem counted in the strong pulsations that made the bosom heave rap idly beneath the close pressure of the virgin zone, there were yet others, who felt only that sad sinking of the heart which de clares nothing but its hopeh nd desolation. There were victims to he sacrificed as well as virgins to he made happv, and girdled in by thousands of the brave and goodly by golden images and flaunting banners, and speaking symbols by music and by smiles there were more hearts than one that longed to escape from all, to fly away to some far solitude, where the voices of such a joy as was now present could vex the defrauded soul no more. As the fair procession moved onward and up through the gorgeous avenues of the cathedral to the altar-place, where stood the venerable patriarch in waiting for their coming, in order to begin the solemn but grateful rites, you might have marked, in the crowding groups, the face of one meek damsel, which declared a heart very far removed from hope or joyful tation. I, that tearful eye is that pallid cheek that lip, now so tremulously convulsed are these proper to one going to a bridal, and that her own? Where is her anticipated joy . It is not in that despairing vacancy of face not in that feeble, faltering, almost fainting footstep not. certainly, in any thing that we behold about the maiden, unless we seek it in the rich and flaming jewels with which -he is decorated and almost laden down ; and these no more declare for her emotions than the roses which encircle the neck of the white lamb, as it is led to the altar and the priest. The late of the two is not unlike, and so also is their character. Francesca Ziani is decreed for a sacrifice. She was one of those sweet and winning, but feeble spirits, which know how to subn.it only. She has no powers of resistance. She know, that she is a victim ; she feels that her heart has been wronged even to the death, by the duty to which it is now commanded ; -he feels that it is thu> made the cruel 140 SOUTHWARD HO ! Imt unwilling instrument for doing a mortal wrong to the heart of another ; hut she lacks the courage to refuse, to resist, to die rather than submit. Her nature only teaches her submission ; and this is the language of the wo-begone, despairing glance, but one which she bestows, in passing up the aisle, upon one who stands beside a column, close to her progress, in whose countenance she perceives a fearful struggle, marking equally his indignation and his grief. Giovanni Gradenigo was one of the noblest cavaliers of Ven ice but nobleness, as we know, is not always, perhaps not often, the credential in behalf of him who seeks a maiden from her pa rents. He certainly was not the choice of Francesca s sire. The poor girl was doomed to the embraces of one Ulric Barberigo, a man totally destitute of all nobility, that alone excepted which belonged to wealth. This shone in the eyes of Francesca s parents, but failed utterly to attract her own. She saw, through the heart s simple, unsophisticated medium, the person of Giovanni Gradenigo only. Her sighs were given to him, her loathings to the other. Though meek and finally submissive, she did not yield without a remonstrance, without mingled tears and entreat ies, which were found unavailing. The ally of a young damsel is naturally her mother, and when she fails her, her best human hope is lost. Alas ! for the poor Francesca ! It was her moth er s weakness, blinded by the wealth of Ulric Barberigo, that rendered the father s will so stubborn. It was the erring mother that wilfully beheld hor daughter led to the sacrifice, giving no heed to the heart which was breaking, even beneath its heavy weight of jewels. How completely that mournful and despond ing, that entreating and appealing glance to her indignant lover, told her wretched history. There he stood, stern as well as sad, leaning, afl if for support, upon the arm of his kinsman, Nicolo Malapieri. 11 and in utter despair, he thus lin gered, as if under a strange and fearful fascination, watching the progress of the proceedings which were striking fatally, with every movement, upon the sources of his own hope and happiness. His resolution rose with his desperation, and he sud denly shook himself tree from his friend. " I will not bear this, Nicolo," he exclaimed, " I must not suf fer it without another effort, though it be the last." THE REJECTED LOVER. "What would you do, Giovanni." demanded Ms kinsman, praspinp him hy the wrist a* he spoke, and arresting his move ment. "Shall I see her thus sacrificed delivered to misery and the pravr \ :! they shall not so lord it over true affections to their loss and mine. France .- -a u,i- mine is mine even now, in the very sight of Heaven. How often hath she vowed it ! Her glance avows it now. My lips shall as boldly declare it again ; and as 1 1 raven has heard our vows, the. church shall hear them. The patriarch shall hear. Hearts must not he wronged Heaven must not thus he defrauded. That selfish, vain woman, her mother that mercenary monster, miscalled her father have no hetter rights than mine none half so pood. They shall hear me. Stand by me, Nieolo. while 1 >peak !" This was the lan^uajre of a passion, which, howe\er true, was equally unmeasured and impnident. The friend of the unhappy lover would have held him hack. It is all in vain, Giovanni ! Think ! my friend, you can do nothing now. It is too late; nor is there any power to prevent this consummation. Their names have hern hnjr since written in the Hook of Cold. and the doge himself may not alter the destii "The Hook MJ Cold 1 " exclaimed the other. " Ay, the Bride of (.old! hut \\e shall >ee|" Ami he arain started forward. Hi- kinsman rlunjr to him. I H-U.T that \v e Irave thi< place, ( iiovanni. It was wrong that you should come. 1.,-t us ^o. Yui will only commit si, me folly to remain." \v ! it is f,,lly to lie wn-jj-r.l. and to Mihinit to it. I know ft.lly to liave telt and still to feel ! folly. Mirely. to di-royer. and to live atier the discovery, that the very crown that made life precius i.s h.vt to you f,, r ,-\ei- ! What master if I should com. mit this folly ! Well, indeed, if they who laujrh at the fool, taste none of the wrath that they provoke." " This is -heei- madness, ( Jiovanni." " Rrleasr me. Nicol.i." Tlie kinsman ui^ed in vain. Thr dialogue, which wascanied on in \iin\c t ;.!>, uo\\ rnioired by animated action, bi-^an to attract attention. The procrv S i.n waw moving forward. The 142 SOUTHWARD HO ! deep anthem began to swell, and Giovanni, wrought to the high est pitch of frenzy by the progress of events, and by the opposi tion of Nicolo, now broke away from all restraint, and hurried through the crowd. The circle, dense and deep, had already gathered closely about the altar-place, to behold the ceremony. The desperate youth made his way through it. The crowd gave way at his approach, and under the decisive pressure of his person. They knew his mournful history for when does the history of love s denial and defeat fail to find its way to the world s curious hearing I Giovanni was beloved in Venice. . Such a history as his and Francesca s was sure to beget sympathy, particularly with all those who could find no rich lovers for them selves or daughters, such as Ulric Barberigo. The fate of the youthful lovers drew all eyes upon the two. A tearful inter* -t in the event began to pervade the assembly, and Giovanni really found no such difficulty as would have attended the efforts <>f any i it her person to approach the sacred centre of the bridal circle. He made his way directly for the spot where Franc M-a stood. She frit his approach and presence by the most natural instincts, though without ever daring to lift her eye to his person. A more deadly paleness than ever came over her, and as she heard the first sounds of his voice, she faltered and grasped a column for support. The patriarch, startled by the sounds of confusion, rose from the sacred cushions; and spread his hands over thr assembly for silence; but as yet he failed to conceive the occasion for commotion. Meanwhile, the parents and rela tives of Francesca had gathered around her person, as if to guard her from an enemy. I lric Barberigo, the millionaire, put on the aspect of a man whose word was law on change. He, too, had bis retainers, all looking daggers, at the intruder. Fortunately for Giovanni, they were permitted to wear none at these peace ful ceremonials. Their looks of wrath did not discourage the approach of our lover. He did not seem, indeed, to see them, but gently putting them by, lie drew near to the scarcely con scious maiden. He lifted the almost lifeless hand from her side, and pressing it within both his own, a proceeding which her mother vainly endeavored to prevent, he addn-ssed the maiden with all that irnpressiveriess of tone which declares a stifled but SCENE AT THK ALTAR. 143 still present and passionate emotion in the heart. His words were of a touching sorrow. "And is it thus, my Franccsca, that I must look upon thee for the last time . Henceforth, are we to be dead to one an other? Is it thus that I am to hear that, forgetful of thy virgin vows to Gradenigo, thou art lie re calling Heaven to witness that thou givest thyself and affections to another?" " Not willingly, O I not willingly, Giovanni, as I live ! I have not forgotten alas! I can not forget that I have once vowed myself to thee. Hut I pray thee to forget, Giovanni. Forget me and forgive forgive !" Oh! how mournfully was this ivspoiis*- delivered. There was a -lead silence throughout the assemMy ; a silence which inij" a similar restraint even upon the parenN of the maiden, who had shown a desire to arrest the speaker. They had appealed to the patriarch ; but the venerable man was wise enough to per ceive that this was the last open expression of a passion which must have its utterance in some form, and if not this, must result in greater mischief. His decision tacitly sanctioned the inter view as we have witnessed it. It was with increased faltering, which to the bystanders seemed almost fainting, that the un- happv France-sea thus responded to her lover. Her words were little more than whispers, and his tones, though deep. were very low and subdued, as if spoken while the teeth were shut. There was that in the scene which brought forward the crowd in breathless anxiety to hear, and the proud heart of the damsel s mother revolted at an exhibition in which her position was by no means a grateful one. She would have wiv-ted, even by vio lence, tin- hand of her daughter from the grasp ,,f Giovanni ; but he retained it firmly, the maiden herself being scarcely conscious that he did UK Hi- e\ | \\ ftfl - ernly fixed upon the mother, as he drew Franceses toward himself. His words followed his looks : Have y<>n not enough triumphed, lady, in thus bringing about your cruel purpox,-, to the sacrifice of two hearts your child s no less than mine I Mine was nothing to you but i what had she done that you should trample upon hers? This hast thou done! Thou hast triumphed! What woiildst thou more? Must -he be denied the mournful privilege of saying her last parting with him to whom she vowed herself, ere she 144 SOUTHWARD HO ! herself to another! For shame, lady; this is a twofold and needles> tyranny " As he spoke, the more gentle and sympathizing spirits around looked upon the .stern mother with faces of the keenest rebuke and indignation. Giovanni once more addressed himself to the maiden. "And if you do not love this man, my Francesca, why IB it that you so weakly yield to his solicitings 1 Why submit to this sacrifice at any instance ? Have they strength to subdue thee ? has he the art to ensnare thee ? canst thou not declare thy affections with a will ? What magic is it that they employ which is thus superior to that of love? and what is thy right if heedless of the affections of ///// heart to demand the sac rifice of mine 1 Thou hadst it in thy keeping, Francesca, as I fondly fancied I had thine!" Thou hadst thou hadst! " " Francesca, my child!" was the expostulating exclamation of the mother ; but it failed, except for a single instant, to arrest the passionate answer of the maiden. "Hear me, and pity, Giovanni, if you may not forgive! Blame me for my infirmity for the wretched weakness which has brought me to this defeat of thy heart this desolation of mine but do not doubt that I have loved thee that I shall ever " " Stay !" commanded the imperious father. "What is it thou wouldst say, Francesca 1 Beware!" was the stern language of the mother. The poor girl shrunk back in trembling. The brief impulse of courage which the address of her lover, and the evident sym pathy of the croud, had imparted, was gone as suddenly as it came. She had no more strength for the struggle ; and as she snnk back ner\ eles.s, and closed her eyes as if fainting under the terrible glance of both her parents, Giovanni dropped her hand from his grasp. It now lay lifeless at her side, and she was sustained from falling by some of her sympathizing companions The eyes of the youth were bent upon her with a last look. "It is all over, then," he exclaimed. "Thy hope, unhappy maiden, like mine, must peri-h because of thy weakness. Yet there will be bitter memories for this," he exclaimed and his SEPARATION. 145 eye nov sought the mother " hitter, hitter memories ! Fran- cesca, farewell ! He happy if thou canst !" She rushed toward him as lie moved away, recovering all her strength for this one etVort. A single and hroken sentence " Forgive me, ( ) forgive !" aped her lips, as she sunk seuse- 1 - upon the floor. He would have raised her, hnt they did not suffer him. 41 Is this not enough, Giovanni ?" said his friend, reproachfully. * Seest thou not that thy presence but distracts her ?" " Thou art right, Nicolo ; let us go. I am myself choking undo ;ne thU collar! There ! Let us depart." The organ rolled its anthem a thousand voices joined in the hymn to the Virgin, and as the sweet but painful sounds rushed to the senses of the youth, he darted through the crowd. closely followed by his friend. The music seemed to pursue him v.ith mockery. He rushed headlong from the temple, as if seeking escape from some suffocating atmosphere in the pure breezes of heaven, and hurried forward with confused and purposeless footsteps. The moment of his disappearance was marked by !he partial recovery of Francesca. She unclosed her , raised her head, and looked wildly around her. Her lips once more murmured his name. 11 Giovanni !" " He is gone," was the sympathizing answer from more than one lip in tl.c assembly ; and once more she relapsed into un consciousness. CHAPTER II. Giovanni Gradeuigo was scarcely more conscious than the maiden whom he left. He needed all the guidance of his friend. Whither ?" asked Nicolo Malapien-. "What matter! where thou wilt!" was the reply. 1 r the city, thru;" and his friend conducted him to .ola which was appointed to await them. In the pro foundest silence they glided toward the city. The gondola btupped before the dwelling f Nirlo, and he, taking the arm of the sullen and absent (iinvanni within his own, ascended the marble steps, and was ab .nt t> enter, when a shrill voice chal lenged their attention I y naming Giovanni. 7 146 SOUTHWARD nn 1 " How now, signor," said the stranger. " Is it thou ? Where- Ibre hast thou left Olivolo ? Why didst thou not wait tht bridal ?" The speaker was a strange, dark-looking woman, in coarse woollen garments. She hobbled as she walked, assisted by a heavy staff, and seemed to suffer equally from lameness and from age. Her thin depressed lips, that ever sunk as she spoke into the cavity of her mouth, which, in the process of time, had been denuded of nearly all its teeth ; her yellow wrinkled visage, and thin gray hairs, that escaped from the close black cap which covered her head, declared the presence of very great age. But her eye shone still with something even more lively and oppressive than a youthful fire. It had a sor of spiritual intensity. Nothing, indeed, could have been mon brilliant, or, seemingly, more unnatural. But hers was a nature of which we may not judge by common laws. She was no com mon woman, and her whole life was characterized by mystery. She was known in Venice as the "Spanish Gipsy; * was sup posed to be secretly a Jewess, and had only escaped from hehij. punished as a sorceress by her profound and most exemplary public devotions. But she was known, nevertheless, as an en cliantress, a magician, a prophetess ; and her palmistry, her magic, her symbols, signs and talismans, were all held in great repute by the superstitious and the youthful of the ocean city Giovanni Gradenigo himself, obeying the popular custom, had consulted her ; and now, as he heard her voice, he raised his eyes, and started forward with the impulse of one who sud denly darts from under the griding knife of the assassin. Before Nicolo could interfere, he had leaped down the steps, and darted to the quay from which the old woman was about to step into a gondola. She awaited his coming with a smile of peculiar meaning, as she repeated her inquiry : " Why are not you at Olivolo ?" -He answered the question by another, grasping her wrist vio lently as he spoke. "Did you not promise that she should wed with me that nho should be mine mine only?" " Well," she answered calmly, without struggling or seeking to extricate her arm from the strong hold which he had upon it. THK AUGURY AND WARNING. 147 " Well ! and even now the rites are in progress which bind her to Ulric Barberigo!" " She will never wed Ulric Barberigo," was the quiet answer. Why left you Olivolo 1" she continued. "Could I remain and look upon these hated nuptials? could I be patient ami see her driven like a sheep to the sacrifice? I fled from the spectacle, as if the knife of the butcher were already in my own heart." " You were wrong ; but the fates have spoken, and their de crees are unchangeable. I tell you I have seen your bridal with Francesca Ziani. No I lrio weds that maiden. She is re served for you alone. You alone will interchange with her tho final vows before the man of God. But hasten, that this may find early consummation. I have seen other things! Hasten but hasten not alone, nor without your armor ! A sudden and terri- l.lc danger hangs over San Pietro di Castella, and all within its unlks. Gather your friends, gather your retainers. Put on the weapons of war and fly thither with all your speed. I see a ter rible vision, even now, of blood and struggle ! I behold terrors that frighten even me ! Your friend is a man of arms. Let your war-galleys be put forth, and bid them steer for the I. a gune of Caorlo. There will you win France-i-a, and thenceforth shall you wear her you only so long as it may be allowed you to wear any human joy !" Her voice, look, manner, sudden energy, and the wild fire of her eyes, awakened Giovanni to his fulle>t consriousnes>. His friend dew nigh they would have conferred together, but the woman interrupted them. Y u would deliberate," said she, "but you have no time ! What is to be done must be d<>ne quickly. It seems wild to you, and strange, and idle, what I tell you, hut it i> neverthe- 1> fnie ; and if you heed me not now hitter will lie your re pentance hereafter. You, Giovanni, will depart at least. Heed not v () ur friend he is ton cold to he successful. He will always be safe, and do well, hut he will do nothing further. Away ! if you can but gather a do/.en friends and man a single galley, you will be in season. But the time is short. I hear a fearful cry the cry of women and the feeble shriek of Francesca Ziani u ;aong the voices of those who wail with a new terror ! I see 148 -MI TH WARD Ho \ their struggling forms, and floating garments, and dishevelled hair ! Fly, young men, lest the names of those whom Venice has written in her Book of Gold shall henceforth be written in a Book of Blood." The reputation of the Rybil was too great in Venice to allow her wild predictions to be laughed at. Besides, our young Ve netians Nicolo no less than Giovanni in spite of what tin- woman had spoken touching his lack of enthusiasm were both aroused and eagerly excited by her speech. Her person dilated as she spoke ; her voice seemed to come up from a feur- ful depth, and went thrillingly deep into the souls of the hear ers. They were carried from their feet by her predictions. They prepared to obey her counsels. Soon had they gathered their friends together, enough to man three of the fastest galleys of the city. Their prows were turned at once toward the Lagune of Caorlo, whither the woman had directed them. She, mean while, had disappeared, but the course of her gondola lay fo: Olivolo. CHAPTER III. IT will be necessary that we should go back in our narrative but a single week before the occurrence of these events. Let us penetrate the dim and lonesome abode on the confines of the "Jewish Quarter," but not within it, where the " Spanish (ijs\ delivered her predictions. It is midnight, and still she sits ovei her incantations. There are vessels of uncouth shape and un known character before her. Huge braziers lie convenient, on one of which, amid a few coals, a r eeble flame may lie seen t. struggle. The atmosphere is impregnated with a strong bu; not ungrateful perfume, and through its vapors objects appear with some indistinctness. A circular plate of brass or copper it could not well be any more precious metal rests beneath the eye and finger of the woman. It is covered with strange and mystic rharacte.rs, which she seoms busily to explore, as if they had a real significance to her mind. She evidently united the. highest departments of her art with its humblest offices ; and possessed those nobler aspirations of the soul, which, during the middle ages, elevated in considerable decree the professor* of necromancy. But our purpose is not now to determine her pro THK MY>TI-:iilM(X VISITKK. 149 tensions. Wo have l.ut to exhibit and to ascertain a small iip 11 ot her skill in the vulgar business of fortune-telling an art which will continue to be received among men, to a greater or le<s extent, so long as they shall possess a hope which they cm i not gratify, and feel a superstition which they an not expbin. Our gipsy ex]>ects a visitor. She hears his -tep. The door opens at her bidding, and a stranger makes his appearance. He is a tall and well-made man, of stern and ;ny countenance, which is half concealed beneath the raised foMingB of his cloak. His heard, of enormous length, is seen to Lin down upon his breast ; but his cheek is youthful, and his BJC is eagerly and anxiously bright. But for a certain repel- :iiiL: something in his glance, he might be considered a very handsome man perhaps by many persons he was thought so. ulvanced with an air of dignity and power. His deportment and manner and, when he spoke, his voice all seemed to denote a person accustomed to command. The woman did not look up as he approached : on the contrary, ^he seemed more inter.t than ever in the examination of the strange characters be fore her. Hut a curious spectator might have seen that a corner of her eye, bright with an intelligence that looked more like cun ning than wisdom, was suffered to take in all of the face and per son of the visiter that his muffling costume permitted to be seen. "Mother," said the stranger, "I am here." " You say not who you are, answered the woman. "Nor shall say," was the abrupt reply of the stranger. "That. \ou said, was unnecessary to your art to the solution of the ijuestions that I asked yon." " Suivly," was the answer. " My art, that promises to tell th.-e of the future, \\ould be a sorry fraud could it not declare the pre*ent could it not say who thou art, as well as what thou seeke-t. "Ha 1 and thou kimwest!" exclaimed the other, his hand suddenly feeling within the folds of his cloak as he spoke, a for a weapon, while his ,-\e -hired ijuiekly around the apart ment, as if seeking for a secret enemy. v, fear nothing." said the woman, ahily. " 1 can- not to know who thou art. It is not an object of mv ijue.st, other wise it woul 1 not long remain a secret to me" 150 SOUTHWARD HO ! It is well ! mine is a name that must not be spoken among the homes of Venice. It would make thee thyself to quail couldst thou hear it spoken." " Perhaps ! but mine is not the heart to quail at many things, unless it be the absolute wrath of Heaven. What the violence or the hate of man could do to this feeble frame, short of death, it has already suffered. Thou knowest but little of human cru elty, young man, though thy own deeds be cruel." " How knowest thou that my deeds are cruel ?" was tin* quick and passionate demand, while the form of the stranger suddenly and threateningly advanced. The woman was un moved. " Saidst thou not that there was a name that might not bo spoken in the homes of Venice ? Why should thy very name make the hearts of Venice to quail unless for thy deeds of cru elty and crime 1 But I see further. I see it in thine eyes that thou art cruel. I hoar it in thy voice that thou art criminal. I know, even now, that thy soul is bent on deeds of violence and blood ; and the very quest that brings thee to me now is less the quest of love than of that wild and selfish passion which so frequently puts on its habit." " Ha ! speak to me of that ! This damsel, Francesca Ziani ! Tis of her that I would have thee speak. Thou saidst that she should be mine ; yet lo ! her name is written in the Book of Gold, and she is allotted to this man of wealth, this Ulric Barberigo." " She will never be the wife of Ulric Barberigo." " Thou saidst she should be mine." " Nay, I said not that." Ha! but thou liest !" " No ! Anger me not, young man ! I am slower, much slower to anger than thyself slower than most of those win: still chafe within this mortal covering yet am I mortal like thyself , and not wholly free from such foolish passions as vex mortality. Chafe me, and I will repulse thee with scorn. An noy me, and I close upon thee the book of fate, leaving thec to the blind paths which thy passions have ever moved thee to take." The stranger muttered something apologetically. THE MACK MIKHOR. 161 " Make me no excuses. I only ask thee to forbear and sub mit. I said nut that Francesca Ziani .should he thine ! I said only that I beheld her in thy arm-." * And what more do I ask !" was tin- exulthig speech of the stranger, his voice rising into a sort of outburst, which fully declared the ruffian, and the cruel passions by which he was g iverned. "If that contents thee, well !" said the woman, coldly, her eye perusing with a seeming calmness the brazen plate upon which the strange characters were inscribed. "That, then, tlmu pmmisost still?" demanded the stranger. " Thou shalt see for thyself," was the reply. Thus speaking the woman slowly arose and brought forth a small chafing-dish, also of brass or copper, not much larger than a common plate. This she placed over the brazier, the flame of which she quick ened hv a few smart pufls from a little bellows which lay beside her. As the flame kindled, and the sharp, red jets rose like tongues on either side of the plate, she poured into it some thing like a gill of a thick, tenacious liquid, that looked like, and might have been, honey. Above this she brooded for a while with her eyes immediately over the vessel ; and the keen ear of the >tranger, quickened by exciied curiosity, could detect the muttering of her lips ; though the foreign syllables which she employed were entirely beyond his comprehension. Suddenly, a thick vapor went up from the dish. She withdrew it from the brazier and laid it before her on the table. A few moments sufficed to clear the surface of the vessel, the vapor arising and hanging languidly above her head. k now for thyself and see!" washer command to the visiter ; she her>elf not deigning a glance upon the vessel, seem ing thus to be quite sure of what it would present, or quite indif ferent to the result. The .stranger needed no second summons. lie bent instantly over the vessel, and started back with undis guised delight. It is she!" he exclaimed. " She droops ! whose arm is it that supports her- upon whose breast is it that she lies whc bears her away in triumph " " lb it not thyself?" asked the woman, coldly. "By Hercules, it is She is mine! ^ :e is in my arms! 152 SOUTHWARD 110 ! She is on my bosom ! I have her in my galley ! She speeds with me to my home ! I see it all, even as thou hast promised me!" " I promise thee nothing. I but show thee only what is written." " And -when and how shall this be effected ?" " How, I know not," answered the woman ; " this is withheld from me. Fate shows what her work is, only as it appears when done, but not the manner of the doing." " But when will this be ?" was the question. " It must be ere she marries with Ulric Barberigo, for him she will never marry." " And it is appointed that he weds with her on the day of St. Mary s Eve. That is but a week hence, and the ceremony takes place " " At Olivolo." " Ha ! at Olivolo !" and a bright gleam of intelligence passed over the features of the stranger, from which his cloak had by this time entirely fallen. The woman beheld the look, and a slight smile, that seemed to denote scorn rather than any other emotion, played for a moment over her shrivelled and sunken lips. " Mother," said the stranger, " must all these matters be left to later " That, is as thou wilt." " But the eye of a young woman may be won her heart may be touched so that it shall be easy for fate to accomplish her designs. I am young ; am indifferently well-fashioned in person, and have but little reason to be ashamed of the face which (io<l lias given mo. Beside, I have much skill in music, and can sing to the guitar as fairly as most of the young mm f Venice. What if I were to find my way to the damsel what it 1 play and sing beneath her father s palace? I havo ii-es. and am wont to practice in various garments: I can The woman interrupted him. " Thou mayst do as thou wilt. It is doubtless as indifferent to the fates, what thou doest, as it will be to me. Thou hast .seen what I have .shown 1 can no more. 1 am not permitted to counsel thee. I am but a voice ; thou hast all that I can give thee." THE DECREE OF FATE. 158 The stranger linger*-.! still. but the woman ceased to speak, and betrayed by her maiu..-r that she desired his departure. Thus seeing, he took a purse from his bosom and laid it before her. She did not seem to notice the action, nor did she again look up until he was gone. With the sound of his retreating footsteps, she put aside the brazen volume of strange characters which seemed her favorite study, and her lips slowly parted in soliloquy : 11 Ay ! thoti exultest, fierce ruffian that thou art, in the assu rance that Fate yields herself to thy will ! Thou shalt, indeed, hare the maiden in thy arms, but it shall profit thee nothing; and that single triumph shall exact from thee the last penalties which are sure to follow on the footsteps of a trade like thine.. Thou thickest that I know thee not. as if thy shallow masking could baffle eyes and art like mine; but I had not shown thee thus much, were I not in possession of yet further knowledge did 1 not see that this lure was essential to embolden thee to thy own final overthrow. Alas, that in serving the cause of inno cence, in saving the innocent from harm, we can not make it safe in happiness. Poor Francesca ! beloved of three, yet blest with neither. Thou shalt be wedded, yet be no bride ; shall gain all that thy fond young heart craveth, yet gain nothing be spared the embraces of him thou loatheat, yet rest in his arms whom thou hast most need to fear; and shalt be denied, even when most assured, the only embrace which might bring thee blessing! Happy at leant that thy sorrows shall not last tin-*- l"iig their verv keenness and intensity being thy security from the misery which holds through years like mine." Let us leave the woman of mystery let us once more change the scene. Now pass we to the pirate s domain at Istria. a region over which, at the period of our narrative, the control of Venicr liiigly capricious, and subject to fre quent vicissitude^. At this particular time, the place was main tained by the fiercest band of pirates that ever swept the Mediterranean with their bloody 154 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER IV. IT was midnight when the galley of the chief glided into the harbor of Istria. Tl e challenge of the sentinel was answered from the vessel, and she took her place beside the shore, where two other galleys were at anchor. Suddenly her sails descended with a rattle ; a voice hailed throughout the ship, was answered from stem to stern, and a deep silence followed. The fierce chief of the pirates, Pietro Barbaro the fiercest, strongest, wisest, yet youngest, of seven brothers, all devoted to the same fearful employment strode in silence to his cabin. Here, throwing himself upon a couch, he prepared rather to rest his limbs than to sleep. He had thoughts to keep him wakeful. Wild hopes, and tenderer joys than his usual occupations offered, were gleaming before his fancy. The light burned dimly in his floating chamber, but the shapes of his imagination rose up before his mind s eye not the less vividly because of the obscurity in whicli lie lay. Thus musing over expectations of most agreej- alilc and exciting aspect, he finally lapsed away in sleep. He was suddenly aroused from slumber by a rude hand tlmt lay heavily on his shoulder. " Who is it ?" he asked of the intruder. " Gamba," was the answer. " Thou, brother?" " Ay," continued the intruder, " and here are all of us." "Indeed! and wherefore come you? I would sleep 1 am weary. I must have rest." " Thou hast too much rest, Pietro," said another of the broth ers. "It is that of which we complain that of which we would speak to thee now." "Ha! this is new language, brethren! Answer me per haps I am not w.-ll awake am I your captain, or not?" "Thou art the fact seems to be forgotten by no one but thyself. Though the youngest of our mother s children, we made thee our leader." " For what did ye this, my brothers, unless that I might com mand ye ?" " For this, in truth, and this only, did we confer upon thee THE PIRATE COrNCIL. 155- this authority. Thou hadst shown thyself worthy to com mand " "Well 1 " "Thy skill thy courage thy fortitude." 44 In brief, ye thought me best fitted to command ye ?" - V Then I command ye hence ! Leave me, and let me rest!" "Nay, brother, but this can not lie." was the reply of an other of the intruders. "We mnst speak with thee while the nii:ht serves u<. lext thou hear worse, tinners with the morrow. Thou art, indeed, our captain ; chosen because of thy qualities of service, t" c"iiduct and counsel us; but we chose thee not that thou shouldst sleep ! Thou wert chosen that our enter prises might be active and mi^ht lead to frequent profit." " Has it not been so ?" demanded the chief. " For a season it was so, and there was no complaint of " Who now complains ?" Thy people all!" "And can ye not answer them ?" " No ! for we ourselves need an answer ! We. too, complain." " Of what complain ye ?" * That our enterprises profit us nothing. " I <>t go forth in the ^alleys ? Lead ye not, each of you, an armed galley ? Why is it that your enterprises profit ye nothing?" " Because of the lack of our captain." And ye can do nothing without me; and because ye are in capable, I must have no leisure tor myself!" "Nay, something more than this, Pietro. Our enterprises avail us nothing, since you command that we no longer trouble the i t Venice. Venice has become thy favorite. Thou shielded her only, when it is her merchants only who should give us spoil. This, brother, is thy true offence. For this wo complain of thee; for this thy people complain of thee. They are impoverished by thy new-born love for Venice, and they arc anirry with thee. Brother, their purpose is to depose thee." " H a ! and ye "We are men as well as brethn u. We cherish no gm h ai- 1,36 tachment for Venice as that which seems to fill thy bosom. When the question shall be taken in regard to thy office, our voices shall be against thee, unless " There was a pause. It was broken by the chief. " Well, speak out. What are your conditions ?" " Unless thou shalt consent to lead us on a great enterprise against the Venetians. Hearken to us, Brother Pietro. Thou knowest of the annual festival at Olivolo, when the marriage takes place of all those maidens whose families are favorites of the Signiory, and whose names are written in the Book of Gold of the Republic." The eyes of the pirate chief involuntarily closed at the sug gestion, but his head nodded affirmatively. The speaker con tinued. " It is now but a week when this festival takes place. On this occasion assemble the great, the noble, and the wealthy of the sea city. Thither they bring all that is gorgeous in their apparel, all that is precious among their ornaments and decora tions. Nobility and wealth here strive together which shall most gloriously display itself. Here, too, is the beauty of the city the virgins of Venice the very choice among her flocks Could there be prize more fortunate ? Could there be prizu more easy of attainment ? The church of San Pietro di Castella permits no armed men within its holy sanctuaries. There are no apprehensions of peril; the people who gather to the rites are wholly weaponless. They can offer no defence against <>ur assault ; nor can this be foreseen. What place more lonely than Olivolo? Thither shall we repair the day before the festival, and shelter ourselves from scrutiny. At the moment when the crowd is greatest, we will dart upon our prey. We lack women ; we desire wealth. Shall we fail in either, when we have in re membrance the bold deeds of our ancient fathers, when they looked with yearning on the fresh beauties of the Sabine vir gin- These Venetian beauties are our Sabines. Thou, too if the bruit of thy followers doth thee no injustice thou, too, hast been overcome by one of these. She will doubtless l>e present at this festival. Make her thine, and fear n>t that each of thy brethren will do justice to his tastes and thine own. Here, now, thou hast all. Either thou agrees! to that which thy people de- PIUATK ITK! 157 mwid, <>r the power departs from thy keeping. Fabio become o;ir leader !" There wa? a pause. At length the pirate-chief addressed his brethren. 44 Ye have spoken . ye threaten, too! This power of which yo speak, is precious in your eyes. I value it not a /ecchino; and wort thoti to depose me to-morrow, I should be the master of ye in another month, did it please me to command a people no capricious. Hut think not, though I speak to ye in this fa>h- ion, that I deny your demand. I hot speak thus to show ye that 1 fear ye not. I will do as ye desire ; but did not your own wishes square, evenly with mine own, I should bide the issue of this strijri:le. though it were with knife to knife." " It matters not how thou feelest, or what inoveth tliee, Pietro, *o that thou dost as we demand. Thou wilt lead us to this spoil r I will." "It is enough. It will prove to thy people that they ai-e htil! tbo masters of the Lagune that they are not sold to Venice." 44 Leave me now." The brethren took their departure. When they had gone, tho chief spoke in brief soliloquy, thus : Vfrilv. tli re is the hand of fate in this. Methinks I see th^ history once v. i as I beheld it in the majric liquor of the Spani-h (r:jsy. Why thought I not of this before, dreaming vjiinly like an idiot boy, as much in love with his music as him nolf. who hopes by the tinkle of his guitar to win hia beauty fr< m tlie palace nf her noble sire, to the obscure retreat* of his gondola ! These brethren shall not vex me. They are but the creatures of my fate!" CHAPTER V. LBT us now return to Oliv.do, to the altar-place of the church of San 1 ietro di Castella, and resume the progress of that strangely-mingled ceremonial mixed sunshine and sadness which was broken by the passionate conduct of (iiovanni Gra- denigo. We left th ^ |><r, crushed Franct-Ta. in a state of uu 158 SOUTHWARD HO ! consciousness, in the arms of her sympathizing kindred. For a brief space the impression was a painful one upon tho hearts of the vast assembly ; but as the deep organ rolled its ascending anthems, the emotion subsided. The people had assembled foi pleasure and an agreeable spectacle ; and though sympathizing, for a moment, with the pathetic fortunes of the sundered lovers, quite as earnestly as it is possible for mere lookers-on to do, they were not to be disappointed in the objects for which they came The various shows of the assemblage the dresses, the jewels, the dignitaries, and the beauties were quite enough to divert the feelings of a populace, at all times notorious for its levities, from a scene which, however impressive at first, was becoming a little tedious. Sympathies are very good and proper things ; but the world seldom suffers them to occupy too much of ite lime. Our Venetians did not pretend to be any more humane than the rest of the great family ; and the moment that Fran cesca had fainted, and Giovanni had disappeared, the multitude began to express their impatience of any further delay by all the means in their possession. There was no longer a motive to re sist their desires, and simply reserving the fate of the poor Fran cesca to the last, or until she should sufficiently recover to be fully conscious of the sacrifice which she was about to make, the ceremonies were begun. There was a political part to be played by the doge, in which the people took particular interest; an<! to behold which, indeed, was the strongest reason of their impa tience. The government of Venice, as was remarked by quaint and witty James Howell, was a compound thing, mixed of all kinds of governments, and might be said to be composed of tf grain of monarchy, a dose of democracy, and a dram, if not AH ounce of optimacy." It was in regard to this dose of democracy that the government annually assigned marriage portions to twelve younj* maidens, selected from the great body of the peo ple, of those not sufficiently opulent to secure husbands, or find the adequate means for marriage, without this help. To bestow these maidens upon their lovers, and with them the portions allotted by the state, constituted the first, and in the eyes of the masses, the most agreeable part of the spectacle. The doge, on this occasion, who was the thrice-renowned Pietro Candiano, " did his spiriting gently," and in a highly edifying manner A\D -mum!:. 159 bishop best.,\ved his blessings, ami confirmed by the reli- g ous, the civil rites, which allied the chosen couples. To the-e tlu> voluntnr if \\e may thus presume upon a lutinction between the t\v. dMlMy wliicli we are yet not siuo that we have a right to make. The high-born and the wealthy, couple after couple, now approached the altar, to receive tin 1 , linal benediction whicli committed them to hopes of happiness vhieh it is not iu the pou rr of any priesthood to compel. No dubt there was a great deal of hope aiming the parties, and we have certa mlv no reason to .suppose that happiness did not fi>llow in every instance. But there i- nicest- a Ziani. It is now her turn. Her cruel parents remain unsubdued and unsoftened hy lier <leep and touching sorrows. She is made to rise, to totter forward to the altar, scarcely conscious of anything, except, perhaps, that the worthless, but wealthy, Ulric Barberigo is at her side. Once more the mournful spectacle restores to the spectators all their better feelings. They perceive, they feel the cnielty of that sac rifice to which her kindred are insensible. In vain do they murmur " shame !" In vain does she turn her vacant, wild, but still expressive eyes, expressive because of their very soulless vacancy, to that stern, ambitious mother, whose bosom no longer responds to her child with the true maternal feeling. Hopeless of help from that quarter, she lifts her eyes to heaven, and, no longer listening to the words of the holy man, she surrenders If only to despair. Is it Heaven that hearkens to her prayer? Is it the benevo lent office of an angel that hur>ts the doors of the church nt the very moment when she is called upon to yield that which dooms her to misery for ever ? To her ears, the thunders wh u n now shake the church \\.-re the fruits of Heaven s benig nant interposition. The shrieks of women on every band tho oaths and shouts of tierce and insolent authority the clamors of men the struggles and cries of those who seek safety in flight, or entreat for mercy suggest no other idea to the wretched Fran- cesca, than that she is saved from the embraces of Ulric Barbe rigo. She is only eonsciou> that, heedless of her, and of tho entreaties of her mother, be is the fir>t to endeavor selfishly to save himself by flight. But her escape from Barberigo is only 160 SOUTHWARD HO ! the prelude to other embraces. She knows not, unhappy child, that she is an object of desire to another, until she finds horsc-lf lifted in the grasp of Pietro Barbaro, the terrible chief of the Is- triote pirate?. He and his brothers have kept their pledges l. one another, and they have been successful in their proy. Their fierce followers have subdued to submission the struggles of a weaponless multitude, who, with horror and consternation, behold the loveliest of iheir virgins, the just wedded among them, borne away upon the shoulders of the pirates to their warlike galleys. Those who resist them perish. Resistance was hopeless. Tho fainting and shrieking women, like the Sahine damsels, are hur ried from the sight of their kinsmen and their lovers, and the Istriote galleys are about to depart with their precious freight. 1 Metro Harharo, the chief, stands with one foot upon his vessel s side and the other on the shore. Still insensible, the lovely Francesca lies upon his breast. At this moment the skirt of his cloak is plucked by a bold hand. He turns to meet the glance of the Spanish Gipsy. The old woman leered on him with eyes that seemed to mock his triumph, even while she appealed to it. " Is it not even as I told thee as I showed thee V was her demand. " It is !" exclaimed the pirate-chief, as he flung her a purse of gold. " Thou art a true prophetess. Fate has done her work !" He was gone ; his galley was already on the deep, and he himself might now be seen kneeling upon the deck of the ves sel, beading over his precious conquest, and striving to bring back the life into her cheeks. "Ay, indeed!" muttered the Spanish Gipsy, "thou hast had her in thy arms, but think not, reckless robber that thou art, that fate has /////// its work. The work is but brgun. Fate has kept its word to thee ; it is thy weak sense that fancied she had nothing more to say or do !" Kven as she spoke these words, the galleys of Giovanni Gradenigo were standing for the Lagune of Caorlo. He had succeeded in collecting a gallant band of cavaliers who tacitly yielded him the command. The excitement of action had served, in some measure, to relieve the distress under which he PURSlTi Of Tin: i ii;\ 161 suffered. II.- was no longer tlio lover, but the man; nor the man merely, luit the leader of men. (Jinvanni was endowed for this hy nature. Hi- Vtlov WU known. It lial been tried upon the Turk. Now that lie was per.-uaded by the Spanish Gips} , whom all believed and feared, that a nameless and terrible dan ger overhung his l>el<>\ ed, which was to be met and baffled only by the course he was pursuing, his whole person seemed to be informed by a new spirit. The youth, his companions, wondered to behold the change. There was no longer a dreaminess and doubt about his words and movements, but all was prompt, en ergetic, and directly to the purpose. Giovanni war. now the confident and strong man. Enough for him that there was dan Of this he no longer entertained a i ear. AVhether the i -.nger that was supposed to threaten Francesca was still sug- of a hope as the prediction of the Spanish Gipsy . light well warrant may very well be questioned. It was in try desperation of his hope, that his energies became at o..je equally well-ordered and intense. He prompted to their utmost the energies of others. He impelled all his agencies to their best exertions. Oar and sail were busy without intermis- >i"U. and soon the efforts of the pursuers were rewarded. A gon- u.da. bearing a single man, drifted along their path. He was a tlVti from Olivolo, who gave them the first definite idea of the fr;.y .t the pirates. His tidings, rendered imperfect by his terrors, were still enough t -" id the pursuers to new exertions. rWtune favored the pursuit . In their haste the pirate galleys had brci.mp entangled in the lagune. The keen eye of Gio- arnii was the first to discover them. First one hark, and then ;;:>other, h:>ve in sight, and sm-n the whole piratical fleet \ n:ade out, as they urged their embarrassed progress through tho intricacies i.f the >halh>w waters. t ourage, bold hearts! cried (Jiovanni to his people; " they -hall soon be upon them. Thev can not now CM ape u> !" The eye of the youthful leader brightened with the expecta tion of the strugg! . 11 - exulting the stirngth an.l confidence of his soul, and cheered the souls of all around him. The sturdy oarsmen "gave way" with renewed uffiu-t.-. The knights prepared their weapon- fur the conflict. 1G2 SOUTHWARD no! Giovanni ^i^naU. d the other galleys by which his own was foi lowed. " I am for the red flag of Pietro Barbaro himself. I know his banner. Let your galleys grapple with the rest. Cross their path prevent their flight, and bear down upon the strongest. Do your parts, and fear not but wo. shall do ours." With these brief instructions, our captain led the way with the Venetian galleys. The conflict was at hand. It came. They drew nigh and hailed the enemy. The parley was a brief one. The pirates could hope no mercy, and they asked none. But few words, accordingly, were exchanged between the parties, and these were not words of peace. " Yield thee to the mercy of St. Mark !" was the stern sum mons of Giovanni, to the pirate-chief. "St. Mark s mercy has too many teeth!" was the scornful reply of the pirate. " The worthy saint must strike well before Barbaro of Istria sues to him for mercy." With the answer the galleys grappled. The Venetians leape<l on board of the pirates, with a fuiy that was little short of mad ness. Their wrath was terrible. Under the guidance of the fierce Giovanni, they smote with an unforgiving vengeance. It was in vain that the Istriotes fought as they had been long accus tomed. It needed something more than customary valor to meet the fury of their assailants. All of them perished. Mercy now was neither asked nor given. Nor, as it seemed, did the pirates care to live, when they beheld the fall of their fearful leader. He had crossed weapons with Giovanni Gradenigo, in wlr>m h i . found his fate. Twice, thrice, the sword of the latter drove through the breast of the pirate. Little did his conqueror conjec ture the import of the few words which the dying chief gii-ped forth at his feet, his glazed eyes striving to pierce the deck, as if seeking some one within. " I have, indeed, had thee in my arms, but " There was no more death finished the sentence ! The vic tory was complete, but Giovanni was wounded. Pietro Barbaro was a fearful enemy. He was conquered, it is true, but he had made his mark upon his conqueror. He had bitten deep before he fell. The victors n-tun e<l with their spoil. Tlioy brought back tho LOVK TIMl MI HAVr. L68 .Captured brides in triumph. Th;t same evening preparations were made t.> conclude the bridal ceremonies- which the morning had seen so fearfully arrested. With a single exception, tho original distribution of the " brides" was persevered in. That exceptio? may w(>ll suppose, was Fram-osca Ziani. It was no longer possible tor hrr unnatural parents to withstand thr popular sentiment. The doge himself, ] Metro C amliano, was particularly active in persuading the reluctant mother to submit to what was so evidently tho will of destiny. But for tho discreditable baseness and cowardice of Ulric Barbeiigo.it is probable she never would have yielded. But his imbeeilitv and unmanly terror in the moment of danger, had been too conspic uous. Kven his enormous wealth could not save him from the shame that followed ; and, however unwillingly, the parents of Francesea consented that she should become the bride of Gio vanni, as the only proper reward for the gallantry which had saved her, and so many more, from shame. But where was Giovanni ? His friends have been despatched for him ; why comes he not? The maid, now happy beyond her h.pe. awaits him at the altar. And still he comes not. Let us go back to the scene of action in the moment of his victory over the pirate-chief. Barharo lies before him in the armies of death. \\ord it is which has sent the much-dreaded outlaw to his last account. But he himself is wounded wounded severely but not mortally, by the man whom he has slain. At this mo ment he | blow from the axe of one of the brothers of "Barbaio. II,- had strength left barely to behold and to shout bis victory, when he sank fainting upon the deck of the pirate 1. His further care devolved upon his friend. Xio.lo. \ v ho f"lb>\ved liis f ..>t-te]>s closely through all the paths of dan- tfer. In a state of .stupor he lies upon the couch of Xicolo, when ii.e aged prophete. the "Spanish (Jipsy," appeared beside, his bed. He is called," she said. " The doge demands his presence. They will bestow upon him his bride. Francesca Ziani. You must bear him thither." The urireoji shook his head. " It may an.u-e him." said Nicolo. "We can boar him thither on a litter, so that he shall feel no pain." I U SOUTHWARD HO ! " It were something to wake him from this apathy," mused thft surgeon. " Be it as tliou wilt." Tims, grievously wounded, was the noble Giovanni borne into the midst of the assembly, for each member of which he had suffered and done so much. The soft music which played around, awakened him. His eyes unclosed to discover the lovely Francesca, tearful, but hopeful, bending fondly over him. She declared herself his. The voice of the doge confirmed the assurance ; and the eyes of the dying man brightened into the life of a new and delightful consciousness. Eagerly he spoke ; his voice was but a whisper. " Make it so, I pray thee, that I may live !" The priest drew nigh with the sacred unction. The mar riage service was performed, and the hands of the two were clasped in one. " Said I not ?" demanded an aged woman, who approached the moment after the ceremonial, and whose face was beheld by none but him whom she addressed. " She is thine !" The youth smiled, but made no answer. His hand drew that of Francesca closer. She stooped to his kiss, and whispered him, but he heard her not. With the consciousness of the sweet treasure that he had won after such sad denial, the sense grew conscious no longer the lips of the youth were sealed for ever. The young Giovanni, the bravest of the Venetian youth, lay lifeless in the embrace of the scarcely more livinc Francesca. It was a sad day, after all, in Venice, since its tri umph was followed by so great a loss ; but the damsels of ihe ocean city still declare that the lovers were much more blest in this fortune, than had they survived for the embrace of others loss beloved. " Have I not read something like this story in a touching ami romantic episode riven in the Italy of Rogers ?" asked SaH.ia Burroughs, " Yes ! Rogers got it from the history. It is one of those incidents which enrich and enliven for romance the early prog ress of most d nations that ever arrived at character and civilization. Of course, like the famous legends of infant Rome, it undergoes the artist touch of successive historians all 1IIK illMMKiv.N A\ 4RTI8T. L65 of whom, in early periods, exercised in some degree the privi- I <>f the artist, if not the romancer." "The event occurs in the first periods of Venetian story, somewhere about A. D. 932, the reigning doge being Candiano the Second. It is good material for the dramatist. I should commend it to Mr. Boker, as the subject of an operatic melo drama. In the hands of our young friend Marvel, it could be wrought into a very pretty and delicate and dreamy work of sentimental fiction." CHAPTER X. A ,ONG. and to us a comparatively interesting, conversation followed, Virginia, her resources, characteristics, scenery, and general moral, affording the principal subject. In this conversa tion, which occasionally ran into politics in which some of the party showed their teeth very decidedly the whole of our group was brought out, the ladies excepted. They had retired for the night. Most of us had rambled in Virginia at different periods ; and it was in the delivery of recollections and impres sions that we passed naturally into discussion. I propose to give bits only of this conversation, leaving out the bites- con fining my report to the innocuous portions of the dialogue, and omitting certain sharp passages which occasionally followed the thoughtless or the wanton shaft. One of our " Down-East" brethren threw down the ball of provocation, dealing in a whole sale, if not wholesome, diatribe against all Southern agriculture. As his opinions are those of a somewhat numerous class, and as they are working no little mischief at the present day, it may be as well to record, with tolerable fullness, the portion of the dialogue which ensued upon their utterance. " You pass through Virginia," said he, " as through a desert. The towns are few, and these all look old and wretched. The houses need paint, and are frequently in dilapidation. The cul ture is coarse and clumsy, the implements rude, and the people seem entirely ignorant of all improvements. They plough plant, and reap, precisely as their fathers did a hundred years ago, and without doing any justice to their lands. The lands have never been properly worked, and manures are but little known, and less esteemed. In favorite regions, along water courses easily accessible, the plantations have been abandoned Bntirdy exhausted sold for a song, at an avrrap 1 , perhaps, of a dollar an acre. The same lands, in the hands of New York farmers, have been bought up, improved, made valuable for CITY AM- (or\Ti;V 1.1FK. 1-J7 wheat-c-.-..p-, aii-i raided r<> :i value ranirin;; from fifteen to 8CV- doIUun per ftcre. Thirty bushels of wheat have raised to tin- acre, on tracts which have been tin-own out as bar ren. Alike : North and South Carolina, where similar ignorance of fanning, and of agricultural implements, similar C-KU >eiie>> and clumsiness in the cultivation of tin- have led to similar re.Milts tin- di>paraged value of tin- lands, thrir abandonment, and the neglect and dilapidation of towns and houses." You simply know nothing about the matter," said one of the party sharply in reply " or rather, you know just enough of the truth to involve yourself in a monstrous error. I too have trav elled in the regions ot which you speak, and can venture to say something on the subject, which has its bright as well as gloomy i-ts. It is not all gloomy, though it is seldom that the hur rying traveller sees or suspects any other. That you see few or no towns, and that these look desolate, are the natural eiYerts of the life of a people purely agricultural. The southern people o not live in towns if they can avoid them. The culture and command of extensive tracts of land and forest give them a distaste to city lite, where they feel retrained by a sense of confinement, and by manners of artificial character a rigid conventionalism imputing iV-tters upon that ease and freedom of bearing which belongs to the forest population. Besides, pub- pinion in the South is unfriendly to the growth of large -. which many of their leading minds hold to be al\\a\ - of the most mi.-,rhirvoii> moral tendency as, indeed, the .Y/Y/r .us also to discover. Mr. Jefferson pronounced them the v and sewers of the commonwealth, to be tolerated only as among the dirty national necessities; and the instinct* of the great body of the agricultural population have led them rightly in the same direction. They have learned to doubt the whole s-ness of the atmosphere of city life. Regarding towns as the mere agencies of the producer, they do not desire to see then. a larger population than is necessary to the tctual hi: !..ive to perform. ^ ii, at the North, on the contrary, look to your flourishing towns, your line h-tu-es, great masses of brick and stone, with thousaj:d> jostling in the thoroughfares, as proofs of prosperity 168 SOUTHWARD HO ! and civilization ; though, of these thousands, thousands live bj _ try, by theft, chicanery, and the constantly active exer- of a thousand evil arts the inevitable consequence of --ities which could not arise to the community were the unnecessary members driven to an honest, healthy, industrious occupation in neglected fields of agriculture. You judge mostly by externals, which rarely show the truth the people in cities being chiefly learned in the art of concealing their true condi tion, and making the best show to their neighbors ; while th>- Southern agriculturists know nothing of this art, exhibit them selves precisely as they are ; use no white paint to cover ol! boards no stucco to make common brick look like stone ; an<^ satisfied with the real comforts of their condition, never busy themselves in the endeavor to impose upon their neighbors with the splendors of a season which would only lead to bankruptcy. " The dilapidated Virginia farmhouse, for example, will re ceive more guests, at the family table, in one month, than the marble palace in Broadway or Fifth Avenue will entertain in one year. There will be always plenty and a generous wel come, though the service be of delph and not of silver. " That we have not towns and villages is the inevitable iv<ult of staple cultivation. Ere/-// {>l<intatio7i in a village, and where it is a large one, it will be found provided with aH the essential elements of progress and performance, precisely as they are to be found in a village. Here, for example, is always- a blacksmith and a carpenter, possibly a wheelwright, and fre (juently a shoemaker; while, in place of a hotel, for the recep lion of the stranger, is the mansion-house of the planter wanting in paint, I grant of ancient fashion, uncouth architec ture the floors, perhaps, not carpeted, and the furniture of that dark, massive mahogany which the city of New York would revolt at, but which carries to my mind an idea of the dignity of an ancient race, and that reverence for the antique whii-h is, perhaps, too much wanting in every part of our coun try, except the aid *fd/rx of tin ,SVy/////. This ancient mansion will be found usually with its doorg thrown wide in sign of welcome. Lest you should doubt, as you approach it, you behold the planter himself descending tlu, old brick steps to welcome you. You will be confounded to se aODTHEUi K.roNoMY. that his costume is neither fine nor fashionable that he wears a prcat broad-brimmed white liat, exceedingly ample, which may have been inanufacturecl for his grandfather. His coat may be of white flannel, and out at the elbows ; and his panta loons will be of domestic manufacture, homespun or nankin n. If you are wise enough to look below tin* externals, you will see, perhaps, that he has learned to despise them at all events, you will perceive that he has sacrificed tor tliese none of the essentials of the host, the gentleman, or the patriot. !! .- hospitality is unimpaired by his antiquity nay, it forms a part of it and in the retention of the one, he has retained the other as a matter of neces- \ . As a gentleman, he is frank and easy of manner, unaffected in hi.s hearing, and always soli H of your comfort and satisfaction. He does not suffer you to perceive that he would have been better pleased that you should have admired his line house, and passed on without task ing its hospitality. These are characteristics which must be taken as an otV-et to those respects which you select for censure, have said, are the natural consequence of staple cul ture. It is the farming culture, which exhibits and requires much nicety of detail. In the hands of the planter of a staple, lands are held in bodies too large to be handled minutely. It is the small plat only -which you can put in bandbox condition. Ifl in .staple countries are of less value than labor in fann ing countries, of greater value than labor. In proportion as the population bec .mes dense, they HM- in value. Hut few southern planters desire adeire population. One secret of their ho>pi- tality is -iveness of their ra \ wealthy planter, ha\ing from fifty to live hundred slaves, will have from a hun dred to a thousand head of cattle. He kills so man- per annum, from four to forty, according to hi That he can order a nnittnii to he slaughtered, even though bu* guest claims his hospitality, is due to his extensive tntctl ol field and fore-t. He seldom sends any of his sheep, cattle, corn, or other provision^ to market. These are all retained for the wants of the homestead. It will not do for you, recognising the peculiar characteristics of his mode of life-- their elegances, comforts, and bou: fo cavil at deficiencies, which could onK by his 170 Mi THWAHD HO 1 abandonment of habits which are grateful to the virtues, and which maintain in him the essentials of all high character dignity and reverence." " But there must be an end to all this hospitality. The south ern planter is not prosperous. His fields are failing him his staples are no longer valuable." " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. Give us time. Let time answer your prophecy ; for it is prediction not argu ment, not fact which you assert. There is no need that his hospitality should be at an end. It only needs that it should be more discriminating, and that the southern planter should steadily close his door against those who come to eat his bread only to denounce the manner in which it is made, and to sleep securely beneath his roof only to leave curses rather than prayers behind them. He must only be sure that his guest, when a stranger, is a gentleman and an honest man ; and he will prob ably, witli this modification of his hospitality, never be wanting in the necessary means for satisfying it. " But, touching his prosperity, I hold it to be the greatest mistake in the world examining things by just and intrinsic laws to suppose that he is not prosperous. The southern planter does not derive from his labors so large a money income a> lie formerly did, when the culture of his great staple was comparatively in lew hands. It is something different, certainly, to receive twenty cents instead of one hundred for long cotton>. and six cents instead of thirty for short. But, in fact, the dif ference does not substantially affect his prosperity, if /// In- nut dln-u Ii/ in tlt-ht. In the period of high prices for his staples, he couhl readily abandon farming culture to his less prosperous in-i^hl"n>. leaving it to other states to supply his grain, his for age, his vegetables, his cattle, mules, and horses, for which he coiiM well M fiord to nay from the excess of his income. But with his ie-<Mirees reduced, his policy necessarily changes, and is changing hourly, in recognition of new laws and new necessi ties. This change effected, his property will continue as before, though actually no pvat amount of money passes through his hands, llis fields, that tcert failing him when he. addn them \vhollv to the culture >f a single staple, are recovering, ii"\v th;it hf alternates his crops, and economizes, prepares, and :i: AM. i\nmi>r\L-. 171 employs his manure. He ceases to buy grain and provisions, lie raises his own hogs and cattle, and his ploughs are driven by mules and horses foaled in his <>wn pa-tures. He discovers that he is not worse off now, in raising the commodities them- 64, for the purchase of which he simply raised the cash be fore ; and he further discovers that, under the present system, he learns tn economize land ami lahor, to improve the Duality of the land, and the excellence of the lahor; land rises in value with the introduction of thorough tillage; and a cleanlier, more compact method of culture, increases the health of the climate as well as the prosperity of the planters. With thorough tillage he can feed his stock, and thus lessen the extent of his ranges; and this results in a gradually-increasing deux ness of the set tlements, which are all that is necessary to rendering the ri as prosperous as the individual has heen." " What do you mean by this distinction ?" " It is one that politicians do not often make, and it consti- jrand feature in which the southern states are deficient to a northern eye. It occasions some of the difficulties in your modes of reasoning. The wealth of the state must dcj !y upon its numbers. The wealth of the individual will dep.-nd chietly upon hin^elf. The people of a Mate may be all in the enjoyment of comfort and alllucnce, yet the state may be poor. Thll il the case with all the southern state.-, the govern ment of which has a sparsely-settled population <,n which t> Where the population is thinly planted, the roads will be, ini e- ;he public works infrequent and of mean appearance, and the cities (which depend wholly upon a contiguous back country f->r Mippurt) will stagnate in visible decline, u anting enter; and The mads, the public buildings, and tin- cities, bv which tin . judges of the prosperity of a people, will all depend upon the population of a state. If this be large if tho soil is well covered the powers of taxation are necessarily enlarged, without, perh&p?, gi ordenaome to any ; but thu means of life will poudiiij;!y diminished in the hands of the greater number. Want and \viil trouble thou- lew \\iil grOK lich at the exj tb e>t ; with the greater unml er, th- int tVoni murninu to night, to supply the im-t limit , painful . 17- SOUTHWARD HO ! But in the southern states, where the public works are few, the public buildings humble, and the cities of difficult growth or of stagnating condition, the great body of the people nay, all the people, bond and free live in the enjoyment of plenty always, and, in most cases, of a wondrous degree of comfort. " To illustrate this more completely by parallels : Great Britain and France are, of course, immeasurably superior, not only to the southern states of the Union, but to all the states, North and South, in the wonders of art, the great thoroughfares, the noble buildings, and the gigantic cities. These are errone ously assumed to be the proofs of prosperity in a nation, when it is somewhat doubtful if they can be even regarded as just proofs of its civilization. But, in Great Britain and France, millions rise every morning, in doubt where they shall procure the daily bread which shall satisfy the hunger of nature through the next twelve hours. No such apprehension ever troubles the citizen of the rural districts of the South. Rich and poor, black and white, bond and free, are all superior to this torturing anxiety ; and the beggar, who in the great cities of Europe and America is as frequent as their posts, is scarcely ever to be seen, even, in a southern city and then he is chiefly from a northern city, whence he flies to a region, of the hospitality of which (in spite of its failing fortunes) some vague rumors have reached his ears. II.- tlies from the proud and prosperous cities of the North, seek ing his bread at the hands of a people whom you profess to de-pi-e lor their decline." " With these convictions, why do you repine and complain . " " 1 do neither. To do either is unmanly. That the southern p.-oplt- do complain, more than is proper and needful, is surely a something to be regretted; since he vho pauses to complain will probably never overtake his flying prosperity. But, that there, should be ^looin and despondency is but natural with a people who, without positively sufVerin^ in fortune or comfort, are yet Compelled, by large transitions of fortune, to contrast their nt witli their past. It is not that we are ruined now, but that we remember how fortunate we were before. If we com pare ourselves with other people, ;md not with ourselves, we shall probably congratulate ourselves rather than complain." " With your views, you are then satisfied that your peopl- RESOUi:> i H:: SOOTH, IT: . should continue rural occnpatlo-is exclusively, to the rejection of manufaetu! "By no means I am anxious, on the contrary, that our j pie should embark in every department of art and trade l "i which they themselves or our climate may l.e fitted, if only that we may he perfectly independent of our northern brethren. \Ve have abundance of water-power* aO over the South ; we have, the operatives on the spot ; and we raise all the raw materials -sary for manufactures. ( )ur water-power never congeals with frost; our operative never work short, or strike for in- B, for we always keep them well fed and well clothed ; we pension their aged ; we protect and provide for their young; and, instead of being sickly at the toils we impose punv and perishing they are always lat and frolicsome, and always on the increase ; and cotton is every day passing into more general use, as clothing for the poorer races of mankind. But, in the introduction of manufactures, 1 do not propose that we should neglect or abandon any of our staples: I pro, that we should only employ our surplus population and lands lor the ] . There are large tracts ol territory, f >r exam ple, in the ( ar..lina<. which answer for neither cotton, tobacco, nor the smaller grains. In these very regions, there is water er in abundance; and where this is not the case, there is fuel in inexhaustible abundance, for the Use of stenm-power. I propose to increaac the wealth of the state by the application of the-e regions to their proper Use." " Hut if vour whole coimtrv should become manufacturing. wh\ not The profits nt manufactures are \a.>tly greater than the i-.,ttoii culture. I have 1MB some statistics of South Carolina, where it is estimated that seven hundred 0] ||T6I will reali/.e as lni _re a result, in working up the cotton, a* a whole district of t \\enty-tive thousand people in making the raw material. They will work up seven thousand i triplicating if> value, while the t\\.i:t\ live tho U >aiM but a single bale to each inhabitant." "This is the- ., \\hieh delude the world. It is perhaps (rue that a dUhict of South Carolina having twenty-fix . thousand people will sen I hut twenty-live thous.-md bags >t ton to muiket. It is aUo true, perhaps, that j-iglif hundred IT I 1I1WAKI) HO 1 operatives in a manufactory will, by their labor, increase thive fold the value of eight thousand hales, making a total of market- values equal to the twenty-five thousand bales. But when the operatives have done this, they have done nothing more than r eed and clothe themselves, while, in fact, the cotton-planter lias sent nothing but his .v///y>///.v crop into the market. He has lived and fed well, with all his operatives besides. Of the twenty-five thousand persons in agriculture, twelve thousand enjoy luxuries, ns well as comforts, which are not common to the cities. They have more leisure ; they enjoy more society ; most of them ride on horseback, and the greater number of families keep carriage or buggy. Nothing is said of the variety of food which they command, or may command the delights of their own homes, in their own grounds, their own gardens and firesides ; and the ease, the independence and elasticity, which belong to him who lives in the air and sunshine ; in exercises which are grateful ; and retires from his toils at an early hour, to the enjoyments of his homestead and his sleep. But talking of sleep reminds me of supper. Captain, if my nose does not greatly err, we are in the latitude of the old North State. I have been smelling tar and turpentine for the last half hour." CHAPTER XI. Ot R discussion had taken an essayical form, and was fast los ing its interest. Continued desultorily, it became descriptive. 1 was travelling through North Carolina last season," said one <>f the South-Carolinians present, " and was availed upon tlie route by a hale and rather pursy old farmer, with a long and curious examination on the subject of South Carolina politics. It was th<- time of the threatened sec -sii>n movement. Well, said he, what arc you people <rwine to do in South Car lina ! Air you in airnest note / I think so! And what will you do rut loose? It is not improhuhle. But you re not all for it. NO l,y no means. It is yet to be de cided whether there s a majority for separate state secession ; there is very little donht that a vast majority favors (he forma- tiMti of a Southern ( .mfederaey. -- And do y< ii rerkon that tin- Federal Government will let you go off quietly. It is so thought hy certain among; us. But you? I think otherwise. 1 think thry ;-an hardly suffer us to do so. It would he fatal to their revenue >y-tem. Well, and if they trv to put you down what are you irwine to do? 1 sup; hall have to carry the attack into the enemy > country, and put tin-Mi down in turn. That s rijrht. and I m one of them that stand ready hand whenever you want help. 1 aint of the way of thinking of Mr. iWkrry lit may he 1 )ickery I ickerv, l>ickery, D-rk something of the sort it is), who he fl for i inin^; the IVderal . --ut a^in you. and voting mm and money to put youdo\\n. I reckon th> : -e s very few in the Old St-ite \\-ith liini. He > a nati\- from your country, too, I m a-thinkin re a rether sh>w p-.ple in h Carolina, htit I reckon we re sure and s-.und, and true rr .t. and true South. We don t think yu r< ri^ ht. in what y a-doinir, nwin^ to the fact th i Sout 1 : < Bft l alway> a \( t n and micrhty apt to o off nt a half r^ek : Vi: (76 SOUTHWARD HO ! too quick, we believe it s a quickness pretty much on the right side. I m a-tliinking there s no chance for us in the eend, unless we cut loose from the whole Yankee consarn. Old Isaac Cop- pidge, one of my neighbors, he said more than twenty years ago, when you was for Nullifying that you would do right to break up the Union, you South-Carolinians that the Union was jest a sort of Union between a mighty fat frog and a hungry black- snake that the fat frog was the South, and the hungry snake the North. And, says he, it s because the frog is so big and so fat, that the snake kaint swallow him all at once. But the snake s got fast hold, and the frog s a-gitting weaker every day and every day a little more of him goes down ; when the day comes that the frog gives up and lies quirt, the snake ll finish him. That was what old Ike Coppidge used to say, and jest what he says now. As I said, my friend, we don t altogether like your doings, but there s a many among us, who didn t like em in the Nullification times. But we see that the thing s getting worse, the frog s gitting lower and lower in the snake s swallow, and we ve hafe a notion that you re pretty nigh to be right efter all. We d like you to wait a bit on us ; but ef you don t, we ll have a turn at the pump-handle, whenever there s a fire in your house. There s mighty few that think with Squire Dickery (or Dockery), and we ll git right side up before we re swallowed. I kin tell you that Clingman will distance his man by three thou sand votes, or I m a sinner in mighty great danger. " The anecdote brought out one of our passengers from North Carolina, who had not before spoken. He showed himself equally jealous of Virginia on one hand, and South Carolina mi the other. The Virginian dashed in ; and in a little while the conversation became general. But we soon subsided again into description, "Harper s l-Vn-y disappointed me," said one of the party. Jn fact, the traveller wonders at that extravagance of admira tion, which, in the, case of Mr. Jefferson and others, dilated iu terms of such wonder and admiration, upon the. sublimity and denr of a seem-. \\-hirh in no place rises above the. pictu- leMjue. It is impoible for anybody to identify any spot in this neighborhood with the scene described by the sage of Mon- licello. lint Jefferson, though ;> \ . rv great man, in certaii; re SHKN. \\no.\H \ M I 177 ilso, no little of a humbug. His superlatives apt to be bestowal, even where his imagination was unex< It is barely p" il le that lu- himself felt tho wonders which he described as visible in this region; but to most other persons his description appears to be the superb of hyperbole. The scene is undoubtedly a lino one pleasing and picturesque. The. junction, of two broad rivers, at tin- feet of double mountain ran- an nut be otherwise. Beauty is here, and dignity, and the eye liners with gratification upon the sweet pictures which are made of the scene, at the rising and the setting of the sun. Standing upon a jagged peak below the junction, and suffering the eye to sweep ver the two broad gorges within its range green slopes gradually ax-ending from, or abrupt rocks sullenly hanging above, the shallow waters glittering in the sunlight, you will naturally choose a hundred different spots upon which you would fancy the appearance of a Gothic or Grecian cottage. But no ideas of majesty, grandeur, force, power or sublimity, lift you into the regions of enthusiasm. The rivers are shallow and forceless. There are no impetuous rages, no fierce, impulsive gushings, in, fearful strifes with crag, and boulder no .storms. i rents, no agonies of conflict between rock and river. The re not only placid, but quiet even to tameness. They seem to have made their way through the rocks insidiou-ly ; with the ^lidini; sinuosity of the snake, rather than the wild flight of the eagle, or the mighty rush of the tijrer. They have, sapped the mountain citadels, not stormed them; and n- could have posM -M-d thi- \ olume to have done otherwise. The iption of Mr. .Ji-n"er>on would better suit the French Broad in North Carolina, to which the -cene at Hai pel s Ferry can not f>r a moment compare, whether Bfl regards beauty, maj or .sublimity. In contrast, the si une absolutely sluggish, They neither rive, nor rend. n.r r;i^e, n..r r<>ar amoii the i< They have \\ wild rnpids. ,,,, fnamiii^ wrath, no headlong plun ges, no boilinir ab 1 to him who goes thither, with hiv. mind full ! Mr. .) : !e>criptioii, there i.s n- thin^ in re.-- but disappointment. Hut what of the Sl.enandoah Val! "The valley .if the Sheiiandoah mi^ht reali/e to the youthful romancer hi.s most pcifert idea nf Arcadia EtepOSUIg < ly in 178 the bosom of protecting mountains, she, unfolds to the embrace of the sun the most prolific beauties. Her charms are, of a sort to inspire the most perfect idylls, and to mature the mind for contemplation, and to enliven the affections for enjoyment. A dream of peace, sheltered by the wings of security, seems to hallow her loveliness in the sight of blue mountains, and the smiling heavens. On every hand spread out favorite places for re-treat and pleasure, the most grateful of all, in which life suf fers no provocations inconsistent with mental revery, and where the daily necessities harmonize pleasantly with the most nutri tious fancies. Here the farmer may become the poet; here soli tude may yield proper occasion for thought : and thought, enli vened by the picturesque, may rise to a constant enjoyment of imagination. There is no scene so uniform as to induce monot ony or weariness. Green fields terminate in gentle heights, heights are rendered musical with companionable voices, by the perpetual murmur of rills and waterfalls. The eye that rests upon the rock is charmed away by the sunny shadmcs that chase each other, in perpetual sport, over valleys and sloping lawns ; and the heart feels that here, if it be not the case, it should be, that the spirit of man may be as divine as the region in which he finds his abode. That the heart is not here sufficiently sub dued to appreciate justly its possessions of nature that the ta-ies have not here sufficiently refined, in accordance with the sweetness, simplicity, beauty and sincerity of the place is only due to the freshness of the scene and the newness of society. In proportion as the sense awakens to what it enjoys as the means of life increase, and as prosperity leads to leisure, will be the improvement, mentally and spiritually, of a region, which only needs to be justly known, in all its charms and treasures. Tiriu will bring about the necessary improvement. As it is, the M-enc is one where the heart, already matured, and the, tastes .ilivady cultivated, may find a thousand abodes, in which life may pass away as a lonj* and grateful sunny day, lapsing lly into sleep ;\\ last, in a couch hung with purple, and un der a sky of blue, draped with the loveliest hues and colors of a il tuntet." Somehow, we got back to tho ! kern Shore," which wo lad already left belili;-! u.-, both m . -hip and story. One. of the tTLAHTK i: JERY. IT! 1 party was an ftdTOC*t for niode>t scenery, that which required yen to seek its beauties in the shade, and never sought to com pel y<ur admiration by its own ohtrusivene-s. He had found pictures for the eye where lew persons seek them. Thus: The argument depending upon moral, really, and not physical aspects : " In approaching the 4 Kastern Shore of Virginia," said he, "passing from ( )ld 1 oint across the hay, yon find yourself gli ding toward such scenes of repose, delicacy, and quiet beauty, as always commend themselves to eyes which are studious of de tail. To value the beautiful, apart from the sublime, requires the nicely discriminating eye. Here, you pass, in rapid succes sion, from headland to harbor. Gentle promontories shoot forth to welcome you, crowded with foliage, and affording pro- >n to sweet waters, and the most pleasant recesses for timid nymphs. You almost look to see the naiads darting through the rippling waters, in fond pursuit, with shouts and laughter. The ocean arrested by the headlands, which have been mostly upheaved from its own sandy hollows, subsides here into so many lakelets, whose little billows ju^t sullice to break ph--i>- antly the monotony of their glassy surface. These bays are scooped out from the shore, scooped into it, rather, in the half- M f.irm, leaviir !i a -andy margin, and a hard beach, upon which you see the gentleman s yacht, or the fisherman s boat drawn up, while the children >f both are rollicking together, rolling out among the rollers of the deep. Peace and s\\ee and love, .seem to be the guardian genii of these secluded places ; repose and contemplation are natural occupations; one that the pas.sions hen- do not e.\eici>e them-rU > madly and suicidally that they are economized and employed .nly under the guidance of the ailections and that it is possible -till to realize in fact the fictions nf the (ioldeii A " You should be a p "One can hardly e.-cape Mich fancies, beholding such a And tin- -lituiie of tiie region, though along the Atlantic shore, and contiguous t<> -reat mails .f eivili/ation, is quite ait profound as amo; ; _ the gorges of our own Apal mil 180 " Yes, indeed ; and the proof may be found in the character and manners of the people of the Eastern Shore. These have scarcely undergone any vital change in the last hundred years. They will tell you that here you find the best speci mens of the old Virginian : one of the Lions of the Eastern shore by the way, is an ancient vault, to which I was conduct ed with considerable interest. It lies upon an ancient farmstead, looking out upon the bay, and occupies the centre of an old field, of which, sheltered by some old trees, it is the only prom inent object. It belonged to a member of the Custis family, a branch of the same stock with which Washington intermarried. Its curious feature is to be found in its inscription. The vault, which is now in a state of dilapidation, is of white marble, made in London and curiously carved. Old Custis, the incumbent, was a queer old codger, and rather hard upon the fair sex, if we may judge by his epitaph, which runs literally as follows : " Under this marble tomb lies the body of the HON. JOHN CUSTIS, Esq., of tho City of Williamsburg and Parish of Burton; formerly of Hungar s l ;u- i*h. on tin- Eastern shore of Virginia, and County of Northampton: aged 71 years, nn<l yrt /irt d but seven years, which was tlif space, of time he kept A BACH ELOR S HOMK at Arlington, on the Eastern shore of Virginia. This inscription, we are told by another, on the opposite side, " was put on the tomb by his own positive orders." The eisf of it, as the ladies will painfully perceive, consists in the line we have italicised ; the force of which will be better felt and understood from the additional fact, which does not appear, that this bachelor, who fired only in his bachelor condition, //v/.v ac tually mar r ml fl/rce times. His experience, if we are to believe his epitaph, was greatly adverse to the idea of any happiness in the marriage state; yet how strange that he should have ven ture. 1 thrice upon it ! Tin- natural conclusion is that the Hon. John Custis was a singularly just and conscientious man, who, unwilling to do the sex any wrong by a premature judgment, lave them a lull and fair trial, at the expense of his own happi- . and pronounced judgment only after repeated experiments. Tradition has preserve 1 - -nie anecdotes of the sort of experience, which he enjoyed in the marriage state, one of which 1 will re late. It appears that he was driving in his ancient coach toward MATUI.MONIAI. FKI.HITY. 1M Cape Charles, with one of his wive, an.!, to do him ju- nmst a^ure the render that, unlike our modern Urighamites, lie liad but one .it a time. A matrimonial discussion ensued hetv. . tin- pair, which wanned as they proceeded. The lord grew angry, the lady vor terous. "It was the diamond," said one and "I insist," quoth the other, "that it was the club." V -u will drive me mad !" cried John Custis. "I should call that admirable driving?" retorted the wife. "By !" he exclaimed, "if you say another word I will drive d..wn into the sea!" They were even then upon the h ! "Another v.-.M-d !" screamed the, lady. "Drive where you ph-a<e." she added "into the sea I can go as deep as yon dare go any day !" He became furious, took her at her word, and drove the horses and chariot into the ocean. They began to swim. He held in, looked into her face, and she laughed in his. "Why do you stop?" .she demanded, exnltingly not a whit alarmed. "You are a devil !" he exclaimed Hinging the horses about, and making for the shore \\ith all expedition. h ! pooli !" laughed his tormentor. " Learn from this that there is no place where you dare to go, where I dare not uipanv you." K\ en to h !" he groaned. " The onlv exception." she answered with a chuckle " there my dear. 1 le;n e VMH." She had comjuered. He never dn.ve in at Cape Charles ;jga m. but gmaiu d with the recollection (,{ the sc\ -n y-;i)> 1 achelor-life at Arlington. When this little narration had ended, an intelligent (lerinau of the party, from wh B features and silent tongue wr : notliing. now jdra-a:it]y Mirjri>ed u> by vdunterr- ing a le^.-nd \ hi- >wn country a domestic legend of dark and gloomy character. A\ ur gratification at the :. drew our ehairs into the circle, lighted fr, listened to the foil. .wing tale, which. a< if parodying the title of a previous .storv. he called SulTHWARI) HO! THE BRIDE OF HATE: OR, THE PASSAGE OF A NIGHT. " Thou and I long since are twain ; Nor think me so unwary or accursed. To bring my feet again into the snare Where once I have been caught ; I know thy trains, Though dearly to my cost ; thy gins and toils ; Thy fair enchanted cti]>, and warbling charms, No more on me have power ; their force is nulled ; So much of adder s wisdom I have learned, To fence my ear against thy sorceries. Samsvn Agonistet. AT length I was permitted to behold my benefactress. The messenger who brought my quarterly remittance was the bearer of a letter, the first which had ever been addressed by her to myself, in which this grateful permission was accorded. I ivad and reread it a thousand times. My first emotions were those of pleasure a pleasure enhanced by the hope of satisfying a curiosity, which, awakened in my earliest boyhood, had never yet been gratified. Why had I been so kindly treated, so well provided for, so affectionately considered, in all the changes of my brief existence, my sickness and my health, by a lady of such high condition ? Why, again, should she, whose care and consideration had been so unvarying and decided, have shown so little desire to behold the object of her bounty? Years had elapsed since 1 had become her charge; years, to me, of con tinned satisfaction if one small matter be excepted. There was one alloy to my enjoyments, which, in its most rapturous moments, my boyhood did not cease to feel. It was the mystery which overhung my origin. Who am I? was the question, not so natural to the boy, yet natural enough to the sensitive and thoughtful. I was botli sensitive and thoughtful ; and my boy ish associates, contrived on this very subject, to keep me so. Their inquiries disordered me; their surprise at my ignorance alarmed me,; their occasional doubts gave me pain, and the Mis fit-ions of their minds readily passed into my own. Who am 1 . was the perpetual inquiry which my mind was making of itself. I could address it nowhere else. My tutor, with whom I also lodged, declared hi, i-iMM-ance ; and 1 ht-lieved him. He 1HK JTOtlTHPUL \n>TKUV. a man. to., kind, and liinisolf betrayed too great an interest in the question, not to have spoken sincerely. He saw inv disquiet, and endeavored t. allay it; and the endeavor added to the burden, since it sufficiently declared his equal in.i- bilitv and desire. His anxiety, though unequal to, was not unlike, my own. I know not if his conjectures led him to like lusions with myself. T only know that mine were suffi ciently painful to extort my tears and tremors. Vainlv, at each quarterly return of the agent of the baron- did 1 endeavor, by question and insinuation, to gather from him some (due to the facts of which I sought to be possessed. !{ had been the person who brought me to the school who made the contract for mv education and support with my tu- -and who alone, through each sueee-<ive period of my life \vard, had been the medium for conveying the benefactions of my friend. To whom, then, could I so naturally apply . whence could I hope to obtain better information? Besides, he always treated me with marked affection. T can remember, when a mere child, how frequently he took me upon his knee, how kindly he caressed me, what affectionate words he poured mv ear; the gentleness of his tones, the tendernes- of his Iffil Nor, as 1 advanced in years, did his attentions alter, though they assumed different aspects. He was more reserved, though not le^s considerate. If he no longer brought me he bi-ought me books ; if he no longer took me on his knee, ho lingered with me long, and seemed to regret the hour that com manded his departure. There was something too so I fan- in what he said. did. and looked, that betrayed the fon : m who had known me with a tender interest from the brgin- jiing. HN arm*, perhaps, had dandled me in infancy ; lie had mv follower, my attendant. Hut why linger on cnjec- tnres such as thr-e . Mv ^peculati-m* ran wild, as I thought over tlte rireum-tanres of my condition, and painfully resolved, hour after hour, tl ! my birth. From Bruno, however. I could obtain nothing. When ques tioned, he affected a stolid simplicity which, even to my : -h uudiM-standing. Drilled wholly inron< ; -tent with hi-. I knew that he \va- ti" f - I -rill le-s \va^ I willing to cm him a churl. My ttnrftl. He kn- w -metl 184 iHWAi;i> no! He could tell me much. Could he not tell me all, and where could be the motive for concealment ? The answer to this ques tion inevitably overwhelmed me for a time, until the elasticity of the youthful heart could disencumber itself from the despond ing tendency of a premature activity of thought. The only motive of concealment must be guilt. I was the child of sin I was the foredoomed of suffering. My present anxieties gave a gravity and intensity of expression to my features which did not become one so youthful. I felt this : I felt the seeming un- naturalness of my looks nud carriage ; but how could I relieve myself? I felt the pain of thought thought unsatisfied and could already imagine how natural was the doom which visited the sins of the lather to the third and fourth generation. When I failed to extort from the cunning of Bruno the secret which I was persuaded he yet possessed, I turned naturally to the letter of my benefactress. I read and reread it, each time with the hope of making some discoveries of finding some slight clue to the truth which might relieve my anxiety. An ambiguous sentence, the latent signification of a passage (and how many of these did my desire enable me to discover in a billet of twenty lines?) awakened my hopes and caused my heart to bound with double pulsation. But when I had gone through it again and again, until my head ached, and my senses seemed to swim, I was compelled to acknowledge to myself that there was nothing in the epistle that I had not readily compre hended at the first. It simply expressed the writer s gratifica tion at the improvement and good conduct of the youth whom she had thought proper to educate and provide for, until man hood should bring around the period of independence; and expressed though without emphasis (and how earnestly did I look lor this quality in every word, syllable and point!) a very natural desire to remark, with her own eyes the personal deportment and carriage of her protege subjects which she, <! t" i --ard as equally important with my intellectual im provement, and oj which neither my letters nor my exen-i-es which wore duly transmitted to her by my tutor could give her la ich, it :niy, -atislaction. Failing to find any occult signifira- ti -n in the lan^iui^e, 1 next addressed my scrutiny to the styh? Biid manner of the letter the handwriting, the air, the round MY-lKkY AND DOUBT. 185 equally of letters and periods. How M II, where tlir 1 and anx:< awakened, will the boy learn to tliink, exam ine, ami become analytical ! To trace the mind of the writer in his penmanship is a frequent employment with the idly curious; but a deep interest led me to the same exercise. The style ot the coinpositi [ear and .strong, but it struck me as quite too cold for the benevolent tenor which the note conveyed. Why should one speak the language of reserve whose deeds arc the very perfection of generosity? Why should the tone- . igid where the sentiments are ns soft as summer and sweet as its own bird-music ? There was, to my mind, some singular adiction in this. I could very well understand how one, doing, or about to do, a benevolent or generous action, should speak of it as slightly and indifferently as possible nay, should avoid to speak of it at all, if to avoid it be within the nature of the occasion; but this did not apply to the character of the !e 1 examined. The writer spoke freely of her friendly purposes ; but her language to the recipient was cold and free/ ing. If she had said nothing of what she had done and still :. and had spoken to me in more elaborate tones, I should have been better satisfied. But there was not an unne- i\ word in the whole epistle not one which 1 could fancy put in at the moment when the current of feeling, being at its ht, forbade the reserve of prudence, or the cautious consid- eratene-- ..f deliberate and calculating purposes. There was evidently considerable pain* taken so my youthful judgment inferred in the reserved language and manner of this letter; and why should my benefactress, moved only in what she had done by a high but ordinary .sentiment of charity, stri\. exjue-s herself in such language t a boy? This question led me into newer intiiearies, from which. 1 need M-arcelv add. 1 did not readily extricate my>elf. The penmanship of the writei did not call f..r a h--> earnest examination than the language vh .eh she employed. It was evidently feminine in its charac- ut how masculine in its tone. Tin- utter absence of orna ment was a deli.-ieney, \\hich struck me as forming a surprising .re in the handwriting of a lady. She used capitals stantly in beginning words a> well a- < ,ipi tuK exhibited the cold (loth :-ifthe Roman, rather thai 18G SOUTHWARD HO ! the lively ornamented outlines of the Italian letters. The T of her signature, for example, was a simple perpendicular stroke carried much below the line, with a thick heavy cap upon it, having a dip at each end almost as great as that of an umbrella. The letters were remarkably clear, but how irregular ! They seemed to have been written under a determination to write, even against desire and will dashed spasmodically down upon the paper not coherent, and leaving wide gaps between the sev eral words, into which an ingenious hand might readily have introduced other words, such, as I fondly conjectured, might have given to the composition that friendly warmth and interest in my fate, which it seemed to me it needed more than anything besides. My grand conclusion, on finishing my study, was this, that the writer had taken some pains to write indifferently ; that the studied coldness of the letter was meant to conceal a very active warmth and feeling in the writer ; and (though I may not be able to define the sources of this conjecture so well as the rest) that this feeling, whatever might be its character, was not such as could compel the admiration or secure the sympathy of mine. This conclusion may seem strange enough, when it is recollected that the baroness was my benefactress, who had always carefully anticipated my wishes; provided for my wants ; afforded me the best education which the condition of the palatinate afforded ; and, in all respects, had done, through charity, those kindly deeds which could not have been exacted by justice. The next moment I reproached myself for ingrati tude I prayed for better thoughts and more becoming feel ings but my prayer was not vouchsafed me. The conclusion which I have already declared had taken a rooted possession of my mind, ami I commenced my journey to the castle of T with a mixed feeling of equal awe, anxiety, and expectation. n. I NOW remarked some alteration in the looks and bearing of my companion, Bruno, which also surprised me and awakened my curiojjty. Hitherto. In- had always seemed a person of lit tle {.letenMoii, having few objects, and those of an humble class; a men- yeoman ; a -o.d ret;uner, in which capacity he served BRUNO. 187 at T - castle; modest in his deportment, Without of any kind ; and, in all respects, a very worthy personage. I J do nt mean to say that lie now assumed the appearance of one who had become less so ; but he certainly was no longer the quiet, Mihdued and somewhat melancholy man whom I had heretofore been wont to find him. A certain boyish light of manner and gayety of speech distinguished him as we rode her; and, though these qualities might not be altogether inconsistent with what is becoming in a man of forty, yet were they, at the same time, very far from corresponding with the usual characteristics which he had borne in onr previous inti macy. Until now I should have called him a dull person, pos sessed of good, benevolent feelings ; rather grave and sombre in his discourse; and, altogether, having no qualities to recom mend him to a higher destination than that which he filled in the castle of the baroness. Now, he suddenly liecame the man of spirit ; his words were mirthful, his voice musical, his opin ions playful and even witty; and, not unfreqnently. he would burst into little catches of song, that sounded unpleasantly in my ears, since I could neither conjure up cause of merriment in my own mind, nor conjecture the sources for so much of it in his. Nor did this conduct seem the result of simple natural lei-lings the play of health in an exercise which was agree able, or of sensations which lie beneath the surface only, and obe dient to the summons of any cheerful wayfarer, who, having no Caret! i.-. .susceptible >f the most ordinary pleasures. There was an air of positive exultation in his looks, a triumphant consciu- inner, which he vainly strove to hide, and in the business of which I quickly inferred, from his frequent smile and searching ga/.e upon me, 1 myself bad no little interest. When I commented up-m his gayety and spirit, he would sud denly control himself, relapse, as it were by an effort, into his < :it gravity, and possibly mutter a lew clumsy words of denial. Hut his struggle t> contain himself did not long con tinue, and before u e n-aehed the end >f our journey, he had fully surrendered himself to the joyous mood which possessed him -m our setting out. Having no knowledge of Castle T - , I endeavored by a of direct questions to obtain from him as much ini oimatior 188 SOUTHWARD HO ! as possible in respect to it and the lady thereof. He seemed to be surprised at the avowal of my ignorance on the subject of the ca-tle, and surprised me even more by expressing his wonder at the fact; concluding by assuring me that I was born in it at least he had been told so. His mention of my place of birth necessarily provoked an eager renewal of my old inquiries, but to these I obtained no satisfactory answers. Enough, however, was shown me by what he said, and still more by what he looked, that he knew much more than he was willing, or per mitted, to reveal. His reserve increased the mystery ; for if any of my acquaintance had ever convinced me of their unequiv ocal regard, it was my old friend Bruno. That he should know, yet withhold, the secret, the desire for which was making my cheek paler every day, and filling my heart with the gloom that seldom afflicts the young, argued, to my understanding, a pain ful history, which, perhaps, when heard, I should wish for ever buried in oblivion. When I inquired after my benefactress, as I had frequently done before, his brow Became clouded, and it was only at such moments that he seemed to part easily with that gayoty of manner which had striven to cheer our tedious journey. Stern glances shot from beneath his bushy gray eye brows, and his lips became compressed, as closely as if some resolute purpose of hostility was gathering in his mind. " It seems to me, Bruno, that you love me no longer. You will not answer my questions questions which seriously affect my happiness and yet it is clear to me that you can do so. Why is this? Why should there be any mystery in the case of one so poor, so humble, such a dependant as myself?" " Love you, Herman ! Do I not love you !" he exclaimed ; and I could see a big tear gathering within his eye, as he re plied in reproachful accents "Ah, my son, you know not how much I love you ; you know not now perhaps you will shortly know and when you do, you will see that what I have with held from you was wisely withheld. There is a season given for truth, Herman, and if Bruno forbears the truth in your ears, it is only that he may wait for a season." "But why should you not tell me of the baroness? I should like to form some idea of, and to love her, before I see her." "Then you do not love her?" ho demanded with some quick QUl !; ; and I could pen-rive a smile gleam out upon his counte nance, in which T fancied there was even an expression of hitter satisfaction. His question confused me it conveyed a acli which he certainly never intrndrd. Could it be possible that I did not love my benefactress or.e to whom I owed so much to whom, indeed, I owed everything? I blushed, hesi- ! , stammered, and. b. -f..iv 1 could reply, he again spoke, and anticipated the feeble excuse which I was preparing. Rut how should you love her?" he exclaimed, in tones rather of soliloquy than conversation. "How, indeed! It would have heen wonderful, indeed, if you did." ted himself in the manner of one who thinks he has said too much. The true feeling with which he spok< I gathered rather from the tone of his utterance than from what he said. The words, however, might have been made to apply much more innocently than the emphasis permitted me to apply them. llo\v ! what mean you, Bruno ?" I demanded, with an a^tou ishment which was sufficiently obvious. He endeavored to evade the effects of his error with the adroitness of a politician. H .w > .mid you he expected to love a person whom you had D6T6I x-eii whom you do not know of whom, indeed, you know nothing ?" Except hy her bounties, Bruno." it-, these demand gratitude, but seldom awaken love, un less by otho ;i.ss, , nations. Mere charity, gifts and favors, have but little value unless the donor smiles while he is giving .ks kind words, and looks affection and regard. The har- ~s has erred, it your affection was an object in her sight, in not personally br.stowing ln-r bounty and showing, to your own e\ s, the ci Mcern which .-he felt in your success, and the benev olence she intended. Without these, her bounty could scarce re your love; and the feeling which dictates it might have, no such motive for its exercise might bo dictated by pride, vanity, the ostentation of a virtue; or, indeed, might be the con sequence of a simpi,. Benae of d- " Duty ! How si,, ,uld it be the duty of the h;ir--uess to pro- vide for my support and edi, N..\, 1 -ay not that Mich is the case. 1 simply suggest on* 190 SOUTHWARD HO ! of the causes of that favor which men are very apt, when (ley name, to confound with benevolence." " But why should you speak as if it were doubtful that the baroness really desires to secure my affection ? Do you know, Bruno, that she does not ?" " He or she who aspires to secure the affection of another will scarcely succeed by the mere act of giving in charity. Th gift must be accompanied by other acts, other expressions, which shall exhibit the attachment which the giver desires to awaken. It must be shown that there is a pleasure felt in the benevolence, that the heart which bestows enjoys a kindred sat isfaction with that which receives. As for any knowledge on the subject of the feelings of the baroness, I pretend none. I but state a general truth when I say, that, if her object had been to make you love her, she should have carried her gifts in person, shown herself frequently to you, counselled you from her own lips, exhorted your industry and diligence, prompted your ambition, cheered your labors, and encouraged all your honorable desires." "Ah, if she had done this, Bruno ?" " Doubtless, you would then have loved her, and then she would have been " He paused abruptly ; the same stern expression of counte nance denoted the suppression of a sentiment, such as more than once before, during our dialogue, had seemed to fill his mind with bitterness. I eagerly demanded of him the conclusion of the sen tence, and, with a smile which was half a sneer, he replied : "Then she would have been secure of your love." I smiled also, and, perhaps, a like sarcastic sneer passed over my own lips, as he came to this lame and impotent conclusion. " Bruno, you deceive me, and possibly wrong my benefac tress. You know more than you will tell me. There is some stranr< mystery in this business " "Which I believe, Herman, but " "Which you know, Bruno." Perhaps so ; but let me ask you, Herman, my dear Herman, do you believe me to be your friend (" -I do." That 1 have ever shown you kindness, watched over you. COUNM .ls OF 1 \i i:i:i: I . l counselled yon, guided you, protec:- IflOfl - ill. i" short, that a father ould have doH for the >>n h: mt fa "Truly, good Bruno, I believe, I think, I know, that you have been all this to me. Yu have supplied those performan- uhich, it your thinking be right, the henevolence of the baroness imprudently omitted." " Knou-h. Herman. Believe then a little more. Believe that he who has been friendly and faithful hitherto, without hesitation, without exception, without going back, and without sign of reluctance, will still be true, faithful, and affectionate. There is >.unething that 1 might say, but not wi*ely, not benefi cially f.r YOU, and therefore I forbear to say it. But the time will come. I think it will come very soon, and all my knowl. thnll then be yours. Meanwhile, be patient and learn the first best less-m of youth learn to wait! By learning to wait, you learn to endure, and in learning to endure, you learn one of the principal arts of conquest. I speak to you the lesson of experience, of my own experience. Never did a young man pass through a more trying term of endurance than myself. I have sup pressed my nature, stilled the passions of my heart, kept down niggles of my soul which, as they would have vainly striven for any n 1 M-. . were premature; and, after twenty years of bondage I am at length free. Your visit to the castle of T , is the epoch of my emancipation." 11 VVIM; thus spoken, Bruno became suddenly silent, and no effort that I could make could induce him to resume the conver- Mttioii. Vet, how had this conversation excited me! whafr mmotion did it occasion amn^ the thoughts and fan- f my mind. Where had he obtained the power to speak with >o much authority. %\..n!s M full of animation, thoughts SO far beyond his seeming condition * His words seemed to lift ami expand himself. UK eye. glittered with the lire of an eagle s as he spoke, his lip ijuivered with equal pride and en- thnsi.-ism, and his form. 1 ,! t--\\ er al-fr in ill majesty of a tried and familiar superiority. The mystery which entrapped my OWH f >d of a sudden to envelop tin s 192 invAKD HD ! man also. He had dropped words which indicated an alliance of our destinies, and what could he mean, when, at the close of this speech, he said, that my visit to the castle of T was the epoch of his emancipation. The words rang in my ears with the imposing solemnity of an oracle ; but, though I felt, in vain did I strive to find something in them beyond their solitary import. They increased the solemnity and anxiety of those feelings which oppressed me on my nearer approach to the gloomy tow ers of T castle. As we came in sight of them I could perceive that the countenance of my companion assumed an ex pression of anxiety also. A dark cloud, slowly gathering, hung about his brows, and at length spread over and seemed to settle permanently upon his face. He now seldom spoke, and only in answer to my inquiries and in monosyllables. Something of this, in the case of each of us, may nave been derived from the sombre and gloomy tone of everything in the immediate neigh borhood of this castle. The country was sterile in the last degree. We had travelled the whole day and had scarcely en countered a human being. But few cottages skirted the cheer less and little-trodden pathway over which we came, and a general stuntedness of vegetation and an equally general pov erty of resource in all respects, fully accounted to us for, and justified the absence of, inhabitants. Bruno, however, informed me that the country on the other side of the lake on which the castle stood, and from which it derived its resources, was as fer tile and populous as this was the reverse. A succession of little hills, rugged and precipitous, which were strewed thickly over our pathway, added to the difficulties of our approach, and the cheerlessness of the prospect. The castle was gray with years one portion "of it entirely dismantled and deserted the resi due in merely habitable condition the whole presenting such a pile as would be esteemed a ruin among a people of roman tic temperament, but carefully avoided by the superstitious as better calculated for the wanderings of discontented ghosts, than as a dwelling for the living. The wall which was meant to pro tect it from invasion on the side we came, was in a worse state of dilapidation than even the deserted portions of the castle, and we entered the enclosure through a fissure, and over the over thrown masses of lime and stone by which it had been originally THK f ASTLK AND THE LADY. 198 filled. There were too many of these openings to render formal ports or pateways necessary. Within the enclosure I had an op portunity to see how much more deM>late was the prospect the iu-Mr*r I approached it. Its desolation increased the feelings of awe with which the inv>tcry of my own fate, the ambiguous words and manner of Bruno, and the vague conjectures I had formed in reference to my benefactress, had necessarily filled my mind ; and I was conscious, on first standing in the presence of the bar- oneM. of far more apprehension than gratitude an appreheu- rc ljtable to my manhood, and only to be excused and accounted for, by the secluded and unworldly manner in which my education had been conducted. The baroness met me with a smile, and such a smile! I could not comprehend its language. It was clearly not that of affection; it did not signify hatred shall I say that it was the desperate effort of one who seeks to look benevolence while feeling scorn ; that it was a smile of distrust and bitterness, the expression of a feeling which seemed to find the task of receiving mo too offensive and unpleasant even to suffer the momentary disguise of hypocrisy and art. I was confused and stupefied. 1 turned for explanation to Bruno, who had accompanied me into the presence ; and the expression in his face did not less surprise me than that in the face of the barom---. His ryes were fixed upon hers, and his looks wore an air of pride and exultation ; not dissimilar to that which 1 have already described as distin- pii.-hing them while, our dialogue was in progress. There was something also of defiance in his glance, while gazing on the baroness, which puzzled me the more. Her eyes were now turned from me to him. " And this then is tin the y>uth the " She paused. I could no longer misunderstand those accents. They were those of vexation and annoyance. " The same !" exclaimed Bruno, " the same, my lady, and a noble youth you see he is; well \\nrthy of your patronage, your love!" There was a taunting asperity in his tones which struck me painfully, and at length stimulated me t" utf iamv and actimi. 1 rushed forward, threw myself at her feet, and, while I pmirrd forth my incoherent acknowledgment* f"i h*r benefactions, would SOUTHWARD HO ! have Ho.ixed ami carried her hand to my lips. But she shrink hack with an impulse if possible more rapid than my own, her hands uplifted, the palms turned upon me as if beckoning me away, her head averted, and her whole attitude and manner that of on< suffering contact with the thing it loathes. No. no ! None of this. Take him away. Take him away. * I rose upon my feet and turned to Bruno. His form was erect, his eye was full of a stern severity as he gazed upon the baroness, whk-h seemed to me strangely misplaced when I con sidered his relative position with the noble lady to whom I owed KO much, and, in respect to whom it would seem so unaccountable, so unnatural. Bruno paused and did not regard me as I approach ed him. His eyes were only fixed upon his mistress. She re peated her injunction, with a wild and strange addition : " Have you not had enough ? Would you drive me mad I Away with him. Away !" " Come !" he exclaimed, turning to me slowly, but with an eye still fixed upon the baroness, whose face was averted from us. He muttered something further which I did not understand, and we were about to depart, he frowning as if with indignation, and I trembling with equal apprehension and surprise. " Stay!" she exclaimed, "where would you take him, Bruno?" " To the hall below, your ladyship." " Right, see to his wants. His chamber is in the northern turret." 14 There !" was the abrupt exclamation of Bruno. " There ! There !" was all the reply ; a reply rather shrieked than spoken, and the manner of which, as well as the look of Bruno, when he beheld it, convinced me that there was some thing occult and mysterious in the purport of her command. Nothing more, however, was spoken by either the baroness or himself, and we left the presence in silence together. IV. WE descended to the salle a manger, where we found a boun tiful repast prepared. But neither of us seemed disposed to eat. though the long interval of ahhtinence since the morning meal, would, at another time, and under different circumstances, have TO KR. 195 jtirikit>d a vigorous appetite and an enormous con>umption of tin- various viands before us. I remarked one thing 1 in the man- HL r Mnont of the feast which oecar-ioned my astonishment. There was a regular taster of the several dishes, who went through his office brfore Bruno invited me to eat. I had heard and read of this o filer r and the objects of tliis precaution in the history of and barbarous centuries, hut that he should he thought necessary in modern household and in a Christian country was a subject of very natural wonder; and I did not hesitate to say as much to my companion and friend. But my comment only met his smile ; he did not answer me, but contented himself with assuring: me that I might eat in safety. He even enlarged on Hence of some of the dishes, most of which were new to rne. I did little more in the progress of the repast than follow the example of the taster, who, his office over, had instantly retired, but not before casting a glance, as I fancied, of particular meaning toward Bruno, who returned it with one similarly sig nificant ! I observed that all the retainers exhibited a singular r>e of deference to this man, that his wishes seemed antici pated, and his commands were instantly obeyed. Yet he spoke to them rather in the language of an intimate companion than a master. II.- wa* ioeo >( . and familiar, made inquiries into their B concerns, and seemed to have secured their affections entirely. It was not long before I discovered that this was tin- < . I pim the wile a manger, as neither of us cared it, we retired after a brief delay, and, leaving the castle, merged by a low postern into an open court which had once been enclosed and covered, but of the enehxuiv nf which only one section of tlie wall remained, connecting the. main building with a sort of tower, which, as I afterward found, contained the iiparfme; .-(1 me by the baroness To this tower Bruno now conducted me. ( iv.sMiiir tin- c..ur!. \\ e rnten-d a -mall door at the foot of the tower, which my conductor carefullv 1 behind him. We then a-ccndc-d -i narrow and deeavini: flijrht tejW, which, hrin.ir circular, gradually conducted us to ail upper chamber ol greater height from the ground than, looking upward from below, I had at first esteemed it. This chamber was in very good repair, and at one time seemed, indeed, to have been very sumptuously furnished. There was, how. 50 1" Tli \VAitD HO ! an air of coldness and damp about the apartment that impressed me with unpleasant sensations. But a single window, and that a small one, yielded the daylight from the eastern sky, while two small narrow doors, that appeared to have been shut up for a century and more, occupied opposite sections of the northern and southern walls. The little aperture at the head of the stairs was closed by a falling trap, and fastened or not at the pleasure of the incumbent, by a bolt in the floor above. A massive bedstead, of carved columns and antique pattern, stood almost beside the trap, making flight easy by that means in the event of such a proceeding seeming desirable. A venerable table, of the same style and century as the bedstead, stood in the middle of the apartment, sumptuously covered with a rich darnask cloth, the massive fringes of which swept the floor around it. The solitary window of the apartment was shaded by a cur tain of similar hue, but of softer and finer material. But the uphol stery and decorations of my chamber, or my prison for such it seemed with all its decaying splendor called for little of my notice then, and deserves not that of my reader. A casual glance sufficed to show me the things of which 1 have spoken, and I do not think I bestowed upon them more. There were matters far more serious in my mind and important to my interest. Two stools which the apartment contained, afforded seats to Bruno and myself; and 1 scarcely allowed myself to be seated before I demanded an explanation of the strange scene through which we had gone with my benefactress. " A little longer, dear Herman be patient a little longer and then you shall have no cause to complain of me. I shall strive soon to convince you of my wishes for your happiness and welfare, and, perhaps, of the, continued labors which I have undergone, having your fortunes in view only. Yet, I do not promise you to unfold the mystery entirely, or even partially, which enwraps this ca-tle ami its unhappy mistress. IVrliaps I can not. I confess IV - -ly there is sonit tiling beyond my knowledge, though not, I ti u>t, beyond my power. Should 1 succeed in what I purpose, and this very night may show, then may you expect such a revelation as will satisfy your curiosity and make you better content with your position. Of one thing I may assure you; your fortunes are better than you think them, the prospect is WAHNINC- IK I>A\I;KK. 107 favorable before you, anil tin- time is not far distant when you may realize ray hopes in ymir behalf, and reap some of the fruits of my toils. Hut I mu^t leave you now. Nay, do not stay me, and do not seek to question me further. I can not now, I will not, speak more on this subject. It is your interest that calls me from you." I would have detained him for further questions, spite of his admonition, hut he broke away from me, and was hurrying through the small southern door of the apartment when he sud denly stepped. " Herman, I had almost forgotten a most important matter. I must give, you some cautions. This door, you perceive, has a bar, which drops within these fissures of the wall and secures it thoroughly. Yon will close it after me, and keep it fast at all hours. Do not open it to any summons unless it be mine, and even my voice, or what may seem to be my voice, must not per suade you to violate this caution. When I desire entrance, you will hear these sounds, but no words" here he breathed, rather than whistled, a slight note, interrupted by a singular quaver, which Memed the very soul of mystery " above all," he con tinued, " let no woman s voice persuade you to undo the bar." 41 But suppose the baroness should send ?" " Do not you hear. She may send nay, I am sure she will *he may come herself. But I must then open ?" N ... not then ! Not for your life." I la, Bruno ! What may this mean ?" Inquire not now, my son; but believe me that my precau tions are not idle, not unnecessary. I live but to serve and save you." ive me ! Yon confound me, Bruno." Ktt| I have f-aved y.m until now, and require n.. thing but your obedience to be yur pns,.r\-r still. Do as 1 a-k. as I command you! ami all will l>e, well, and we shall be tri umphant." 1 1 words were no less strange to me than had been those of the baron *!, ami what was more strange than all was that tudden air of authority, parental indeed, which he now assumed for the first time. I did not. at the moment, feel the greater HO! singularity of my own tacit obedience, without disputation, to tin- authority of this man. I acted, all the while, as if under the sway of an instinct. His eye, in the next moment, gave a hasty glance to the solitary window of my chamber and to the door in the southern wall of the apartment. " That door is almost unapproachable," he said, seeing that my eye followed the direction of his ; " it leads to an abandoned terrace which overhangs the lake. The portion of wall which connected it with the castle is almc st in ruins. Still it may be well that you should keep it bolted. The window, which is grated and inaccessible, will yet afford you a pretty view of the neighboring mountains ; these, as there is a lovely moon to night, you will be able to distinguish readily. Should the hours seem tedious in my absence, you can amuse yourself by looking forth. But, let me warn you at parting, Herman, open to no summons but mine." v. HE left me at these words, and left me more perplexed, if not more apprehensive, than ever. My meditations were neither clear nor pleasant. Indeed, I knew not what to think, and, perhaps naturally enough, ended by distrusting my counsellor. The change in his deportment and language had been no less marvellous than was the reception which I had met with from the baroness. The inference seems usually justified that where there is mystery, there is guilt also ; and Bruno had evidently been more mysterious and inscrutable than the baroness. She, indeed, had spoken plainly enough. Looks, words, and actions, had equally denounced and driven me from her presence ; and, ignorant and innocent of any wrong, performed or contemplated, I necessarily regarded my benefactress as the victim of sudden lunacy. Still, it was impossible to reconcile 1 the conduct of Bruno, however strange and unaccountable it might seem, with the idea of his unfaithfulness. He certainly, so far as I knew, had ever been true to my interests. He had been something more. He had shown himself deeply attentive to all my feel ings. Never had father U-btowed more tender care on a be loved son, and shown more of parental favor in his attachments, than had been displayed toward me from the first by this per THE MIDNIGHT VISITER. 109 son. It wa> not easy now to distrust him ; and, racked by con- n jpotures. I passed two weary hours before anything happened to divert my thought* from speculations which brought me n i:i._ r her to the truth. In the meanwhile, I had made sun dry attempts, hy looking around me, to lessen the influence of my thoughts upon my feeling-;. I examined mv chamlicr \\itli f li .ippearance, if not the feeling, of curiosity. I mounted to the window, and for a little while was soothed by the soft, sil very light of the moon, as it seemed to trickle down the brown, discolored sides of the rocks tli.it rose in the distance, hill upon hill, until the last was swallowed up in the gloomy immensity beyond. The moon herself, in the zenith, was beyond my glance. But this prospect did not relieve the anxiety which it failed to divert. I turned from the pleasing picture, and, resuming my seat beside the table in my gloomy apartment, again surrendered myself up to those meditations which, how- ever, were soon to be disturbed. My attention was called to the door through which Bruno had taken his departure, and which though I did not then know the fact led through a diMnal corridor, to a suite of rooms beyond. A distinct tap, twice or thrice repeated, was made upon the door. I a> on the eve of forgetting the solemn injunctions of my companion, and had nearly risen from my seat for the purpose of opening it. 1 recollected myself, however, before doing so, and maintained an inflexible Silence, hut 1 could not stifle the beatings of mv heart, \\hich, on a sudden, seemed to have acquired fourfold powers of pulsation. I almost tottered under my emotion; and nothing but a resolution of the most stern character, and the feeling of sham.- that came to my reliel and reproached me with my | enabled me to preserve a tolerable degree of com posite. 1 kept silence ami mv heat; suppressed my lire a thing! :i M 1 cMul 1 ; and. with e;,. ly less keen than tli"M- of tli- \\ateh-dog \\hen the wolf-dmvr trots about the enriMire. did I listen to the mysterious Mimm.ns from without. A_ and again, tin. ugh still in moderate force, as if some caution was r. prevent the soun l> fr.in reaching other senses than my o\\n. were the taps repented upon the door ; and, after a full quarter of an hour, passed in u condition <! e the mogt trying and op I was at length relieved by hearing 200 SOUTHWARD HO ! the tread of retiring footsteps, preceded by the murmurs of a voice which I had never heard before, and none of the words of which could I distinguish. I breathed more freely for a while, but for a while only. Per haps an hour elapsed it might have been less it certainly could not have been more ; I had fallen into a sort of stupor, akin to sleep, for nature was not to be denied her rights, < -\ < -n though care had begun to insist on hers ; when the summons was renewed upon the entrance, and, this time, with a considerable increase of earnestness. Still, I followed the counsel of Bruno, returned no answer, and strove to retain my position in the most perfect silence. The knocking was repeated after a little inte* val, but with the same want of success. Then I heard voices. A whispering dialogue was evidently earned on between two persons. How acute will the ears of anxiety become when sharpened by apprehension. I heard whispers, evidently meant to be suppressed, through a stone wall nearly three feet in, thickness. The whispering was succeeded by a third summons, to which I paid as little attention as before, and then the whis pers were exchanged for murmurs sharp, quick murmurs in the tones of that voice, which, once heard, could never have been forgotten. It was the voice of the baroness. I could now distinguish her words; for, in her passion, she lost all her pru dence. " Said you not that you saw them enter together ?" The reply was not audible, though the whisper which conveyed it was sufficiently so. "And you saw Bruno go forth alone ?" Again the whisper, which must have been affirmative. " And he took the way to the convent ?" The response was immediate, and, 1 suppose, affirmative also, though Ktill in a whisper too soft for me to hear. " Then he must be here !" The remark was followed by a louder knocking, in the inter vals of which my name was called three several times in the voice of the baroness; each time with increased emphasis, and evidently under the influence of a temper, roused from the first, and growing momently more and more angry, under disappoint ment. I began to reproach myself with my conduct. How could I justify this treatment of my benefactress? By H hat MYMT.UY I Nt UKASES. 201 right did I exclude her, and what reason could I give to my self or others for such disrespectful treatment? The discussioa of this question in my <>wn mind led to various and conflicting NUttiwft My reflections all refilled tliat I should answer the Buminons, and open the door to the mistress of the castle; but my ferling>. suayed equally by the mystery of my situation, ami the singular influence \\hieh P-nino had acquired over me, were opposed to any compliance. While I debated, however, with nivM-lf, I heard another voice without the voice of Bruno which seemed to produce as much annoyance and fluttering among iny nocturnal visiters, a> their summons had occasioned in my own excited heart. His tones were loud, and he seemed to be under as much excitement as the baroness. The words of his first address were clearly audible. "Ah, madam," he exclaimed, "it is as I apprehended; you have then violated your promi.se you have dared!" "Dared dared!" was the almo-t fierce exclamation in re ply. Av, madam, dared. You knew the penalty of faithlessness when you complied with the conditions ; can it be that you w.iuld defy it. HOW is it then " "Stand from my way, in>olent !" cried the baroness, inter rupting him ill haught\ arcent.s, and evidently moving forward. " Willingly," \\as the an.swei ; " \\illiugly, but I go with you for awhile. Dismiss the girl." Strange to say, this command, for command it wa>, was in stantly obeyed. . 1 heard the baroness clearly addn ,->s a third ii. f \\liom 1 knew nothing, but whom 1 conceived to be the pei>on meant by liruno, in terms which despatched her from the juoence. The dialogue i.et\\een the two was then re>u: but the M.unds gradually died away from my ears, as it seemed in i-on-equenre ..f the parties retiring to some more di>tant >p..t. My agitation may he fancied all the while. So long as the in- terlocuior.s were \\ithin hearing, 1 was more composed ami quiet. When I ceased to hear them and to be coiiM-iou-* ol their neigh borhood, my anxi ;ne utterly unrestrainable. 1 d^-lied the fears which oppressed me, tLc warning which had been given me, the nice scruples of propriety and delicacy, which, at another time, I should have insisted upon a& paramount to ev. i \ 20 2 SOUTHWARD UO ! other law. 1 lifted the bar from the door, which 1 opened, and emerged into the long and gloomy gallery, of which I have al ready Briefly spoken. I was resolved to pursue the parties, and satisfy that intense curiosity a curiosity which was strict ly justified by my own entire dependence upon the circumstances in progress possibly, for life and death, weal and wo, bondage and freedom which was preying upon me like a fever. With many misgivings, some momentary scruples, and a few fears, all of which I contrived to keep in subjection, I pursued this gallery with the most cautious footstep, resolved to hear the dreadful truth, for such I now esteemed it to be, upon which turned the mysterious history of my birth and fortunes. I groped my way, almost in entire darkness, along a ruinous part of the castle. The gallery seemed to be winding, and there were openings in the wall, which I felt on either hand at inter vals, and which seemed to indicate other chambers and apart ments. Through these a chill wind passed, confirming me in the belief that they were ruinous and deserted, and satisfying me that the parties I pursued were not to be found in either of tin-in. At the end of the gallery I was stopped by a door, and beyond it the voices were again heard, sometimes low, at other times in angry emphasis, but seemingly with little or no cessa tion either of one or of the other. The words were seldom suf ficient! v audible to be syllabled clearly, and my curiosity would not sniler me to remain satisfied. I tried the door, which, to my great joy, was unfastened, and advanced with increased caution into a second and small apartment which seemed a dressing- room. A faint light gliding through a chink in the opposite wall, together with the distinct voices of the persons I sought, guided me to a spot where I could see them with tolerable ease, ami hear all their words distinctly. The chamber into which I looked was similarly furnished with my own. It seemed to have been equally unoccupied. An ancient ottoman received the form of the baroness, who, as she spoke, alternately rose from, or sunk hack upon its cushions. She scarcely uttered a sentence, without accompanying it with great and corresponding action; now rihin<r from her seat ami advancing passionately upon her companion with hand uplifted as if to strike, her eye flashing fury and resolution while her lips poured forth a tor CONFLICT OF PASSIONS. 203 rent of impetuous indignation and rage; then suddenly rece ding at the close of her words, she would sink back as if ex hausted upon the ottoman, burying 1 her face within her hands and sobbing with disappointed anger. Bruno, meanwhile, i the very embodiment of coolness and resolution. "Ulrica," I heard him say, as I approached the aperture, "these are follies from which you should be now freed. They are frenzies which must only destroy you, while they do no pood to your purpose, enfeeble you in my sight and humble vi m iii your own. Of what avail is all this violence of what avail your further struggles to prevent that consummation which is. at length, at hand : let me implore you to be wise ere it be too late. Welcome with a smile the necessity which you can baffle no longer." Welcome it with a curse welcome it with death, rather. Well do you call it a necessity ; it is a necessity like death, and as such, and such only, shall it have my welcome." "And the wise welcome death with a smile, if only because it is a nere^ity," replied Bruno. "You can not now escape mo, you can not longer evade compliance with my wishes. Long, long, and wearisome indeed, have been my labors. I have at length triumphed ! I have succeeded in my purpose, and am, at length the master of your fate ! I witness your struggles with sorrow, as they only drive you on the more certainly to humiliation perhaps to madness. It is pity, Ulrica, genuine pity, and no other feeling, which would move me to implore of vou a willing: concession <>t that which y<>u can no longer avoid to make. The necessity is now inevitable, and I would spare you those further struggles which tend only to your exhaustion. You are so completely in iny power, that your hatred and fury no longer awaken my indignation." "Do y.ii exult, wretch do ymi then exult? Beware! You are not yet secure of your triumph." "I am. Let this night pass only without harm to the boy, And all is well, and our triumph is complete. I am then your mast " Master ! master ! Away, insolent, and leave me. You are still my slave." N... Ulrica, you know better than this. The epithet is no 204 SOUTHWARD HO! longer applicable. I am your master, and the master of your fate." "Slave! slave! slave!" was the oft-repeated and bitter ex clamation, which came forth from her lips in foamed impotence. " If to conquer is to acquire the rights of a master, then are these rights mine. Still I say not Wo to the conquered. No, Ulrica, again and again, I conjure you to seek favor and to find it. It is still in your power it is in your power while this night lasts to receive indulgence. Be merciful to yourself as well as to him, the youth, who now, for the first time, from that awful hour of storm and meditated crime, the hour of his birth, enters the dwelling of " "Say it not, man wretch, fiend! Hell s curses and con suming fire be upon that hour, and the vile thing of which you speak. Slave ! Hence ! hence and leave me ! and hear from my lips lips which have seldom spoken the language of ven geance and of hate in vain, that the night is not yet over, and he who shouts at the close of one day may howl ere the begin ning of another." "I do not despise your threats, Ulrica I fear them ; but I guard against them also. Did you fancy that you could pene trate to that chamber undiscovered by the watchful eyes that for the last seventeen years have been busy in penetrating every movement of your mind and soul ?" "Accursed period! Fiend, wherefore will you torment me with the recollections of that time ?" " Curse not the time, Ulrica, but the deed which it witnessed, and the worse deeds to which it led your deeds, Ulrica, not mine your free and voluntary deeds, to which neither the counsels of wisdom, nor of others, bnt your appetites and evil passions impelled you. You have called me slave repeatedly to-night it is your favorite epithet when you deign to speak of, and to me. It is now time that I should relieve myself from the epithet, as 1 am now able to prove myself your master, and the master of your fate. If, seventeen years ago, I was the bondman of your father, annexed to the soil, his serf your alave I have been emancipated from all such relationships by your crime. You MMftoCJ the power which was transmitted you, to command my obedience. You required of me a sen ice THK VOICE OK Till: MASTER. M a slave, which released mi from all obligations of that condi- tion ; and though I wore the aspect, the demeanor, the hurden of the slave, from that moment I resolved to be one no longer. When that boy " " Curse him ! Hell s curses be upon him and you !" was the fiendish exclamation, accompanied by looks equally fiendish. 44 Those curses, Ulrica, will <Tm# to your neck and strangle you for ever!" was the stern and indignant answer of Bruno to this interruption. " Of one thing be certain, they neither vex me nor baffie me in my purpose. They have never hitherto done so, nor shall they now, when my labors are on the eve of successful completion. But I resume : When that boy was bom, 1 resolved to secure him from the fate of the others! Did it nt prove my fitness for freedom when my mind was successful in the struggle with my master ? How long has that struggle continued what has been its history what now is its termi nation ? My triumph my continued triumphs my perfect inmate ry over you! I have bafiled you in your purposes pre vented many would I could have prevented a// of your evil deeds and desires; protected the innocent from your hate pre served the feeble from your malice, and secured, to this mo ment, the proofs equally of your crime and my superiority. Did these achievements seem like the performances of a slave ? Did these betray the imbecility, the ignorance, or the pliability of the slave? No, Ulrica, no! He who can rank with his m. has gained a sufficient, perhap> the only sufficient title to his freedom ! But that title was already gained when you de led to the level, and cm. rented your>elt with sharing the pleasures of th.- when you were willing " \ : rent of the most terrific imprecation, in a voice more like the bursting of a thunderbolt, drowned the narrative, of the speaker, and prevented me from hearing the conclusion of a .spcedi. the tenr of which equally surprised and confused me. What Bruno said was jost eaottgh to advance me to a mental uiniiM tu- whence I could survey only a sea of fog, and haze, mi. I mysterv, much deeper than before. When his words again became intelligible, he had discontinued his reminiscence*. me, Ulrica. You know not yet the extent of my . YOU die;un u t tli.it I am f;nni1iai with vm ke 206 SOUTHWARD HO ! erets even beyond the time when ] was called to share them. Till now I have kept the knowledge from you, but when T name to you the young but unhappy Siegfried! His fate " " Ha ! Can it be ! Speak, man, monster, devil ! How know you this? Hath that vile negress betrayed me ?" " It needs not that you should learn whence my knowledge comes. Enough that I know the fate of the unhappy Siegfried unhappy because of your preference, and too vain of his ele vation from the lowly condition of his birth, to anticipate tlio t -arful doom which in the end awaited him; and to which 1, too, was destined. But the kind Providence which has pre- od me, did not suffer me to be blinded and deceived by the miserable lures which beguiled him to his ruin, and which you vainly fancied should mislead me. You would have released my limbs from fetters to lay them the more effectually upon my soul. You commanded my submission, you enforced it, but you never once deceived me. I saw through you from the first, and prayed for the strength to baffle and overcome yon. I obtained it through prayer and diligence ; and more than once it was my resolution, as it long has been in my power, to destroy you, and deliver you without time for repentance, to the fearful agent of evil which has so long had possession of your heart. That boy has saved you more than once. The thought of him, and the thought of what he was, and should be, to you, has come be tween me and my purpose. You have been spared thus long, and it is with you to declare, in this place, and at this moment, whether you will be wise in season, whether you will forego the insane hatred which has filled your bosom from the hour of his birth, and accept the terms of peace and safety which I now offer you for the last time- Hear me through, Ulrica, and know that I do not heed your curses. I am too strong, too secure in my position, to be moved by the idle language of wrathful im potence. This night must determine equally for him and your self. To-morrow, which witnesses his public triumph, will be too late for you unless to share it. I have already seen his ho liness, who will be here at noon, armed with plenary powers to search and examine ; and it needs only that I should point my finger, and your doom is written, here and eternally. You are not in thp temper to die ; and you may escape for repentance BLUW9 AND DEK1 vN< !.. Nor is the condition a hard one. The youth is noble, intelligent, and handsome ; lie will do honor to any house. It is only to \ Hi. more. >lave ! Base, blackhearted, hitter slave ! Say DO more to me mi tlii* hatet nl subject. You have deceived me long ; hut you have not yet baffled me. as you insolently 1 Still !. are you the master of my late ! The master of my fate ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! That were, indeed, to he humbled to the A way, fool, and know that my foot shall yet be upon your neck, while your false tongue licks the ground in which you grovel. Away ! I defy you now, and spit upon you with disgust and scorn. Give me way, that I may lose sight of your false and hateful aspect." The words of the man were full of a calm, but bitter sorrow, as he stood before her. " For your own sake and safety, Ulrica, I implore you. Be not rash ; yield to the necessity which must go forward ; yield to it with grace, and all may yet be well. There is still time for safety and for repentance. On my knees, Ulrica, I suppli- ycm t" he more merciful to yourself, to me, to him !" r!" she exclaimed. ;i s, with violent hand and sudden blow, she struck the speaker, who had knelt before her, over the yet unclosed lips, and rapidly pn e<i toward an oppo site entrance. He did not rise, but continued to implore her. 1 This, too, I forgive, Ulrica. Once more 1 pray you !" "Slave! Slave! Slave! Do your foulest base traitor, 1 defy you !" She disappeared in the same instant, and Bruno rose slowlv and sorrowfully to his feet; while, trembling with equal wonder and apprehension, I stole back with hurried but uncertain foot- wteps to my chamber, and hastily fastened the door behind me. VI. I NATURALLY expected that Bruno, in a short time, would fol low upon my footsteps, and deep indeed was the solicitude with which 1 waited for his coming. N . ..uld coir un derstanding of another the singular and oppressive teelings, doubt* and anxieties which had been awakened in my mind l.y the - :unge and terrible scene which I had witnessed. The curioui relation in which the parties stood to each other the calm ag- MI ranee and stubborn resolution which was shown by Bruno, in nee of one whom I had regarded only in the light of a mis- I equally without reproach or fear her fury, which, as it awakened no respect in him, was the suilieient proof of the weak- ni s.s and his power his mysterious accusations, which I was too young to comprehend and too inexperienced to trace ; and, not least, the fearful threats to which every sentence which he uttered tended subdued all my strength, and made me weaker in limb and in heart than the infant for the first time tottering mi uncertain font^u-ps. There was something, also, in the brief space which he allowed the baroness but the single night on which she had already entered for repentance before doom, which fearfully increased the terrors with which my imagination invested the whole fearful subject. And what could be the judgment what the penalty for those crimes, of which, as nothing was known to me, all seemed vast, dark, and over whelming ? The more I strove to think, the more involved I became in the meshes of my own wild-weaving fancies ; and, failing to lix upon any certain clue which might lead me to a ^nable conclusion, I strove, at length, in headache and vexa tion, to dismiss all thought from my mind, patiently awaiting the approach of Bruno and the morning for the solution of my doubts and conjectures. But Bruno and the morning promised to be equally slow in their approaches. The stillness of death now overspread the castle, and the buzzing of a solitary insect within my chamber, acquired, in the tomb-like silence of the hour, a s ranjre and emphatic signification, in my ear. Hopeless of Bru no s immediate return as nothing could be more natural than the conclusion that his labors must be great that night in prepa ration for those inumlng results of which he had spoken so c..n- fidently I determined to yield myself to slumber; and, without undressing, I threw myself upon the massive and richly decora ted couch of my chamber. But I might as well have stri\m for Hight to :he upper clouds, as to win the coy and mocking ]i which I desired. My imagination was wrought up to an almost feverish intensity. The breathing of the wind through a crevice startled and distressed me, and in the very silence ol THK ITKI .ACK HY THE LAKK. the scene and hour I felt a presence which stimulated my fan- OMt and increased my anxiety and dread. I no longer strove for sleep. I ro^-e and approached the little window, and looked down upon the court. There the moonlight lay. spread ont like, inent, so soft, so spiritual, that thought naturally became mysticism as I surveyed it, and the vague uncertainties of the future crowded upon the arena of the present world. I could fancy shadows which were images rather than shadows which passed to and fro in the cold, thin, hut hazy atmo sphere ; that tssed their wild arms above their marlde hrows, as, melting away in the distance, they gave place to wilder and pur- -uing aspeet>. Sounds seemed, at length, to accompany these movements, and that acute sense of the marvellous, which all men possess in proportion to their cultivated and moral nature, and which seems a quality of sight and hearing only a thing all eyes and ears conjured syllables from the imperfect sounds, and shrieks of pain from the vague murmurs which now really reached my ears from a distance, and which, probably, were only murmurs of the wind over the little lake that lay at the foot of the castle. As this conviction stirred my mind, I remembered the door to which the attention of Bruno had been drawn for a moment while he was discussing the securities of my chamber. I remembered that this door, as he described it, led to the ter- which immediately overlooked the lake. The remem brance, in my feverish state of mind, led me to desire to sm \ . \ this scene, and 1 approached the door, and had already begun to undo the fastenings, which, by the way, I found far less firm and secure than my friend had imagined. The niches of the wall, into which the bar was dropped, were crumbling, and de cayed to so great a decree, that the shoulder of a vigorous man, from without, might, without much elVort, have driven it from the -iiuht fragment* \\hich still held it ill its place. Nor WM MPM ti of \iolence necessary to eft ect an entrance, l- ioiu a further examination I discovered that the, wall had been tampered with a fragment <-f the .st,ne dislodged, though not withdrawn, through the opening of which a hand from without might readily lift the bar and obtain access. The cement having been carefully scraped away, the stone was suffered to remain, to nicely adjusted to the place, that it was only from one point J10 M.riHWAKD H<I )( view that I could discern a faint glimmer of the moonlight through the aperture. The suspicions of Bruno, not to speak of my own, received strong confirmation from this discovery ; and my apprehensions being naturally arused, I now strove fo? means to secure the door which I had been about to open. It was apparent to me that I was now threatened with danger from without. I looked about my chamber, and my eye rested upon the massive table standing in the midst. I immediately seized upon that, and placed it, though with some difficulty , against the door. While I meditated in what manner to in crease my defences, my ear, which had acquired all the keen sensibilities of an Indian scout on the edge of an enemy s encampment, detected a light buz/ing sound, which drew my attention to the terrace. But I had scarcely stooped to the ap erture, when a scream a torrent of screams rang so suddenly on the late silent atmosphere, that I was staggered, almost stunned, as if a thunderbolt had on the instant fallen at my feet in the deep stillness of the unbroken forests. The sounds came from the terrace ; and as soon as I could recover from the en feebling effect of my first surprise, hearing the screams still repeated as wildly as ever, I obeyed the natural impulse of my feelings, and prepared to rush out to the scene of clamor. I dashed the table from the door, against which 1 had taken such pains to bear it, and tearing the slight fastenings away which otherwise secured the entrance, I threw it open and darted out upon the scene. The object that met my eyes, that instant, fas tened my feet. There stood the baroness, about twenty steps from me, and at nearly the same distance from a door in the opposite wall, which was open, and from which she had evidently emerged. Behind her stood a negress a dwarf the black est, strangest and most hideous-looking animal I had ever in my life beheld. The baroness had been approaching my apartment her face was toward me, hut her eyes were turned nay, fixed and frozen, it would seem, as if in the contempla tion of some object upon the parapet which overlooked the lake. il attitude exhibited the intense and strained action of in sanity. One hand the left was uplifted, and averted, as if to hide her eyes from the object which they yet resolutely trained to see. In the other hand, glistening in the moonlight. THi: GUILTY VISION. Jll was a poinard, bared and borne aloft, as if designed for immedi ate service. I shuddered with an uncontrollable emotion of sickness heart-sickiif U I associated tin- dialogue to which I had listened, with this instrument of death. But, though her had evidently iteen toward my chamber, her eyes were not now given to me. Her thoughts if thought she had were all elsewhere. Her fancies were hurrying her to other worlds, and scenes, and objects, visible to no senses but her own. Wildly she pointed to the parapet overlooking the lake, nnd gazed and spoke a speech whose every accent was a scream of agony as if still in sight lay some object of hate and fear, which she vainly struggled not to see. "There there will it never sink will it never die will those hideous eyes never turn away ! Down, down ! Thrust it down when I command ye the rock is heavy in its garments the lake is deep, deep, and still and silent down with it, slave for ever from my sight ! Or, if ye tremble, set me free and I will do it I have no fears none ! none !" I, fixed and terrible, ghastly and staring wild, with idiot fren/y, she stood gazing and intent upon the fancied object in her sight immovable, seemingly, as a statue, and conscious of not!, . I 1-ist my fears in the contemplation of hers, and approached her, though hardly with any distinct purpose. She seemed not to notice my approach not even when the ne- gress who fallowed in her train rushed to her at my appearance ;uid h an excitement of manner only less than her own, to direct her attention upon me. But the wretched one turned not once aside at the interruption. Her eyes took but the one direction, and could not be averted ; and her incoherent language was poured forth in rapid, though inconsecutive syllables, to the object of her mind s vision, which so effectually froze to darkness all her capacities of sight. Never did I behold never could I have fnneii-d or believed a -peetacle so wild and fearful. Ima gine TT yonr- -lf a woman, "lice eminently beautiful of a dark and mysterious beauty tall in form majestic in carriaire in little more than the prime of lite wearing the iliirnitv <>f age, h-.-k. movement, feature, and gesture, exhibiting the impuUive t <>rre ami passionate energy of youth: her per son bending forward her e^ es straining as if to burst from the 212 SOUTHWARD HO ! burning sockets her lips slightly parted, but with the teeth gnashing at occasional intervals with a spasmodic motion her hair, once richly black and voluminously massive, touched with the gray that certainly ensues from the premature storms of a winter of the soul, escaping from all confinement, and streaming over her cheeks and neck the veins of her neck and forehead swelling into thick ridges and cording the features with a tension that amply denoted the difficulty of maintaining any such restraint upon them! Imagine such a woman! the ferocity of the demon glaring from her eye, in connection with the strangest expression of terror which that c/gan ever wore the raised dagger in her hand her hand uplifted her foot advanced and so frozen ! so fixed in the rigidity of marble ! the image above the sepulchre ! no unfitting emblem of the dread and en during marriage, which nothing can ever set asunder, between unrepented Guilt, and unforgiving Death ! I was nearly maddened even to behold this spectacle, and it was a relief to me, when, with a no less terrible and terrifying energy she shook off the torpor which stifled life in all its wont ed forms of expression, and renewed those fearful tones of mem ory and crime, which, though revealing nothing, amply testified to a long narrative equal of shame, and sin, and suffering. "There! there!" she exclaimed, still addressing herself to some imaginary object which seemed to rest or to rise before her upon the parapet which overhung the lake "There again! Its hands its little hands will nothing keep them down! They rise through the water they implore but no! no! It were a mistaken men-} now to save ! let me not look let me not see will you not fling it over the lake is deep the rock is heavy in its little garments it will soon sink from sight for ever, and then then I shall be safe. Ha! it goes it goes at last ! Do you not hear the plunge ! the water gurgles in its nostrils closes over it, and God spare me, what a piercing shriek Another! another! Keep me not back I will look if it be gone ! No ! no ! its little face smiles upon me through the white water !" And this was followed by a shriek, piercing like that which rihe described, which penetrated to the very marrow of my bones. With Hie cry shr bounded toward th<> p:irapH. looked wildly THE BITTER AGONY. 213 lown into the lake at the foot of the castle, then recoiled with a scream to which every previous cry from her lips was feeble and inexpressive. The climax of her frenzy had been reached. I was just in time to save her. She fell backward and I re ceived her in my arms. The shock seemed to bring her back to a more human consciousness. Her eyes were turned upon my own; a new intelligence seemed to rekindle them with their former expression of hate her hand vainly strove to use the dagger against my person. In the effort, it fell nerveless at her side, while a sudden discharge from the mouth and nostrils drenched my garments with her blood. VII. Bruno at that instant appeared and received her from my arms. The relief was necessary to me I could not have sustained her much longer. I was sick almost to exhaustion. I felt unable to endure a sight to me so strange and terrible, yet I strove in vain to tuni my eyes away. They wore fixed as if by some fearful fascination. Hers, too, were now riveted upon me. At first, when I transferred her to the arms of Bruno, they were turned upon him ; but, in the next moment, as suddenly averted, with an expre of I-ifithsouu in ss and hate, which suffering had not softened, n-i einin^ approach of death diminished of any portion of in tensity. On me they bestowed a more protracted, but scan-fly a more kindly expression, Broken svllables, stifled and overcome by the discharge of blood, struggled ft-ebly from her lips; and, fainting at last, glae was borne to the chamber from which she hud emerged at the beginning of that scene, the purposes of which seemed to me so inscrutable, and the progress of which was in truth so terrible. Medical assistance was sent for, and very Micc.,r bestowed in the power of skill and humanity. N I .iv that a deep interest in her fate affected my bosom. A ue conjecture, dark and strange, which coupled tin- fate, and hi.-t i\ of this noble but wretched ladv with mv oun, had natui nlly arisen in my mind, from the dialogue to which 1 had been a listener. What was she to me ? I shuddered with an j hension and painful terror whenever this ijui-stioii PHggMtfd it- 214 SOUTHWARD HO ! self to my thoughts. What was she not ] What had she no* \ ami what had 1 een her purposes her baffled purposes I Let me not fancy them h-^t I madden. " It is no snl ject of le^ret, Herman," were the first words of Bruno, when, yielding the baroness up to her attendants, we re tired to another apartment, "(iod lias interposed to save us from a greater trial, and to save her from an exposure even more humbling than this. The dawn of another day, the sight of wh ch she will now he spared, would have been worse than death to a spirit such as hers." " But, will she die, Bruno ? Can she not be saved ? is it certain ?" " It is ; and I am glad of it for your sake, as well as hers." " For my sake V " Ay ! the moment of her death puts you in possession of this castle and all her estates." "Me!" " You." " And I am * " Her heir yet not her heir. You are the heir to a power beyond hers, and which proved her destiny. Her death makes atonement at once to the living and to the dead. She now, in voluntarily, compensates for a long career of injustice. But, in quire no further; death, which will place you in possession of your rights, will, at the same time, deprive you for ever of a knowledge of certain secrets, which, had she lived till to-mor row s noon, must have been revealed in order to compel that justice which has been too long denied. It is fortunate that she will perish thus fortunate for her for you for " He paused, and with an impulse which I could not withstand, I desperately concluded the sentence 44 And for yourself!" 44 For me ! Ha ! Can it be? Herman, my son, what have you done ?" 44 Followed you through the corridor, when, this evening, you Ved the baroness away from my apartment." " And did you trace our footsteps did you find us where w we re did you hear what was spoken V "All! All!" TH. lie covered his lace with his hand>. and groaned aloud in the bitterness of an anguished and disappointed spirit. "Tins par.-:," he exelaiined at length, " I had hoped to spare you. I liave toiled for this at all seasons and hours, hy night and day, in crowds and solitude-.. Vnhappy boy! your curios- itv lias won for yon that partial knowledge <>f the tmth which nm.st only bring delusion, doubt, and anxiety." " But why should it be partial, Bruno. I know from what you have already said, that y-m know more, that you know all. Yon will complete my knowledge, yon will terminate my doni .i ! Never ! If God has spared me, by his act this iiijrht, that dire necessity from which he well knows I would have shrunk, shall I now voluntarily seek it? No ! No ! The fearful chronicle of shame is sealed up for ever in her death. Blessed dispensation ! Her lips can no longer declare her folly, and mine shall be silent on her shame. You have, heard all that you can ever hear of these dreadful mysteries." Nnv. Bruno! Say not this, I implore you. Tell me, at least, tell me, that this most tearful woman is not " 1 .shrunk from naming the word, the word signifying the rela- liip which I | to exist b-t\\een u-, which, indeed, geemed now to be infinitely ni<>re than a doubt, a suspicion. I looked to him to comprehend, to answer, without making neces ii of my fear. But he was silent, and I forced out the reluctant word : r.runo, tell me at least, that this fearful woman is not my mother." And of what avail if I should tell yo~a this? Would that terminate your doubts would that satisfy your curiosity I" " It would it would." 44 N , Herman, I know your natuie better to know this would only lead to other and more annoying questions, questions which, if answered, would take peace from your mind for ever. You would know next " He now "Yes!" I exclaimed, "I would then seek to know and 1 now do what was he. I .runo -my father and what is the secret of your power over her and who are you?" " Let it be a matter of thanks with you Herman, in your -! SOUTHWARD HO! nightly prayers, that you can never know these things," was the hoarsely spoken reply. I threw myself at his feet, I clasped his knees, I implored him in tears and supplications, but he was immovable. He pressed me to his heart, he wept with me, but he told me nothing. VIII. AT dawn we were summoned to the chamber of the baroness. A crisis was at hand. His reverence, the cardinal , whose presence had been expected at a late hour in the day, and for another purpose, had been solicited to attend in haste, and had complied with Christian punctuality, with the demands of mortal suffering. But his presence effected nothing. The miserable woman clearly enough comprehended his words and exhortations. She listened without look of acknowledgment, or regret, or re pentance. She heard his prayers for her safety, and a smile of scorn might be seen to mantle upon her lips. The HOST was elevated in her sight, and the scorn deepened upon her counte nance as she beheld it. Truly was she strong in her weakness. The sacred wafer was presented to her lips, but they were closed inflexibly against it. The death struggle came on ; a terrible conflict between fate on the one hand and fearful passions on the other. The images of horror will never escape from my memory. They are engraven there for ever. She raised herself to a sit ting posture in the bed without assistance. The effort was mo mentary only. But, in that moment, her glance, which was fixed on me, was the very life-picture of a grinning and fiendish malice. The expression horrified the spectators. His eminence once more lifted the sacred emblem of salvation in her si^ht, and the last effort of her struggling life was to dash it from his hands. In tha( effort she sank back upon the pillows, a fresh discharge of blood took place from her mouth, and strangulation followed. The sufferings of the mortal had given place to those of which there can be no mortal record. ******* And I was the master, undisputed, of all these domains. And Bruno had gone, none knew whither. Nothing more could I fathom of these mysteries, but there was one search that I insti- THK UTTLK SKKLKTON. -17 tuted, one discovery that I made, winch tended to deepen them yet more, in seeming to give them partial solution. That little lake, 1 had it drained, an. 1, just beneath the wall of the parapet, we found the tinv skeleton of an infant bleached and broken into fragments, but sufficiently perfect t< leave no doubt . original humanitv. A rude fragment of stone such as compo-ed the outer wall enclosing the castle, lay upon its little ribs. Need / that I gathered up. with the solicitude of a nameless love, every remnant of this little relic, that it was inurned with the tenderest care, and consigned to sacred keeping, with the feelings of one who knew not well that he might not even then possess, though he had never known, the love of an angel sister. 10 CHAPTER XII. " TO-MORROW, gentlemen," said our captain, as we ascended from the supper-table to the deck, " is the ever-memorable anni versary of our national independence. I shall prepare, in my department, that it shall be welcomed with due honors. It will be tor you to do your part. A committee, I suppose eh, gen tlemen ?" Here was a hint ; and the excellent Captain Berry never looked more like a stately Spanish Don, in a gracious moment, than when delivering that significant speech. " In plain terms, captain, we are to have a dinner correspond ing with the day. I have pleasant auguries, my mates, of pud dings and pasties. There shall be cakes and ale, and ginger shall be hot i the mouth too. Nay, because thou art a Wash- ingtonian, shall there be no wine? Shall there not be tempe rance after the manner of Washington namely, that goodly use, without abuse, of all the precious gifts of Heaven ? The hint is a good one, captain. We thank you for your benevolent purposes. It will be for us to second your arrangements, and prepare, on our parts, for a proper celebration of the Fourth of Jill;. " I rejoice that I am understood, gentlemen. It is usual, on board tliis ship, to show that we duly sympathize with the folks on shore. We are still a part of the same great family. There will be shoutings in the cities to-morrow. The country will .iliak- with tlir n.ar i.f cannon from PaMUDaqtloddj to the Rio ode. Boston will l>la/e away, and Gotham will respond, and Baltimore and Norfolk will cry aloud, What of the day? to Charleston and Savannah ; and these in turn will sing out to Mobile and New Orleans, and the \\ hole jjulf, to the Rio Grande, will catch up the echoes with a corresponding uproar of rejoicing. And shall we say nothing? we who sail under the name of the {Treat partisan nnrrior of the Revolution? Gentlemen, those THE ORATOK OK THL DAY. lil^ pretty little brass pieces, that now sleep at your feet, are stuffed to the mn/./.le with eloquence. r l hcy will give tongue at the first signs of the dawn, and 1 trust that nil on board this ship will l>t> prepared M echo their sentiment^." " In other words, captain, we must have a celebration." " F.ven so. gentlemen, it it be your pleasure. We >hall have a dinner why not an oration ? Why not our toasts and sen timents, as well as our friends in Charleston and New York. We are here a community to ourselves, and I venture to say that no community is more unanimous in regard to the dinner at least." " Or the drink." " Or the puddings." " Or the pies." - The pasties." " The ices." The the " There was no end to the enumeration of the creature com forts which were to prove our unanimity of sentiment, and a feeling of the mock-heroic prompted us to take up with due gravity the hints of our captain. We agreed upon a president, and he was the captain; n vice, and he was no matter who. We appointed a committee of arrangements, with instructions to prepare the regular toasts. And we appointed an orator! I was a little shrivelled-up per.x,,n in striped breeches, with a mouldy yellow | ..d ^ieen >p claries. Nobody knew thing about him, or, in fact, why he came to he choM-n. lie at his hooks all day ; hut it wa> ohsei ved that whenever he hnd eon. ; t., nprii his jav,.- it was to say something of a dry -atir-ral character. He was accordingly app- and made n> scruple alum! cn-enting ; only remarkin-. nl prem<nitor\ , that "it was no easv matter to kmu the Opinion- ..J all on hoard ship; he should therefore .simply untold hi- oun. >a:i>lird that if they v. ere n..t exactly those of the com- p.iny, it was only tlu-ir mi>t ..rtnne, \\hich it should make ; highly grateful to enjov that opportunitv ot repairing." Some of us thought this speech smacked not a little of a de lightful self-complacency, but it was said so easily, so naturally, 220 BOUTHWAKI HU ! and so entirely as if the speaker had no consciousness of having delivered himself other than modestly, that we concluded to leave the matter in his hands, and forebore all comment. In this resolution we were confirmed hy seeing him begin his prep arations the next moment by an enormous draught from the bar ; the potency of which, judging from the infinite depth of its color, was well calculated to afford to the orator all the inspiration that could ever be drawn from an amalgam of Snake and Tiger. Such was the title which he gave to a curious amalgam of the sweet, the sour, the bitter, and the strong bitters and brandy, lemon and sugar, and, I think, a little sprinkling of red pepper, being the chief elements in the draught. We felt persuade !, after this specimen of his powers, that his tastes would be suf ficiently various, and his fancies sufficiently vivid ; and we saw him pull off his spectacles, and put off to bed, with full confi dence that neither sleeping, dreaming, drinking or waking, would he defraud our honest expectations. His departure did not constitute a pernicious example. It was followed by no other of the party. Soon, the ladies ap peared on deck, and we grouped ourselves around them, my Gothamite friend planting himself on the right of Selina Bur roughs, closely, but a little in the rear, as if for more convenient access to her ear. " So squat the serpent by the ear of Eve," I whispered him in passing. "Ah! traitor," quoth he, sotto roce also, "would you betray me ?" " Do not too soon betray yourself." " Hem ! a sensible suggestion." We were not allowed to proceed any farther. The lady be gan with reproaches. " I am tuld, gentlemen, that you took advantage of our de parture last night to say some of your best things told, in fact, some of your best stories. How was this ? Hut we. must not be made to suffer ;i^aiu in like manner, and I propose that we begin early to-night. Signor Myrtalozzi" turning to an interesting professor of Italian, who formed one of the party 41 we should hear from you to-night. If I did not greatly mis understand you, there were some curious histories recalled to TM: KTRt SCAN SEPUU HRK. ~-l you this morning in our conversation touching the Tarchmi, and Sepulcl.. iria. l.y Mrs. Hamilton (I ray . " " You did not err, sr-norita. In my own poor fashion, I have, gleaned from these and other picturesque chronicles a story of th rc- thou-und years ago, which may he sufficiently fresh for our pre>*ut audience." " In tliis salt atmosphere . " " Precisely. With your permission, senorita, I will narrate the legend thus compiled from the antique chronicle, and which I call TUK I KTI UK OK .H IKi.MKNT; OR, THE GROTTA DEL TIFONB A TALK OF THK KTRURIAN. Ma se conutcer la prima radice Del nostri, amor, tu hai cotunto tifli-tto Fro come rolui che piange dice. DANTK. CHAPTER I. THK " (in-ttn del Tifone" an Etniscan tomb opened by the Chevalier Man/.i, in 1833 discovered some peculiarities at the time "f its i.|MMiii!ir, which greatly myvtilieil the cognoscenti of Italy. It \\a-i fnund, by certain Roman inscriptions upon tw- of the sarcophagi, that the inmates helon^ed to anotlier ]>< and that the vaults of the nohle Taniuinian family of r>in]o- nitis had. f..r s .mc unaccoiintald. reasons, been opened for the admission <>t the stranger. No place was BO sacred among the I as that <>f hurial ; and the tombs of the Liicumonrs Of Tarquinia were held particularly *acred to the immediate connections of the chief. Here he lay in state, and the PC . and shoots of his blmul and Im-nm uere prrouped around him, heini; literally, as the old Ilrhrew phrase, ,l.,^y hath it. " ^ath- *-red to their lathers." It WM ii-t "fien and then only under jiecidiar circumstances which rendered the exception to the rule proper that the leave* "f .-t"iir which closed the mausoleum rolled aside for t!. <>n ! foreigners. The " ( : del Tifone" so called from the Ktru>can TvphnM. or Anirel of iK-ath, which appears conspicuotisly jtainted upon the square central pillar was the laat resting-place .f thn di<tin*rni<hed 222 MUTHWARD HO! family of Pomponius. It is a chamber eighteen paces long and sixteen broad, ami is hewn out in the solid rock. The s lreoph- aprj -\\-ere numerous when first discovered. The ledges were full every place was occupied, and a further excavation hud been made for the reception of other tenants. These tombs were all carefully examined by the explorers with that intense feeling of curiosity which such a discovery was calculated to inspire. The apartment, was in good preservation ; the paint ings bright and distinct, though fully twenty-two centuries must have elapsed since the colors were first spread by the hands of the artist. And there were the inscriptions, just declaring enough to heighten and to deepen curiosity. A name, a frag ment and that in Latin. That a Roman should sleep in a tomb of the Etruscan, was itself a matter of some surprise ; but that this strangeness should be still further distinguished by an inscription, an epitaph, in the language of the detested nation as if the affront were to be rendered more offensive and more imposing was calculated still further to provoke astonishment ! Why should the hateful and always hostile Roman find repose among the patriarchs of Tarquinia ? the rude, obscure barba rian, in the mausoleum of a refined and ancient family ? Why upon an Etruscan tomb should there be other than an Etruscan inscription? One of the strangers was a woman! Who was she, and for what was she thus distinguished 1 By what fatality came she to find repose among the awful manes of a people, between whom and her own the hatred was so deep and inex tinguishable ending not even with the entire overthrow of the superior race ? The sarcophagus of the other stranger was with out an inscription. But he, too, was a Roman ! His el bet raying all the characteristics of his people, lay at length above his tomb ; a noble, youth, with features of exquisite deli cacy and heauty. yet, distinguished by that falcon visa-re which so well marked the imposing features of the great masters of the ancient world. The wonder and delight of our visitors were hardly lessened, while their curiosity was stimulated to a still higher degree of intensity, as their researches led them to another discovery which followed the further examination of the " Grotta." On the right of the entrance they happened upon one of those rm: i K<>< BHMNI LS, 223 exquisite paintings, in which the Bruins of tin- Ktruscan proves anticipated, though it may never have rivalled the ultimate excellence of the Greek. The piece describes a fre quent subject of ait a procession of souls to judgment, under tin- charge of good and evil genii. The group is numei Tli- eedom and expression of the several figures an* -.lion fine ; and, with two exceptions, the effect is exquisitely grateful to the spectator, as the progress seems to be one to eternal delights. Two of the souls, however, are not , hut convict : not escaping, hut doomed ; not looking hope and bliss, but despair and utter misery. One of these is clearly the noble youth whose effigy, without inscription, appears upon the tomb. He is one of the Roman intruders. Behind him, following the evil genius of the Etruscan represented c-)lis.sal negro brutal in all his features, exulting fiend ishly in his expression of countenance, and with his claws firmly grasping the shoulders of his victim. His brow is twined with serpents in the manner of a lillet, ami his left hand car :he huge mallet with which the demon was expected to crush, or bruise and mangle, the prey which was assigned him. tiler unhappy -,riul, in similar keeping, is that of a young woman, whose features declare, her to be one of the loveliest of her sex. She is tall an 1 majestic ; her carriage haughty even in her wo, and her face equally distinguished by the highest phy ity, elevated by a majesty and air of .sway, which denoted a person accustomed to the habitual exercise of her own will. But, through all her beauty and majesty, there are the ft of that agony of soul which p;i--eth show and under- handing. Two big drops < : !mve fallen, and rest, upon her cheeks, the only tokens which her large Juno-like eyes I to have given of the suffering which she endures. They still ( - undimnied and undaunted, and leave it rather to the brow, the lip-, and the general features of the face to declare the keen, unutterable \\ o that swells within her soul, triumphant equally over pride and beauty. Nothing can 10D in ton -e the touching expression of her agony unutterable, unless in the sympatliizin. .tion of him who looks for the s>:: of th painter s pencil into the verv bosom nf the artist. Imme diately behind this beautiful and suffering creature is seen, 2:24 SOUTHWARD HO ! following, as in the case of the Roman youth already described, the gloomy and hnitnl demon the devil of Ktruscan supersti tion a negro somewhat less dark and defm-med than the other, and seemingly of the other sex, with lo>k> lr^ t>-rrilde and offensive, but whose office is not loss certain, and whoso features are not less full of exultation and triumph. She does not actu ally grasp the shoulders of her victim, but she has her, never theless, beneath her clutches, and the serpent of her fillet, with extended head, seems momently ready to dart its venomous fangs into the white bosom that shrinks, yet swells, beneath its eye. Long indeed did this terrible picture fix and fascinate the eyes of the spectators ; and when at length they turned away, it was only to look back and to meditate upon the mysterious and significant scene which it described. In proceeding further, however, in their search through the " Grotta," they happened upon another discovery. They were already aware that the features of this beautiful woman were Roman in their type. Indeed, there was no mistaking the inexpressible majesty of that countenance, which could belong to no other people. It was not to be confounded with the Etruscan, which, it must he remembered, was rather (ireeian or Phoenician in its character, and indicated grace and beauty rather than strength, subtlety and skill rather than majesty and command. But, that there might be no doubt of the origin of this lovely woman, examin ing more closely the effigy upon the sarcophagus first discov ered having removed the soil from the features, and brought a strong light to bear upon them they were found to be those exactly of the victim thus terribly distinguished in the painting. Mere, then, was a coincidence involving a very curious mys tery. About the facts there could be no mistake. Two stran gers, of remarkable feature, find their burial, against all usage, in th> tumulus of an ancient Etruscan family. Both are young, of different sexes, and both are Roman. Their features are carved above their dust, in immortal marble we may almost call it so, when, after two thousand years, it still preserves its trust ; and in an awful procession of souls to judgment, delin eated by a hand of rare excellence and with rare precision, we find the same persons, rl-nwn to the life, and in the custody. THK DOOMKI) ^TU ANGERS. 225 AS doomed victims, of the terrible tiend of Ktrusean mythology. To this condition some terrible fair was evidently attached. Hoth of these pictures were portraits. For tliat matter, all were aits in the numerDus collection. \Vith those two excep tions, the rest were of the same family, and their several fates, according to the resolve of the painter, were all felicitous. Thev walked erect, triumphant in hope and consciousness, elas tic in their tread, and joyous in their features. Not so these two: the outcasts of the group ////// but not <>f them pain- lully contrasted by the artist, terribly so by the doom of the awful Providence whose decree he had ventured thus freely to declare. The features of the man had the expression of one whom a just self-esteem moves to submit in dignity, and without complaint. The face of the woman, on the contrary, is full of auguish, though still distinguished hy a degree of loftiness and character to which his otters no pretension. There were the portraits and there the effigies, and beneath them, in their stone coffins, lay the fragments of their mouldering bones the relic of two thousand years. What a scene had the artist chosen to transmit to posterity, from real life ! and with what motive \ By what terrible .-ense of justice, or by what .strange obliquity of judgment and feeding, did the great Lucumo of the Pomponii suffer the members of his family to be thus offensively perpetu ated to all time, in the place of family sepulture? Could it have been the inspiration of revenge and hatred, by which this vivid and terrible representation was wrought ; and what was the melancholy history nf these two strangers so young, so beautiful thus doomed to the inexpiable torments of the end- future, by the bold anticipatory awards .f a MtMttKHT or a contciuporar\ . To these (jin-stioiis our explorers of the " Gn-M.i del Tiloi,--" did not immediately iind an answer. That they have done so since, tin- reader will ascribe to the keen an with which they have groped through ancient chronicles, in search of an event which, thus wonderfully preserved by art for a period of more than twenty crnturiej?, could not. as they well conjectured, be wholly obliterated from all other mortal records. 226 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER II. Tm: time had passed when Etruria gave laws to the rest of Italy. Lars Porsenna was already in his grave, and his mem ory, rather than his genius and spirit, satisfied the Etruscan. The progeny of the She Wolf* had risen into wondrous strength and power, and so far from shrinking within their walls at the approach of the vulture of Volterra, they had succeeded in clip ping her wings, and shortening, if not wholly arresting her flight. The city of the Seven Hills, looking with triumph from her emi nences, began to claim all within her scope of vision as her own. Paralyzed at her audacity, her success, and her wonderful genius for all the arts of war, the neighboring cities began to tremble at the assertion of her claims. But the braver and less prudent spirits of young Etruria revolted at this assumption, and new wars followed, which were too fierce and bloody to continue long. It needs not that we should describe the varying fortunes of the parties. Enough for our purposes that, after one well- fought field, in which the Romans triumphed, they bore away, as a prisoner, with many others, Coelius, the youthful Lucumo of the Pomponian family. This young man, not yet nineteen, was destined by nature rather for an artist than a soldier. He possessed, in remarkable degree, that talent for painting and statuary, which was largely the possession of the Etrurians ; and, though belonging to one of the noblest families in his native city, he did not think it dishonorable to exercise his talent with industry and devotion. In the invasion of his country by the fierce barbarians of Rome, he had thrown aside the pencil for the sword, in the use of which latter weapon he had shown him self not a whit less skilful and excellent, because of his prefer ence for a less dangerous implement. His captivity was irk some, ratluM than painful and oppressive. He was treated with indulgence by his captors, and quartered for a season in the fam ily of the fierce chief by whose superior prowess he had been overthrown. Here, if denied his freedom, and the use of the sword, he was not denied a resumption of those more agreeable exercises of art to which he had devoted himself before his cap- *Rome. Till) RBU80Ati WINS A ROMAN BRIDK. tivity. He consoled himself in this condition by his favorite studies. !!< trained the vase into grace and beauty, ad. >rned its sides with groups from poetry and history, and liy liis labors de lighted the uninitiated eyes of all around him. The fierce war rior in whose custody he was, looked on with a grim sort of sat isfaction at the development of arts, for which his appreciative faculties were small ; and it somewhat lessened our young Etruscan in his esteem, that he should take pleasure in such employments. At all events, the effects, however disparaging, were so far favorable that they tended to the increase of his indulgences. Hi* restraints were fewer; the old Roman not Apprehending much danger of escape, or much of enter) from one whoso tastes were so feminine; and the more gentle ,rds of the family, in which he was a guest perforce, contrib uted still more to sweeten and soften the asperities of captivity. Lncumo of the first rank in Etruria, be also claimed peculiar indulgencies from a people who, conscious of their own inferior origin, were not by any means insensible to the merits of aris- ICJ. Our captive was accordingly treated with a deference which was as grateful to his condition as it was the proper trib ute to his rank. The wife, of the chief whose captive he herself a noble matron of Rome, was as little insensible to the rank of the Etrurian, as she was to the equal modesty and man liness of his deportment. Nor was she alone thus made av of his claims and virtues. She had a son and daughter, the lat ter named Amelia, a creature of the most imposing beauty, of a loft\ spirit and carriage, and of a high ami generous ambition. The Id-other, Lucius, was younger than herself, a lad of till but he, like his sister, became rapidly and warmly impn with the grace of manner and goodness of heart which distin guished the young Etrurian. They both learned to love him; the \outh. probably, with quite as unreckoning a warmth as hid ..e heart of I telius long untouched. He perceived the exquisite beauties of the Roman d. imsrl. and, by the usual unfailing symptoms, revealed the truth as well to the family of the maiden as t.. herself. The mother. : the secret with delight, was boon a\\ are of the condition of her daughter s heart, and, the relation* of the sevnal parties being thus understood, it waa not lung before thev eame to an e.\pla 228 SOUTHWARD HO ! nation, which ended to their mutual satisfaction. Coplius was soon released from his captivity, and, to the astonishment of all his family, returned home, bearing with him the beautiful crea ture by whom his affections had been so suddenly enslaved. CHAPTER III. His return to Tavquinia was hailed with delight by every member of his family but one. This was a younger brother, whose position had been greatly improved by the absence and supposed death of Ccelius. He cursed in the bitterness of his heart the fate which had thus restored, as from the grave, the shadow which had darkened his own prospects; and, though he concealed his mortification under the guise of a joy as lively as that of any other member of the household, he was torn with secret hate and the most fiendish jealousy. At first, however, as these feelings were quite aimless, he strove naturally to subdue them. There was no profitable object in their indulgence, and he was one of those, cunning beyond his years, who entertain in* moods, and commit no crime, unless witli the distinct hope of ;u-(juisition. It required but a little time, however, to ripen other feelings in his soul, by which the former were rather st lengthened than diminished, and by which all his first, and perhaps feeble, efforts to subdue them were rendered fruitless. In the first bitter mood in which he beheld the return of his In-other, the dec]) disappointment which he felt, with the neces- Mty of concealing his chagrin from every eye, prevented him from bestowing that attention upon the wife of Cabins which her beauty, had his thoughts been free, must inevitably have com manded. With his return to composure, however, he soon made the discovery of her charms, and learned to love them with a passion scarcely less warm than that which was felt by her hus band. Hence followed a double motive for hating the latter, and denouncing his better fortune. Aruus the name of the younger brother was, like Cu lins, a man of great talent and ingenuity ; but Ins talent, informed rather by his passions than by his tastes, was addressed to much humbler objects. While the one was creative and irentle in his character, the other was violent and destructive ; while the one worshipped beauty for its THE SKKI KXT IX THK NEST. sake, the other regarded it mil; !ti>h pur- poses. Po?lius was tVank and generous in his temper. Anins . ve.l. suspicious and contracted. The one had IM disguises, the other dwelt within tluMii. even as a spider girdled by his , and lying secret in tlio crevice at its bottom. Hitherto, his cunning had been chiefly exercised in concealing itself, in assuming the port of frankne. in appearing, so far as he might, the thing that he was not. It was now to be exeicised for his more certain profit, in schemes hostile to the peace of others. To cloak these designs he betrayed more than usual joy at the ration of his brother. His, indeed, seemed the most elated spirit of the household, and the confiding and unsuspecting Coelius. at once took him to his heart, with all the warmth and sincerity of boyhood. It gave him pleasure to perceive that Anrelia, his wife, received him as a brother, and lie regarded with delight the appearance of atVection that subsisted between them. The three soon became more and more united in their sympa thies and objects, and the devotion of Anins to the Roman wife of Coelius was productive of a gratification to the latter, which lie did not endeavor to conceal. It was grateful to him tliat his brother did not leave his wife to that solitude in her foreign home, which might sometimes hve followed his own too int. Mon to the arts which he so passionately loved : and, with out a fear that his faith might be mi-placed, he left to Aruns the duty which no husband might prudently devolve upon any man. of ministering to tho.-.e tftfltaf and atVections. the most delicate and sacred, which make of -\ vrv family circle a temple in which the father, and the husband, and the master, should alone be the officiating pri--si. Some time bad passed in this manner, and at length it struck our Lucnmo that there uas less cordiality between his brother and his wit .- than had pleased him so much at first. Aurelia now no longer -poke of Aruns his name r iped her lips, unlf-^ \vhen she \vas unavoidably forced to speak it in reply. ]\ \< approaches to her wen- marked by a timidity not usual with him. and by a tmitttur in her countenance which was shown to no other person. It was a proof <.f the superior loyc of Ooplius for his wife that lie reproached her for this seeming dis like. She ha filed bis inquiry, met his reproaches with renewed 230 sni THWARl) HO ! shows of tenderness, nwl the fond, confiding hushnnrl resumed his labors on the beautiful, with perhaps too little regard to what was going on around him. Meanwhile, the expression in the face of Aurelia had been gradually deepening into gravity. Care was clouding her brow, and an air of anxiety manifested itself upon her cheek a look of apprehension as if some danger were impending some great fear threatening in her heart. This continued for some time, when she became conscious that the eye of her husband began to be fixed inquiringly upon her, and with the look of one dissatisfied, if not doubtful disturbed if not suspicious and with certain sensibilities rendered acute and watchful, which had been equally confiding and affectionate before. These signs increased her disquiet, deepened her anxi ety. But she was silent. The glances of her husband were full of appeal, but she gave them no response. She could but re tire from his presence, and sigh to herself in solitude. There, was evident!}- a mystery in this conduct, and the daily increas ing anxieties of the husband betrayed his doubts lest it might prove a humiliating one at the solution. But he, too, was silent. His pride forbade that he should declare himself when he could only speak of vague surmises and perhaps degrading suspicions He was silent, but not at ease. His pleasant labors of the studio were abandoned. Was it for relief from his own thoughts that he was now so frequently in company with Aruns, or did he hope to obtain from the latter any clue to the mystery which disturbed his household ? It was not in the art of Aurelia so to mould the expression of her countenance as to hide from others the anxiety which she felt in the increasing and secret commun ion of the brothers. She watched their departure with dread, and witnessed their return together with agitation. She saw, or fancied she a\v, in the looks of the younger, a malignant exul tation which even his habitual cunning did not suffer him en tirely to conceal. CHAPTER IV. AT length the cloud seemed to clear away from the brow ol her husband. He once more resumed his labors, and with an avidity which he had not betrayed before. His passion now THK SKrKKT I.AMnR. 281 tBMHinted to intensity. He -a\<- himself no respite from his nils. Late and early lie was at his ta^-k morning and night without intermission, and with the enthusiasm of one wh joices in the completion of a favorite and long-cherished study. Aurelia wa> not unhappy at this second change; to go hack to his old engagements and tastes seemed to her to indicate a re turn t.i hi- former equanimity and waveless happiness. It ua- with some surprise, however, and not a little concern, that --h,- not now permitted to watch his progress. He wrought in -ecret l.is studio was closed against her, as, indeed, it Oft all persons. Hitherto it had not been so in her instance. She pleasantly reproached him for this seclusion, hut lie an swered her "Fear not, you shall see all when it is done." There was something in this reply to disquiet her, but she wa< in a state of mind easily to he disquieted. She was conscious also of a secret withheld from her husband and her reproaches sunk hack upon her heart, unuttered, from her lips. She could not, because of what she felt, declare to hiir what she thought ; and she beheld his progress, from day today with an apprehension that increased momently, and made her appearance, in one respect, not unlike his own. She was not aware that he was the victim of a strange excitement, in which his present artist labors had a considerable share. He seemed to hurry to their prosecution with an eager impatience that looked like fren/y and to return fnun his daily task with a frame exhausted, but with an eye that M-emed to hum with the Piihth-st fires. His words were tew, but there wa- a -trance intel ligence in his looks. His cheeks had grown very pale, his frame hinned. his voice made hollow, in the prosecution of these : and yet there was a something of exultation in his glance, which fully declared that, however exhausting to his frame mi^ht he the task he was pursuing, its results \\ere yet looked to with a wild and eager satisfaction. At length the work was done. ( >ne day he .stood before her in an attitude of utter exhaustion. " It is finished !" he exclaimed. "You shall Bee it to-morrow." " What is it . " she asked. morrow to-n.oirnw I" He then retired to slerj.. and rested several hours. She looked 232 SOUTHWARD 1!< ! on him while he slept. He had never rested so profoundly since he had begun the labor from which he was now freed. The slumber of an infant was never more calm, was never soft er, sweeter, or purer. The beauty of Coelius was that of the most peaceful purity. She bent over bhr as lie slept, and kissed his forehead with lips of the truest devotion, while two big tears gathered in her large eyes, and slowly felt their way along her cheeks. She turned away lest the. warm drops falling upon his face might awake him. She turned away, and in her own apart ment gave free vent to the feelings which his pure and placid slumbers seemed rather to subdue than encourage. Why, with such a husband her first love and with so many motives to happiness, was she not happy 1 Alas ! who shall declare for the secret yearnings of the heart, and say, as idly as Canute to the sea, "thus far shalt them go, and no farther here shall thy proud waves be stayed." Aurclia was a creature of fears and anxieties, and many a secret and sad presentiment. She was very far from happy ill at ease and but why anticipate ? We shall soon enough arrive at the issue of our melancholy nar rative ! That night, while she slept for grief and apprehension have their periods of exhaustion which we misname repose her hus band rose from his couch, and with cautious footsteps departed from his dwelling. He was absent all the night and returned only with the dawn. He re-entered his home with the same stealthy caution with which he had quitted it, and it might have been remarked that he dismissed his brother, with two other persons, at the threshold. They were all masked, and other wise disguised with cloaks. Why this mystery ? Where had they been on what mission of mischief or of shame? To Coelius, such a necessity was new, and scarcely had lie entered his dwelling than he cast aside his disguises with the air of one who loathes their uses. He was very pale and haggard, with a fixed but glistening expression of the eye, a brow of settled gloom, from which hope ;md faith, and every interest in life seemed utterly to be banished. A single groan escaped him when he stood alone, and then he raised himself erect, as if hitherto lie had leaned upon tbe arms of others. He, carried Simself firmly and loftily, his lips compressed, his eye eagerly THE DK.vn;HT. 233 looking forward ; and thus, after tin- interval of a few seconds, he passed to the chamber of his wife. And still she slept. He bent over her, earnestly and intently gazing upn those beauties which grief seemed onlv to sadden into superior sweetncr/s. lie. looked upon her with tlnxe earnest eyes of love, the expression of which can never be misunderstood. Still he loved her, though between her heart and his, a high, unpayable barrier had been raised up by the machinations of a guilty spirit. Tender: W9t the prevailing character of his glance until she spoke. Her sleep, though deep, was not wholly undisturbed. Fearful images -eil her fancy. She Carted and sobbed, and cried. " S n ^ive and spare him Flavins, my dear Flavins!" and her liing again became free, and her lips sunk mice more into repose. But fearful was the change, from a saddened tender- ness t ;iL r "iiy and despair, which parsed over the features of radius as he listened to her cry. Suddenly, striking his clenched bands against his forehead, he shook them terribly at the sleep ing woman, and rushed wildly out of the apartment. H A PTKR V. IT *M noon of the same day a warm and sunny noon, in which the birds aiul the breeze equally counselled pleasure and ri po>e. The viands stood before ,,ur Co-lius and his wife, the choicest fruits ,,f Italy, and rates which might not, in later days, have niisheseemed the favorite chambers of I.ncullus. The gob let wa- lifted iii the hands of both, and the heart of Aurelia felt almost afi cheerful a the e^pwosion on her face. It was the rctlection in the face of her husband. His hr<>\\ was gloottj no longer. The tones of his \oice \\ere neither cold, nor angry, nor desponding A change she knew not why had coinr over his spirit, and he smiled, nay. laughed nut. in the ve: ult.-.tion of a new life. Aurelia conjectured nothing of this SO sudden change. Knongh that it was grateful to her soui. She w;- to. happy in its influence to inquire into its < au-e. What heart that is happy does inquire/ She .jiiatVe-1 tln-gobb-t at his bidding quahVd it to the dregs and her eve gleamed delighted and delightfully upon his. e\en as in the first hours of their union She had no apprehensions dreaded nothing sinister and did 234 SOUTHWARD HO ! not perceive that ever, at the close of his laughter, there was a con vulsive quiver in his tones, a sort of hysterical sobbing, that he seemed to try to subdue in vain. She noticed not this, nor the glittering, almost spectral brightness of his glance, as, laughing tumultuously, he still kept his gaze intently fixed upon her. She was blind to all things but the grateful signs of his returning happiness and attachment. Once more the goblet was lifted. " To Turmes [Mercury] the conductor," cried the husband. The wife drank unwittingly for still her companion smiled upon her, and spoke joyfully, and she was as little able as willing to perceive that anything occult occurred in his expression. " Have you drank ?" he asked. She smiled, and laid the empty goblet before him. " Come, then, you shall now behold the picture. You will now be prepared to understand it." They rose together, but another change had overspread his features. The gayety had disappeared from his face. It was covered with a calm that was frightful. The eye still main tained all its eager intensity, but the lips were fixed in the icy mould of resolution. They declared a deep, inflexible purpose. There was a corresponding change in his manner and deport ment. But a moment before he was all life, grace, gayety and great flexibility ; he was now erect, majestic and commanding in aspect, with a lordly dignity in his movement, that declared a sense of a high duty to be done. Amelia was suddenly im pressed with misgivings. The change was too sudden not to star tle her. Her doubts and apprehensions were not lessened when, instead of conducting her to the studio, win-re she expected to see the picture, he led the way through the vestibule and into the open court of the palace. They lingered but for a moment at the entrance, and she then beheld his brother Aruns approach ing. To him she gave not a look "All is riprht," said the latter. " Enter !" was the reply of Orelius ; and as the brother disap peared within the vestibule, the two moved forward through the outer gate. They passed through a lovely wood, shady and silent, through which, subdued by intervening leaves, gleamed only faintly the bright, clear sun of Italy. From under the huge chestnuts, on either hand, the majestic gods of Etruria ex- lili: BMTBAKCi T. IHK HALLS >F SILENCE. tended their guiding and endowing hands. Tina, or Jupiter, Aplu, >r Apollo, Erkle, Turrnes, and the rest, all conducting them along the ria sacra, which led from the palaces to the tombs of every proud Etruscan family. They entered the sol emn grove which was dedicated to night and silence, and were about to ascend the gradual slopes by which the tumulus was approached. Then it was that the misgivings of Aurelia took a more serious ibnn. She felt a vague but oppressive fear. She hesitated. " My Crelius," she exclaimed, " whither do we go ? Is not this the passage to the house of silence?" "Do you not know it?" he demanded quickly, and fixing ujM ii her a keen inquiring glance. " Come!" he continued, " it is there that I have fixed the picture !" " Alas ! my Coelius, wherefore ? It is upon this picture that you have been >< deeply engaged. It has made you sad it has left us both unhappy. Let us not go let me not see it !" Her agitation was greatly increased. He saw it, and his face put on a look of desperate exultation. A\, but thou must see it thou shalt look upon it and he- hold my triumph, my greatest triumph in art, and perhaps my last. I shall never touch pencil more, ami wilt thou refuse to look upon my last and noblest work. Fie ! this were a wrong to me, and a great shame in thee, Aurelia. Come! the toil of which thou think bt but coldly, has brought me peace rather than sadne.ss. It has made of death a thing rather familiar than of fensive. If it has deprived me of hopes, it has left me without rs !" 1 >eprived you .,f hopes, my Coelius," said the wife, still lin- gTiii, and in mortal terror. Even " And, wherefore, O, my husband, wherefore ?" 14 Speak not, woman! See you not that we are within the shadow .if the tomb ?" I H us not apprn.-irh let us p hence!" she exclaimed en- .u^lv. with ilu-reasin^ a-it;iii>n. A v, shrink st thou !" he answered ; " well thou may si. The fa. Jiers of the l ..mptnii. f..r two thousand years, are no\\ liuat- iug aiound its on their >i^htle \\in^>. They \\onder that a 236 SOUTHWARD HO! Roman woman should draw nigh to the dwellings of our ancient Lucumones." "A Roman woman!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "My Coelius, wherefore this ?" " Art thou not ?" " I am thy wife." " Art sure of that ?" " As the gods live and look upon us, I am thine, this hour and for ever !" "May the gods judge thee, woman," he responded slowly, as he paused at the gate of the mausoleum, and fixed his eyes in tently upon her. Hers were raised to heaven, with her uplifted hands. She did not weep, and her grief was still mixed with a fearful agitation. " Let us now return, my Coelius !" " What, wilt thou not behold the picture ?" " Not now at another season. I could not look upon it now !" "Alas! woman, but this can not be. Thou must behold it now or never. Hope not to escape. Enter! I have a tale to tell thee, and a sight to show thee within, which thou canst not near or see hereafter. Enter!" As he spoke, he applied the key to the stone leaf, and the door slowly revolved ujmn the massy pivots. She turned and would have fled, but he grasped her by the wrist, and moved toward the entrance. She carried her freed hand to her forehead parted tin 1 hair from her eyes, and raised them pleadingly to heaven. Resistance she saw was vain. Her secret was discovered. She prepared to enter, but slowly. "Enter! Dost thou fear now," cried her hu.sband, 14 when commanded ? Hast thou not, thou, a Roman, ventured already to penetrate these awful walls, given to silence and the dead and on what mission? Enter, as I bid thee!" Ml A I T KR . SHE obeyed him, shuddering and silent. He followed her. closed the entrance, and fastened it within. They were alone among the dead of a thousand \ ears alone, but not in dark- ne. The hand of preparation had lu-en there, and cressets were burning upon the walls; their lights, reflected from the ACCUSATION. liliT numerous shieltU of bronze within tin- apartment, shedding a strange aiul fantastic splendor upon the scene. The eyes of Aurelia rapidly explored the chamber as if in search of some ex pected object. Those of Co lius watched them with an expre-- sion of scornful triumph, which did not escape her glance. She firmly met his gaze, almost inquiringly, while her hands wer involuntarily and convulsively clasped together. " Whom dost thou seek, Aurelia . " I hou kin w st ! thou know st ! where is he? Tell me, my (Joelius, that he is .sale, that thou hast sped him hence - that I may ble ti He smiled significantly as he replied, "He is safe I have sped him hence !" " Tinai [Adonaij, my husband, keep thee in the hollow of his hand." " How ! shameless ! dost thou dare so much ? What mean st thou, my Coelius /" 41 Sit thou there," he answered, " till I show thee my picture." He pointed her. a> lie sjmke, to a new sarcophagus, upon which she placed herself submissively. Then, with a wand in his hand, he, himself, seated upon another coffin of stone, pointed her to a curtain which covered one uf the -ides of the chamber. He- hind that curtain. Aurelia. is the last work of my hands; but before I unveil it to thine eyes, let me tell thee its melancholy history. It will not wed many words for this. Much of it is known to thee already. llo\v I found thee in Uon.e, \\hen 1 was there a captive how I loved thee, and how 1 believed in thy assurances of love; all these things thou knou st. We wedded, and I brought thee. a Roman \\omai:, heM a baibaiian by my people, into the palace of one of the, proudest families of all Etruria. Shall I tell thee that I loved thee still that 1 love thee e\en now, \\lien I ha\e most reason to hat*- thee, when 1 know thy perjury, thy cold heart, thy hot lust, thy base, degrading pMiions !" " 11 Id, my lord .say not these things to my grief and thy dishonor. They \\nmg me not less than thy \\n name, riiege things, poured into thine ear by some sect . , are false!" "Thin wilt not swear it . SOUTHWARD HO ! "fcy all the gods of Rome " "And of what avail, and how binding the oath taken in the names of the barbarian deities of Rome." 44 By the Etrurian " " Perjure not thyself, woman, but hear me." " Go on, my lord, I will hear thee, though I suffer death with ery word thou speak st." "It is well, Aurelia, that thou art prepared for this." Thy dagger, my Coslius, were less painful than thy words and looks unkind." " Never was I unkind, until I found thee false." "Never was I false, my lord, even when thou wast unkind." Woman ! lie not! thou wert discovered with thy paramour, here, in this tomb ; thou wert followed, day by day, and all thy secret practices betrayed. This thou ow st to the better vigi lance of my dear brother Aruns he, more watchful of my hon or than myself " "Ah! well I know from what hand came the cruel shaft! CoBlius, my Ccfelius, thy brother is a wretch, doomed to infamy and black with crime. I have had no paramour. I might havo had, and thou might st have been dishonored, had I hearkened to thy brother s pleadings. I spurned him from my feet with loathing, and he requites me with hate. Oh, my husband, be lieve me, and place this man, whom thou too fondly callest thy brother, before thine eyes and mine !" " Alas ! Aurelia, this boldness becomes thee not. I myself traced thee to this tomb these eyes but too frequently beheld thee witli thy paramour." " Ocelius, as I live, he was no paramour but where is he, what i;a>t thou done with him?" " S -lit him before thee to prepare thy couch in Hades!" "Oh, brother ! but thou hast not ! tell me, my lord, that thy hand is free from this bloody crime !" " He sleeps beneath thee. It is upon his sarcophagus thou sittest." She started with a piercing shriek from the coffin where she sat, knelt beside it, and strove to remove the heavy stone lid. which had been already securely fastened. While thus engaged THE riTn:i: r\vKii.F:i. the Lucumo drew aside with liis hand tin- curtain which con cealed the picture. 44 Look," said he, " woman, behold the fate which thou and thy paramour have received behold the task which I had set me when first I had been shown thy perjui;. I ok!" She arose in silence from her knees, and turned her eyes upon the picture. As the curtain was >!<>\vlv unrolled from before it, and she conceived the awful subject, and distinguished, under the care of the good and guardian genii, the shades of well-known members of the romponian family, her interest was greatly ex cited ; but when, following in the train and under the grasp of the Ktrurian demon, she beheld the features of the young Roman wh. was doomed, -he bounded forward with a cry of agony. "My brother, my Flavin-, my own, my only brother !" and sunk down with outstretched arms before the melancholy shade. Her brother!" exclaimed the husband. She heard the words and rose rapidly to her feet. , Flavins, my brother, banished from Rome, and con cealed here in thy house of silence, concealed even from thee, my husband, as I would not vex thee with the anxieties of an Ftrurian noble, lest Rome should hear and punish the people hv whom her outlaw was protected. Thou knowVt my crime. Thi-* paramour was the brother of my heart child of the same and dame a noble heart, a pure -j-irit. whos,- very virtues have been the cause of his disgrace at R<>me. Slay me, if thou wilt, but tell me not, 0, Coelius, that thou hast put the hands of hate upon my brother !" 44 Thy tale is false, woman well-planned, but false. K- I not thy brother ? Did I not know thy brother well in Rome? Went we not together oft? I tell thee, I .should know him among a line of ten thousand Romans!" 41 Alas alas 1 my husband, if ever I had brother, then i< this he. I tell thee nothing but the truth. Of a surety, when thu writ in Rome, my brother wa> known to thee. but the boy hap ism become a man. Seven ymrs have winight a change upon him of which thou hast not thought. Believe me. what I tell lire the youth ulmm I sheltered in this vault, ami to whom 1 brought f.nd nightly. \\ as. imleed. my brother nsy Flavins, the only son of my mother. wh< sent him to me, with fond wor J40 SMITHWAKD HO! entreaty, when the consuls of the city bade him depart in ban ishment." " 1 can not believe thee, woman. It were a mortal agony, far beyond what I feel in the conviction of thy guilt, were I to yield faith to thy story. It is thy paramour whom I have slain, and who sleeps in that tomb. His portrait and his judgment are he-fore thee, and now look on thine own !" The picture, fully displayed, showed to the wretched woman her own person, in similar custody with him who was her sup posed paramour. The terrible felicity of the execution struck her to the soul. It was a picture to live as ;i work of art, and to this she was not insensible. She clasped her hands before it, and exclaimed, " Oh ! my Coelius, what a life hast tliou given to a lie. Yet may I bear the terrors of such a doom, if he whom thou hast painted there in a fate full of dreadful fellowship with mine, was other than my brother Flavins he with whom thou didst love to play, and to whom thou didst impart the first lessons in the ait which lie learned to love from thee. Dost hear me, my Coe lius, as my soul lives, this man was none other than my brother." " False ! false ! I will not, dare not believe thee !" he answered in husky accents. His frame was trembling, yet he busied him self in putting on a rich armor, clothing himself in military garb, from head to foot, as if going into action. " What do>t thou, my lord ?" demanded Aurelia, curious as she beheld him in this occupation. " This," said he, " is the armor in which I fought with Rome when I was made the captive of thy people, and thine. It is fit that 1 should wear it now, when I am once more going into captivity." "My husband, what mean st thou of what captivity dost thou speak 1" "The captivity of death! Hear me, Aurelia, dost thou feel nothing at thy heart which tells thee of the coming struggle when the smil shakes oft the reluctant flesh, and strives, as it were, for freedom. Is there no chill in thy veins, no sudden pang, as of tire in thy breast? These speak in me. They warn me of death. We are both summoned. But a little while is left of life to either!" TOO LATE ! 241 Have mercy, Jove ! I feel these pains, this chill, this fire that thou speak st of." It is death ! the goblet which I gave thee, and of which I drank the first and largest draught, was drugged with death." Then it is all tme ! Thou hast in truth slain my brother. Thou ha.st thou hast !" Nay, he was not thy brother, Aurelia. Why wilt thou for swear thyself at this terrible moment ? It is vain. Wouldrt thon lie to death wouldst thou carry an impure face of perjury :e the seat of the Triune Gcd ! Beware ! Confess thy crime and justify the vengeance of thy lord!* "As I believe thee, my Coelius as 1 believe that thou hai most rashly and unjustly murdered my brother, and put dcat) in the cup which, delivered by thy hands, was sweet and pre cious to my lips, so must I now declare, in sight of Heaven, ii. the presence of the awful dead, that what I have said and sworn to thee is truth. He whom I sheltered within the tombs of thy fathers, was the son of mine the only, the last, I test brother of inv heart. I bore him in mine arms when I was a child myself. I loved him ever ! Oh, how I loved him ! next to thee, my COP lius next to thee! Couldst thou but have spared me this love this brother !" "How knew I how know I now that he was thy brother?" was the choking inquiry. "To save rhre (lie cruel agony that thou must feel, at knowing this, 1 could even be moved to tell thee falsely, and say that he was not my brother; but. indeed, some paramour, such as the and evil thought of thy brother has grafted upon thine; but I may not ; thy love is too precious to me at this last moment : if death \sere not too terrible to tin- faKe speaker. II- indeed, mv Flavins, dear >on of a dear mother, best beloved f brothers; he whom thou did>t play with as a boy; to whom thou gtt*fM IfeMCMM in thy o\\n lovely art ; who loved thee, mv Co?- litlS, but too fondly, and only forbore telling thee of his evil plight for fear that tli"U shouldst incur danger from the ^liarp and an gry hostility of Rome. Seek my chamber, and in my cabinet thou wilt find hi.s letters, an. I the 1 my mother, borne wi f h him in his Hight. Nay, oh ! mother, what i "Too late! t *o late : If it be truth th -i speaker, Aurelm, 11 242 SOUTHWARD HO ! it is a truth that can not save. Death is upon us I Bee it in thy face I feel it in my heart Oh ! would that I could ilouht thy story !" "Doubt not doubt not believe and take me to thy heaii. I fear not death if thou wilt believe me. My Coelius, let me come to thee and die upon thy bosom." "Ah! shouldst thou betray me shouldst thou still practise upon me with thy woman art!" "And wherefore? It is death, thou say st, that is upon us now. What shall I gain, in this hour, by speaking to thee false ly? Thou hast done thy worst. Thou hast doomed me to death, and to the scornful eyes of the confiding future !" She threw her arms around him as she spoke, and sunk, sunk sobbing upon his breast. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "that dreadful picture! I feel, my Aurelia, that thou hast spoken truly that I have been rash and cruel in my judgment. Thy brother lies before thee, and yonder tomb is prepared for thee. I did not yield without a struggle, and I prepared me for a terrible sacrifice. Upon this bier, habited as I am, I yield myself to death. There is no help no succor. Yet that picture ! Shall the falsehood over come the truth. Shall that lie survive, thy virtues, thy beauty, i.-. l thy life! No! my Aurelia, this crime shall be spared at least." He unwound her arms from about his neck, and strove to rise. She sunk in the same moment at his feet. " Oh, death !" she cried, " thou art, indeed, a god ! I feel thee, terrible in thy strength, with an agony never felt before. Leave me not, my Coalius forgive and leave me nt !" " I lose thee, Aurelia ! Where " " Here ! before the couch I faint ah !" " I would destroy," he cried, " but can not ! This blindness. Ho! without there! Aruns ! It is thy step I hear! Undo, undo I iortrive thee all, if thou wilt l>ut help. Here hither!" The acute senses of the dying man had, indeed, heard foot steps without. They were tlmse of the perfidious brother. But, at the call from within, lie retreated hastily. There was no an swer there was no help. But there was st ill some consciousness Death was not } et triumphant. There was a pang yet to be felt SILENCE ! 248 ami a pleasure. It was still in tin- power of the dying man to lift to his embrace Ins innocent victim. A moment s rot urn of con. scio U sne>s enabled her to feel his embrace, his warm tears upon her cheek, and to hear his words of entreaty and tenderness im ploring forgiveness. And speech was vouchsafed her to ac cord it. " I forgive thee, my On-lius I forgive thee, and bless thee, and love thee to the last. 1 know that thou wouldst never do UK- hurt nf thy own will ; 1 know that thou wert deceived to this yet how, oh, how, when my head lay upon thy breast at night, and I slept in peace, couldst thou think that I should do thee wrong !" " Why." murmured the miserable man, " why, oh, why ?" " llad I but told thee, and trusted in thee, my Coslius !" 1 Why didst thou not?" " It was because of my brother s persuasion that I did not he wished not that thou shouldst come to evil." " And thou forgiy st me, Aurelia from thy very heart thou forgiv st me ?" All, all from my heart and soul, my husband." 44 It will not, then, be so very hard to die !" An hour after and the chamber was silent. The wife, bad yielded tir<t. She breathed her last sigh upon his bosom, and with the la.st eflbrt of his strength he lifted her gently and laid her in the sarcophagus, composing with afiec f innate care the dra pery around her. Then, remembering the picture, he looked around him for his sword with which to obliterate the portr*i*s which his genius had assigned to M> lamentable an eternity but his efforts were feeble, and the paralysis of death seized him while he was yet making them. He sunk hack with palsied limbs upon the bier, and the lights, and the picture, faded from hot . -re his eyes, with the last pulses of his life. The calumnv which had destroyed his hopes, survived its own detection. The recorded falsehood was triumphant over the truth; yet may you see, to tlii-, dav, where the random strokes of the weapon were aimed for its obliteration. Of himself there is no monument in the tmb, though one t lui-hing memorial has reached us. The vaulted chamber buried in the earth w?us discovered by accident A fracture was made in its top hy an Italian gentleman in com 244 SOUTHWARD 110 ! pany with a Scottish nobleman. As they gazed eagerly through the aperture, they beheld an ancient warrior in full armor, and bearing a coronet of gold. The vision lasted but a moment. The decomposing effects of the air were soon perceptible. Even while they gazed, the body seemed agitated with a trembling, heaving motion, which lasted a few minutes, and then it subsi ded into dust. When they penetrated the sepulchre, they found the decaying armor in fragments, the sword and the helmet, or crown of gold. The dust was but a handful, and this was all that remained of the wretched Lucuino. The. terrible picture is all that survives the false witness, still repeating its cruel lie, at the expense of all that is noble in youth and manhood, and all that is pure and lovely in the soul of woman " We all agreed that our professor, who delivered his narrative with due modesty, had made a very interesting legend from the chronicles had certainly shown a due regard for the purity of the sex, in thus vindicating the virtuous sufferer from the mali cious accusation which had been preserved by art, through the capricious progress of more than twenty centuries. Several stories followed, short, sketchy, and more or less spir ited, of which I could procure no copies. The ladies gave us sundry pleasant lyrics to the accompaniment of the guitar, and one or two male Bute players contributed to our musical joya until we began to verge toward the shorter hours, when the fair er portion of the party bowed us good night Duyckinan nearly breaking his own and Selina Burroughs s neck, in helping her down the cabm-Hteps CHAPTER XIII "THE GLORIOUS FOURTH" AT SEA. ~BT us skip over the small hours which were consumed by oar little community we mav suppose after a very common lashion on shore. There was silence in the ship for a space. But a good strong corps was ready, at the peep of day, to respond, with a general shout, to that salutation to the morn ivhk-h our worthy captain had as>igned to the throats of his pet Sra-s pieces. We were not missing at the moment of uproar, and, as the bellowing voices roared along the deep, we echoed the clamor with a hurrah scarcely less audible in the courts of Neptune. I need not dwell upon the exhibition of deshabilles, as we ser *>rally appeared on deck in nightgown and wrapper, with other wise scant costume. But, as our few la ly -passengers made no ipjKMiraiice at this hour, there was no need for much precaution. We took the oppoitunitv atVonled hy their absence to procure a good sousing from the sea. administered, through capacious buckets, l.y the hands of a courteous coalheaver, who received hifi shilling a-head tor our ablutions. By the way. why should not these admirable veitilt) > distinguished by their variou* comforis, be provided with half-a-do/en bathing rooms I We commend the suggestion to future builders. A bath is even more necessai \ than mi shore, and, lacking his bath, there is many a pretty fellow who resorts to his bottl ,ueut ablution is no small agent of a proper morality. Outraging no propriety by our garden-like innocence of cos tume, we began the day merrily, and contrived to continue it cheerily. At the hour of twelve, the awning spread above us, a smooth soa below, a tine bive/e t reaming around us, we were all assembled upon the (juarter -deck, a small but select congre gation, to hear the man in a safi ron skin and green spectacles. 246 SOUTHWARD HO ! We dispensed with the whole reading of the Declaration of Independence ; our reader graciously abridging it to doggrel dimensions, after some such form as the following, which he delivered, as far as permitted, with admirable grace and most senatorial dignity : " When in the course of human events, A people have cravings for eloquence. A decent regard for common-sense Requires " He was here broken in upon by a sharp shriek, rather than a voice, which we found to proceed from a Texan, who had worn hi? Mexican blanket during the whole voyage, and whom some of the passengers were inclined to think was no other tban Sam Houston himself. His interruption furnished a sufficiently appropriate finishing line to the doggrel of our reader: " Oh, go ahead, and d n the expense." " The very principle of the Revolution, said the orator. " Particularly as they never redeemed the continental money. My grandmother has papered her kitchen with the I. O. U 8 of our fathers of Independence." This remark led to others, and there was a general buz/,, when the orator put in, first calling attention, and silencing all voices, by a thundering slap with the flat of his hand upon the cover of a huge volume which he carried in his grasp. " Look you, gentlemen," said he, with the air of a person who was not disposed to submit to wrong "you asked me to be your orator, and hang me if I am to be choused out of the per formance, now that I have gone through all my preparations. Scarcely had I received your appointment before I proceeded to put myself in training. I went below and got myself a dose of snake and tiger a beverage I had not tasted before for ;he last five months and I commended myself, during a ..wenty minutes immersion in the boatswain s bath at the fore while you were all sleeping, I suppose to the profound and philosophical thoughts which were proper to this great occasion With the dawn, and before the cannon gave counsel to the da. I was again immersed in meditation and salt-water; followed !>} a severe friction at the hands of one of the stewards, and another touch of snske -v^d tiger at the hands of the butler. I have THK ORATION. "241 thus prepared myself for the occasion, and I ll let you know I ain not the man to prepare myself for nothing. Either you must hear me, or y<>u must light me. Let me know your reso lution. If I do not begin upon you all, I shall certainly begin upon some one of you. and 1 <l<>n t know but that Texan shall he my first cu-t uner, a being the first to disturb the business of the day. An audible snort from the blanket was the only answer from that uiiarter; while the cry of -"An orator an orator!" from all parts of the ship, pacified our belligerent Demosthenes. He began accordingly. THB ORATION OF THE GRKKVSPK.f "T Ai l.KK ALABAMIA.N " Shipmatf* or Fellou--( itizrnx : We are told liy good author ity that no man is to be pronounced fortunate K> long as h lives, since every moment of life is subject to caprices which may reverse his condition, and render y.-ur congratulation/ fraudulent and offensive. The same rules, for the same reason. should be adopted in regard to nations, and no eulogy should he spoken upon their institutions, until they have ceased t, exist. It would accordingly be much easier for me to dilate upon the good fortune of Copan and Palencjue than upon any other countries, since they will never i i"re suffer from invasion. and the scandalous chronicle of their private lives is totally lost to a prying posterity. " In regard to our country, what would you have me say t Am I summoned to the tribune fc> deal in the miserable follies and falsehoods which now pervade the land ? At this moment, from evew city, and state, and village, and town and hamlet in the I liion. ascends one common voice of self-delusion and deception You hear, on all hands, a general congratulation of fchttftMlTQI and one another, about our peace, and pr.np -rity Mid harmony About our prosperity a great deal may be said Lout-Lily. if n-> about its honeM v. Never did a people so easily and excellent 1 ;. clothe and feed themselves. ( )nr ancestors were very pooi devils, compared to our>el\e>, in respect to their acquisitions Their very best luxuries are not now to be enumerated, excep. our mearst and commonest possessions; and, without 248 SOUTHWARD HO! being bettor men, our humblest citizens enjoy a domestic con dition which would have made the mouths to water, with equal delight and envy, of the proudest barons of the nays of Queen Bess and Harry the Eighth. What would either of these princes have given to enjoy ices such as Captain Berry gave us yesterday, and the more various luxuries which (I see it in his face) he proposes to give us to-day ! What would the best potentates, peers and princes of Europe, even at this day, give to be always sure of such oysters as expose themselves, with all their wealth of fat, buried to the chin, about the entrances of our harbors, from Sandy Hook to Savannah, in preference to the contracted fibres and coppery-flavored substitutes which they are forced to swallow, instead of the same admirable and benevolent ocean vegetable, as we commonly enjoy it here. And what Americans! can they offer in exchange for the pear, the peach, the apple and the melon, such as I already taste, in anticipation of events which shall take place in this very vessel some two hours hence ? It is enough, without enu merating more of our possessions possessions in the common enjoyment of our people that I insist on the national prosperity. " But this is our misfortune. We are too prosperous. We are like Jeshuran, of whom we read in the blessed volume, who, waxing too fat, finally kicked. Fatal kicking ! Foolish Jeshu ran ! In our fatness in our excess of good fortune we are kicking ungraciously, like him ; and we shall most likely, after the fashion of the ungracious cow of which the Book of Fables tells us. kick over the bucket after we have fairly filled it. " We admit the prosperity : but where s the peace ? It is in the very midst of this prosperity that we hear terrible cries from portions of our country, where they have not yet well succeeded in casting off the skins of their original savage condition. There s Bully Benton, and Big-Bone Allen, and Humbug Houston, and hittle Lion Douglass, and Snaky-Stealing Seward, and Copper- Captain Case, and a doisen others, of bigger breeches than brains, and mightier maws than muscles hear how they sev erally roar and squeak !* One would cut the carotid of corpu- Of course we arc not rMpdMtMe for the complimentary rstimutcs made of our m>n of trunk, l>y our A!;il>;mm orator. W- are aimjily acting ai eportern, and tnkin^ down his Inngtiago, verbatim tt litrratim. ROOBYDOM AND ITS OKA 1 .K>. 249 lent Jolm Bull ; another would swallow the mines of Mexico ; a third would foul tin- South, a fourth the \<>rth ; and they are all for kicking up a pretty d d fuss generally, expecting the people t" foot the hill. "And now, with such an infernal hnhhub in our cars, on every side, from these bomb-bladders, should thore ho peace among US? We orv peace when there is no peace! Their cry is war, even in the midst of prosperity, and when short-cotton is thirteen cents a pound ! And war for what ? As if wo had not -jierity enough, and a great deal too much, shipmates, since we do not know what to do with it, and employ such blather skites as these to take it into their ridiculous keeping. In It many words. shipmate>. these Hearts of Habyhm. representing us poor boobies of America, are each of them, professedly on our part, playing the part of Jeshuran the Fat ! They are kicking lustily, and will, I trust, be kicked over in the end, and before the end, and kicked out of sight, by that always-avenging des tiny, which interposes, at the right moment, to settle accounts with blockhead statesmen and blockhead nations. "Now, how are we to escape our own share of this judgment of Jeshuran ? Who shall say how long it will be before we set our heels against the bucket, and see the green fields of our liberties watered with the waste of our prosp. iities ! -I m not sure of the legitimacy of this figure, but can t stop n,,w to ana- iv/.e it. We ll discuss it hereafter before the Literary Club of Charleston, which is said to be equally famous for its facts and figures.) Hut, so long as it is doubtful if we shall escape this disast, r long as the future is still /// nuhiln,i. and these cloud- m M full of growl and blackness u .i-onahly doubt if our prosperity is either secure <r perfect. (Yrtainly. it is not yet time either for its history or eulogy. "But for our peace, our harmony, if not our prosperity I 11 Believing ourselves prosperous, as \M- all do and loudly MMVerate, and there should be no good reason why han: should not be ours. Hut this harmony is of difficult acquisition, and we must first ask. my hrethien. what is harmony \ "When we sit down to dinner to dav, it is in the confident expectation that harmony will preside over the banquet. Ti ,8 no erood reason why it should be otherwise. There will be 250 SOUTHWARD 110 ! ample ai the feast for all the parties. Each will get enough, and probably of the very commodity he desires. If he does not, it is only because there is not quite enough for all, and the dish happens to be nearer me than him ! Nevertheless, we take for granted that harmony will furnish the atmosphere of the feast to-day. It wiLl render grateful the various dishes of which we partake. It will assist us in their digestion. We will eat and drink in good humor, and rise in good spirits. Each one will entertain and express his proper sentiments, and, as our mutual comfort will depend upon a gentlemanly conduct, so no one will say or do anything to make his neighbor feel uncomfortable. If you know that the person next to you has a corn upon his toe, you will not tread on it in order to compel his attention to your wants ; and, should you see another about to swallow a moderate mouthful of cauliflower, it will not . be your care to whisper a doubt if the disquiet of the person in the adjoining cabin was not clearly the result of cabbage and chol era. This forbearance is the secret of harmony, and I trust we shall this day enjoy it as the best salad to our banquet. " And now, how much of this harmony is possessed among our people in the states? Are you satisfied that there is any such feeling prevailing in the nation, when, in all its states, it mbles in celebration of this common anniversary ? Hearken to the commentary. Do you hear that mighty Jtdlabaloo in the Ka-t i It omies from Massachusetts Hay. It is just such an uproar as we have heard from that <{ii:irter for a hundred years. First, it fell upon the ears of the people of- Mohegan, and Nar- ,-tganset, and Coneaughtehoke the brecchless Indians and it meant massacre. The Indians perished by sword-cut and arquebus-shot and traffic scalps being bought at five shillings PT head, till the commodity grew too scarce for even cupidity to make capital with. Very brief, however, was the interval that followed. Our Yankee brethren are not the people to suffer their neighbors to be long at peace, or to be themselves pacific. Very soon, and there, was another fifllalmJou ! The victims this time were the Quakers ; and thev had to fly from a region of so much prosperity. usin<r their best legs, in order to keep their simple scalps secure under their broad brims. What was to be done to find food for the devouring appetite of these HKl. 1. .\I5.M.M.M.NV,. 251 rabid wretches, who so well discriminated always as to sc -k their victims- in the feeble, and rarely suftered their virtues to peril tlieir own skin-. They turned next, full-mouthed, upon the old women, an -nally npoji the yung. At the new htllalml<i of \\\\>. thesp j>.or devils and, unluckily, the devils whom they were alleged to serve were too poor to bring them any succor - were voted to he witches; they were cut off hy cord and fire, until the land was purged of all hut its privileged sinners. " Short again was the rest which these godly savages gave themseKe- or their neighbors. The poor Gothamites next fell beneath the han, and the simple Dutchmen "f Manhattan wore fain to succumb under the just wrath of the (io<l-appointed race And now, all the neighboring peoples bring pruperlv suhjected, the hellaftalfto was raised against the cavaliers who dwelt south of the Potomac. " These were ancient enemies of the saints in the mother- country. But there had lieen reasons hitherto for leaving them undisturhed. They had heen good customers. They had heen the receivers of the stolen go,,ds lrou<rht them hy these \ men of the East, and did not then know that the seller could give no good title to the property he s.dd. As hmr a< our cav alier contiiiued to huy the African, the saints liinted nut a word about the im perfecting if tht^ title. It was only when he refused to huy any more of the commodity that he was told it was stolen. " And now the hellahaloo is raised against all those having the stolen ;_ r <>ds in possession. Dues this hi-llnlmliM sound like harmony, my brethren? and don t v>u think there will h. answering liellahahm tu this, which will tend still niun- to dis- ttirh tin- harmonies? And, with these wild clamors in <m: rucking the nation from side to side, who is it that cries peace! p-a ] ! -e ! when there is n<. p. Am I to be ma Ir the ecboof ;i t alsehoud ? Shall my lips rejeat the silly com monplace which cheats n.,h.>dy. and [ nohudy, and makes n.ibiidy repent \ N.I. my brethren! l.rt n* .-<i eak tlie truth. There is n,. ; harnmny. no uni.... .-,: A j. : .. .ne already ^undrred. Wr n<.w hate and strive Agniist each other; and, :ntil w c"ine hack to justice to the SOUTHWARD HO! recognition of all those first principles which led our ancestors into a league, offensive and defensive, for a common object and with a common necessity, the breach will widen and widen, until a great gulf shall spread between us, above which Death will hang ever with his black banner : and across which terror, and strife, and vengeance, shall send their unremitting bolts of storm and fire ! Let us pray, my brethren, that, in regard to our harmony, we arrest our prosperity, lest we grow too fat, and kick like Jeshuran !" Here a pause. Our orator was covered with perspiration. He hemmed thrice with emphasis. He had reached a climax. The Texan was sleeping audibly, giving forth sounds like an old alligator at the opening of the spring. Our few Yankee voyagers had arisen some time before, not liking the atmosphere, and were now to be seen with the telescope, looking out into the East for dry land. The orator himself seemed satisfied with the prospect. He saw that his audience were in the right mood to be awakened. He wiped his face accordingly, put on his green spectacles, and in a theatrical aside to the steward " Hem ! steward ! another touch of the snake and tiger." I do not know that I need give any more of this curious ora tion, which was continued to much greater length, and discussed a most amusing variety of subjects, not omitting that of Com munism, and Woman s Rights. Know-Nothingism had not then become a fixed fact in the political atmosphere, or it would, probably, have found consideration also. Very mixed were the feelings with which the performance was greeted. Our secessionists from South Carolina and other states, of whom there were several on board, were quite satis fied with our orator s view of the case ; but our Yankees, reap pearing when it was fairly over, were not in the mood to suffer it to escape without sharp censure. The orator was supposed to have made a very unfair UM> <>t the occasion and of his >WM appointment. But the orator was not a customer with whom it was politic to trifle; and as he seemed disposed to show liis trrtli, more than once, the discussion was seasonably -ted by the call to dinner. They live well on the steamers between New York and Charleston. Both cities know something of good living, and in CHEERING EFFECTS OF WINE. 258 neither is the taste for turtle likely to die out. Why IB the breed of aldermen so little honored in either ? Our captain is proverbially a person who can sympathize duly with the exigen cies of appetite, and his experience in providing against thtm has made him an authority at the table. Ordinarily admirable, onr dinner mi the glorious Fourth was worthy of the occasion. The committee of arrangements had duly attended to their duties. The time at length arrived for that interchange of mortal and mental felicities which the literary stereotypists describe UH the feast i)f reason and the flow of soul ; and sentiment was to b> in dulge !. Our excellent captain, sweetness in all his looks. h.>m- in his eye, in every action dignity and grace, filling his glass, bowed to a stately matron, one of our few lady-passen gers " The pleasure of a glass of wine with you, madam." "Thank yon, captain, hut I never take wine," was the reply. Perfectly right, madam," put in the orator of the day ; "Though written that wine cheereth tin- heart of man it is no where said that it will have any such effect on the heart of woman." There was a little by-play after this, between the orator and the lady, the latter looking and speaking as if half disposed now to take the wine, if i.nly to prove that its effects might he M cheering to the one s*ex as to the other. Hut the captain rising, interrupted the episode. 1:11 your glae-. gentlemen." All charged," cried the vice. 1. The <l<u/ >r>- ,l.hr<it< Dear to us only as the memorial of an alliance between nations, which was to guaranty protection justice, and etjual rights, to all. The batteries being opened, the play wen^ in T/ithotit inter ruption : 1 shall go on with the to itim 2. The Constitution. Either a bond for all. or a bond fur none Not surely Midi a web as will bind fast the feeble, and through which the strong may break away without restraint. 3. The Union. The perfection of harmony, if. as it wa- de signed to be, in the language of Shakspeare, the "unity and married calm of States." 254 SOUTHWARD HO! 4. The Slave States of tht South. The conservators of the peace, where faction never rears its head, where mobs tear not down, nor bum, nor destroy the hopes and habitations of the peaceful and the weak, and where reverence in the people it still the guarantee for a gentleman in the politician. 5. The Agriculture of the Smith. The source of peace, hos pitality, and those household virtues, which never find in business a plea against society. 6. Cotton and Corn. The grand pacificators, which in rorer- ing and lining the poor of Europe, bind their hands with peace, and fill their hearts with gratitude. 7. Washington. A Southron and a slaveholder pious with out cant ; noble without arrogance ; brave without boast ; and generous without ostentation ! When the Free-Soilers shall be able to boast of such a citizen and son, it may be possible to be lieve them honest in their declarations, and unselfish in their ob jects but not till then. 8. The President of the United States. We honor authority and place ; but let authority see that it do honor to itself. Let no man suppose that he shall play the puppet in his neighbors hands, and not only escape the shame thereof, but win the good name of skilful play for himself. He who would wield authority, must show himself capable of rule ; and he who has famously borne the sword, must beware lest other men should use his truncheon. [Par Pa ren these. Brave old Zachary Taylor was the reign ing president when this toast was given^ 9. Tht- Xatire State. Yours or mine, no matter. We are all linked indissolubly, by a strange and more than mortal tie, to a special soil. To that soil does the true soul always hold itself firmly hound in a fidelity that loves to toil in its improvement, and will gladly die in its defence. 10. Woman. Whether as the virgin she wins our fancies, as the wife our hearts, as the mother our loyalty, still, in all, the appointed angel to minister to our (ares, to inspirit our hopes, to train our sensibilities, and to lift our sympathies, to the pure, the gentle, the delicate, and the true. 11. Our Slaves. L ike <mr children, minors in the hands of the guardian, to be protected and trained to usefulness and virtue FLOW oF srNTIV 256 to l>e taught .service ami nbe. ienee l-\ e and loyalty to be nurturoil with a can- that never >\r.>n^>. and governed by a rule that simply restrains th. of humanity. 12. Our Cn/ ftiin <un . . A good husband for such a wife. ho It-is hey Mcam it, but keep* her in Mays ; she may boil up, but never keeps the house in hot water and all the hfllulxtlo-J linally ends in sinoke. It she keeps up a racket be low, he at least, trumpet in hand, walks the decks, and is still the master. May he always keep her to her bearings, and never suffer her t<> grow so old, as, like some other old woman, to be come past hearing. Here, the captain, overcome with emotion, his face covered with blush. -v. r.,>e, and after the fierce plaudits of the table had subsided, replied in the most eloquent language to the compli ment, concluding thus \nd while I remain the master of this goodly creature, ge& tlemen, let me assure you, she will never discredit her breeding , certainly never while she continues to bear such children as I have the honor to see before me. Gcnth-men, I give you "TJtc Fair Equally precious as fair weather, fair play, and lair women. While deriving from these the best welfare of the heart, mav we be called upon to bid them farewell only when it is decreed that we shall fare better." The regular toasts were resumed and concluded with the thir teenth : 13. The Orator of tin- Y% He hath put the chisel to the seam, the wedge to the split, the hammer t the head, the .-addle on the horse. He has spoken well and wisely, and decently, without the hrUulalxt which usually marks a fourth of July oiatiou. Let him be honored with the mark of greatness, and if there be a place in senate and assembly which it would not discredit a wise man and a gentleman to occupy, send him thither. Our orator was again on bis t -et. His green spectacles under them at the same moment and, such a >peech in reply: there is no reporting it, but if Alabama does u.t yet ring with the voice of that nondescript, then hath she lost the aste for r*cy matters. It will be seen that, thus far, the secessionists have pietty 256 SOUTHWARD HO ? much had the affair in their own hands: and our brethren north of the Hudson were not in the best of humors were somewhat r*7Y/, indeed, by the character of the oration and the toasts that followed. They attempted to reply, in the volunteer toasts which they offered, quoting Daniel Webster and others very freely, but without much visible effect. For once, the majority was against them. Our space will not suffice to report their toasts, the answers, or the discussions which ensued ; but it is doing them justice only to give one of the several volunteer songs which were sung in honor of the Union. The secession ists had a poet on board, but his muse was suffering from sea sickness or some other malady. She was certainly reluctant and made no sign. The lay that I give might have issued from the miitt of Joel Barlow for aught I know : . M0\ AND LIBERTY. [Sung by a tail pcrtmi in nankin pantaloon*.] Oh, dear wus the hour when Liberty rose, And gallant the freemen who came at her ct , Sublime was the vengeance she took on her foes, And mighty the blow which released her from thrall Down from its realm of blur, Proudly our Eagle flew, Perched on our banner and guided us on ; While from afar they came, Brave aouls with noble aim, Where at the price of blood, freedom was wooed and woa Ours wa no trophy, the conquest of power, Heedless if triumph wore sanctioned by right We took uot up arms in infuriate hom Nor thirsting for ppoil burned forth to the fight* Led by the noblest C;IUHI\ Fighting for right* and laws, Panting for freedom our fathers went forth ; Nor for themselves alone, Struck they the tyrant down, They fought and they bled for the nations of earth. And dear be the freedom they won for our nation, \nd firm be the Union that freedom secures; Let no parricide bund neek ID pluck from its station, The flag tliiiT sire.-iruH forth in its pride from our shore*; May no son of our noil, In inglorious toil, THK HRIDK OK TOE BATTI.K 2 Anil ihr Nripht i rnMp?n tl ai floats on our view. !.: nut thai tandnril quail, Let not those stii; M JTOH JM! . T:iko not one stm from our bannei of bluo. Pretty sharp were the criticisms of this ode on the part oi \f\\r * "It halts and hobbles like the Union itself," was the sneei of { DC. "Ill truth." said another, "it i> ominous, lacking, here ano there, some very necessary i IN measures, like those of uovernment are admirably mi- eipial." hi shurt, politic-ally, poetically, morally, and musically, the W9jt icrlarMl, \>y a jiuustt-r present, to be certainly within poetie rule, as it wap decidedly odious. At thU un- kindest cut of all the unhappy singer author, too, perhap: was suddenly seized with sea-sickm^s, ind disappeared OL deck. The day was at its close s we left the table. We came forth to enjoy a delicioij sunset, and I was then oi?.c"ally noti fied that a story was expected from me that ui^ht. My ttiro had come. The ladies were ^r.^i-rly pie i.-t d lo command that I slmnld jrivi- them a tale of the R* volution, as appropriate to the day, and, after a tine <i ; splay of firework;-, .ve composod onrselves in the usual circle, and 1 delivered myself of the fol lowing narrative, which I need not say to those who knov n. was founded \i fact: THE BRIDE (M T1IK IUTI LE. A -JAI.K OK Tin: u.voi.rnoN ( MAP I K K 1 . Tn the, rt-ader who. in the in cur nation^ h;- , try. MiMl contine hiinsel: only t> those records which are to be found in the ordinary n.-mv.-ive. B I he reads v/iii be found obpcr.ro. and a ^r< .< untnithl ul. Oir t.r.ly hi - ->i\r thriiiM-Kes \>i. li .tle trouble -ing after details. .iline N\ as all that they desired, and lied uith thiti.thfy neither >on^ht after tlie particular r\ which slxni- , lative. ii-r int.. tlie Intent M i-EIWAU!) IIO! which gave birth to many of Us actions. In ii:r hi i i y of South Carolina, for example, (which was one brimming with details and teeming with incidents.) there h liitlc to be, found as the history is at present written which shall Afford to fhe reader even a tolerably correct idea of the domestic character of the struggle. We know well enough that ;he people of the colony were of a singularly heterogeneous character; that the settlers of the lower country were chiefly Cavaliers and Huguenots, or French Prot- -stants, and that the interior was divided into groups, or settle ments, of Scotch, Irish, and German. But there is little in the record to show that, of these, the sentiment was mixed and va rious without degree; and that, with the exception of the- par- "{ the lower country, which belonged almost wholly, though i slight modifications, to the English church, it was scarcely poteble to find any neighborhood, in which there was not some thing like a civil war. The interior and mountain settlements were ;ivi:;t usu.illy divided, and nearly equally, between their at- axhrno.:itfl to the crown and the colony. A Scotch settlement Mo.iUJ make ?.n almost uniform showing in behalf of the English authority one, two, or three persons, at the utmost, being of the revouitiouarv party. An Irish settlement (wholly Protest ant, b.- it romenfoered) would be as unanimous for the colonial movements ; while the Germans were but too frequently for the monarchical side, (hat being represented by a prince of Hanover. The German settlements mostly lay in the Forks of Edisto, and along the Congarees. The business of the present narrative will be confined chiefly to this people. They had settled in ra ther large families in Carolina, and this only a short period be fore the Revolution. They had been sent out, in frequent in stances, at the expense of the crown, and this contributed to secure their allegiance. They were ignorant of the nature of ! stri r gJ.e, an-!, being wholly agricultural, could not well be i ..gilt the natrre of grii v:ui:cs which fell chiefly upon commerce A ld the sea-b -;vnl. Now, in Carolina, nr.;l perhaps throughout th-3 whole south, the Revolution not only originated with the iid jvee of the c:; , : with the, educated portions of the native-. It \\ as what may lie termed the gentlemen of the col ony its wealth and aristocracy with whom ami which the movement began; and though it is not our purpo.s. here to gc r,ii;i. \v.\s FIIKDI::. J.Vj into this inquiry, v 1 that the motives to tin- revolution- ary in >\ einent originated with them, in causes totally different from tho.sc \\hich stimulated tin- patriotism .f the people of Massachusetts Bay. The pride of place, of character and of intellect, and not any considerations of interest, provoked the agricultural gentry of the south into the field. It was the earnest desire of these gentry, at the dawning of the Revolution, to conciliate the various people of the interior. At the I M : the struggle, therefore, an attempt was made to influence the (Jerman population along the Kdisto and Ponga- V sending among them two influential men of their own country, u ho<. fidelity to the // I party was beyond dis pute. Hut these men were unsuccessful. They probably made lev, ("iivr:;-. It is enough, it we <rive a glimpse at the course of their proceedings in a single household in the Forks of Kdisto.* George Wagner ami Felix Long arrhed at the habitation of 1 ierick Sabb, on the 7th day of July, 1775. Frederick was an honest Dutchman of g,M,d character, but not the man im- rev olution. II,- was not at home on the arrival of the commissioner-, but his good r/v//r, Minnickcr Said), gave them a gracious recep tion. She was a g..od housekeeper, with but one daughter; a tall, silent girl, with uhoin the commissioners had no discourse. But Minnicker Sabb, had .sin- been applied to, might have pro\ed a better revolutionist than her spou.-e. It is very certain, as the results will ,how, that Fre b, the daughter, was of the right material. She was a calm, and .sweetly -minded da: much skilled in society .,r ho..ks for precious little was the i learning in the >ettlemeiit at this earl\ jieriod ; ht,: the Jiative mind was good and solid, and her natural unsophisticated, were pine and elevated. She kne\s . 1 .y pivcioii.-, instincts, ;t thousand things \\hich other minds s< ncely ever reach through the l<st education. She was what \\ e call, a good girl, loyal, with a warm heart, a sound judgment, ami a in- .Me behavior. \Ve a:< . he it reinejnhered, a heioine. but a jmre. true-hearted woman. She u as young tor only seventeen at this period but just at tl, the iili-.| tiMtn tin- lirnnchiiig nf thr iiv-r nt .1 i >i:t:n : i - L.-t\v-.-n tin- two Utm ! cn,^ cal ril ill.- Fiik, ai:il r .tlc-i nuum. 2(>0 -OITIIW.UID no! woman instincts arc most livoly, and her su-eeptihilities most quick to all that is generous and noble. She made the cakes ,ii:d prepared the supper for tlie guest.H that evening, and they saw but little of her till the evening feast had been adjusted, and was about to lie .iMc is^e-l. Hy this time old Frederick Sabb had made his appearance. He. came, bringing with him three of his neighbors, who were eager to hear the news. They were fol lowed, after a little space, and in season for supper, by another guest perhaps the most welcome of all to the old couple in the person of a favorite preacher of the methodist persuasion. Elijah Fields, was a man of middle age, of a vigorous mind and body, earnest and impetuous, and represented, with considerable efficiency, in his primitive province, the usefulness of a rhurch which, perhaps, more than any other, has modelled itself after that of the Primitive Fathers. We shall see more of Elijah Fields hereafter. In the course of the evening, three other neighbors made their appearance at the farmhouse of Frederick Sabb ; making a goodly congregation upon which to exercise the political abilities of Messrs. Wagner and Long. They were all filled with a more or less lively curiosity in regard to the events which were in progress, and the objects which the com missioners had in view. Four of these neighbors were of the same good old German stock with Frederick Sabb, but two of them were natives of the country, from the east bank of the north branch of the Edisto, who happened to be on a visit to an adjoining farmstead. The seventh of these was a young Scotch man, from Cross Creek, North Carolina, who had already declar ed himself very IVeelv against the revolutionary movement. He liad, indeed, gone so far as to designate the patriots as traitors, il"M-ryhig a short cord and a sudden shrift; and this opinion was expressed with a degree of temper which did not leave it doubt ful that he would gladly seek an opportunity to declare himself offensively in the presence, of the commissioners. As we shall sec more of this person hereafter, it is only right that we should introduce him formally to the reader as Matthew or Mat Dunbar. He went much more frequently by the name of Mat than Mat- th> \v. We may also mention that he was not entirely a politi- A fueling of a tender nature brought him to the dwelling id Sal l . upon whose daughter, Frederica, our voung Scotch THE RIVALS. -"1 man to l k with hungry eyes. And public con jecture, did not err in its suspicions. Hut Mat Diiubar \\as ii"t without a rival. Richard Coulter was the only native of the cnnntry present, Parson Fields CX- cepted. He was a tall, manly youth, about the same age with I>iinhar. Hut he possessed many advantages over the latter, particularly in respect to person. Tall, while Dunbar was short, with a handsome face, tine eye, and a luxuriant shock of hair, and a nu. /d of the same color, which gave quite a mar tial appearance to his features, otherwise effeminate the spec tator inevitably contrasted him with his rival, whose features, indeed, were fair, hut inexj. revive ; and whoe hair and heard were of the most burning and unmitigated red. Though stout of limb, vigorous and athletic, Mat Dunbar was awkward in his movement, and wanting in dignity of hearing. Mentally, the, superiority of Coulter was not so manifest. He was ni"ie difB. dent and gentle than the other, who. experienced by travel, hold and confident, never exhibited himself at less than his real worth. These preliminaries must suffice. It is perhaps scarcely i. sary to say that Frederica Sabb made //// comparisons between the two, and very soon arrived at one conclusion. A girl of eom- inon instincts rarely fails to discover u hether she is sought or not; and the same instincts leads her generally to determine be tween rivals Lug in advance of the moment when they propose. Richard Coulter was certainly her favorite though her prudence was of that becoming kind which enabled her easily to keep to her.-elf the secret of her preference. Old Sabb treated his gue>t.-- with good 1 hitch hospitality . H!-, wife and daughter were excellent housekeepers, and the table was soon spread with go,,l things for supper. Hutter. milk, and Mi-cheesefi, were not wanting; pones and h-.e-enke ; made an ample showing, and a few broiled chickens, and a large plat ter of broiled ham, in the centre of the table, were as m;u h a matter of that early day. in this lav.. rite re^i-ni. a- we find them among its g.nul livers now. Of course, supper waa allowed to be di-cu^sed before the conimi-nioueis opem-d their budget. Then the good / , her place, knitting in hand, and a huge ball of cotton in her lap, at the door, while the guetts emerged from the hall into the pia/.xa. and sweet F. -v 2t2 SOUTHWARD HO ! f. r, as was her habit, proceeded to put away the debris of the feast, and to restore the apartment to its former order. In tills she was undisturbed by either of her lovers ; th custom of the country requiring that she should be left to these occupa tions without being embarrassed by any obtrusive sentiments, or even civilities. But it might be observed that Richard Coulter had ta"ken his seat in the piazza, at a window looking into the hall, while Mat Dtinbar had placed himself nearly at the en trance, and in close neighborhood with the industrious dame. Here he divided himself between attentions to ho,r, and an occa sional dip into the conversation on politics, which was now fully in progress. It is not our purpose to pursue this conversation. The arguments of the commissioners can be readily conjectured. But they were fruitless to persuade our worthy Dutchman into any change, or any self-committals, the issue of which might en danger present comforts and securities. He had still the same answer to every argument, delivered in broken English which we need not imitate. " The king, George, has been a good king to me, my friends. I was poor, but I am not poor now. I had not a finger of land before I came hither. Now, I have good grants, and many acres. I am doing well. For what should I desire to do better? The good king will not take away my grants ; but if I should hear to you, I should be rebel, and then he would be angry, and he might make me poor again as I never was before. No, no, my friends ; I will sign no association that shall make me lose my lands." "You re right !" vociferated Mat Dunbar. "It s treason, I say, to sign any association, and all these rangers here, in arms, are in open rebellion, and should be hung for it ; and let the time come, and I m one to help in the hanging them !" This was only one of many such offensive speeches which Dun- bar had contrived to make during the evening. The commission ers contented themselves with >//<//// //# the individual, but with out answering him. But his rudely-expressed opinions were not pleasing to old Sabh himself, and still less so to his worthy uruu; who withdrew at thi> into the hall; while the stern voice of li)ah Fields descended in rebuke upon the offender. "And who art tliou," said he, abruptly, "to nit in judgment 31 (il <>F HI< K up n thy brethren ? Ami who lias commissioned thoo to lend If to tho taking of human life? Life N a ^-icred thing, :g man the most precious of human ]>O>M.C-JJOI,S, sir depends on tho timo which is allowed us whether we shall ever be tit for etrruity. To one so young as thyself, scarcely yet nterod on tliy career as a man, it might he well to remember that modesty is the jewel of youth, and that when so many of the great and good of the land have raised their voices against tho (.j.j.r.-xxi.-Ms of the mother-country, there may be good rea son why \vo, who know but little, should respect them, and listen till we learn. If thni wilt be counselled by me, tlion wilt hearken patiently to these worthy gentlemen, that we may know all the merits of their argument." Dunbar answered this rebuke with a few muttered sentences, which were hardly intelligible, making no concessions to the preacher or the commissioners, yet without being positively offensive. Richard Coulter was more prudent. He preserved a profound silence. But he was neither unobservant nor indif ferent. As yet he had taken no side in the controversy, and was totally uncommitted among the people. But he had been tier, and was quietly chewing the cud of self-reflection. r a little while, leaving the venerable seniors still en gaged in the discussion for Wagner and Long, the commis sion! not willing t" f-rego the hope of bringing over a man of Sabh s influence the young men strolled out into the grounds where their horses had been fastened. It was almost time to ride. As they walked, the Scotchman bioke out ab ruptly: " Tlu-e fellows ought to be hung, evi-ry scoundrel of them; stirring up the cmintrv to insurrection and treason ; but a good >M of hickori, -. h..\s, might put a stop to it quite as well as the halter! What -ay yi.u ! They ride over to old Carter s atti-r they leCTf Daddy Sahb s, and it s a lonesome track! If you agree, we ll stop em at Friday s Hats, and trice em up to a swinging limb. We re men enough for it, and who s afraid ?" The pr. p"-:t: >n Wt i with great glee by all the young fellows, with one e.\crp!;on. It wa< a pr.pi,siti..n invoking sport rather than patriotism. When the more MgQf responsea were all received, Richard Coulter quietly remarked : 264 snrrnwAiM) HO ! "No, no, boys; you must do nothing of the kind. Those are good men, and old eno ,;jrh to be the fathers of any of us. Be sides, they re strangers, and think they re doing right. Let em alone." " Well, if you wont," said Dunbar, " we can do without you. There, are four of us, and they re hut two." Yon mistake," replied Coulter, still quietly, " they are three !" "How! who?" % Wagner, Long, and Richard Coulter!" 1 What, you ! Will you put yourself against us ? You go with the rebels, then ?" " I go with the strangers. I don t know much about the re bellion, but I think there s good sense in what they say. At all events, I ll not stand by and see them hurt, if I can help it." " Two or three, boys," continued Dunbar, " will make no dif ference!" This was said with a significant toss of the head toward Coul ter. The instincts of these young men were true. They al ready knew one another as rivals. This discovery may have determined the future course of Coulter. He did not reply to Dunbar; but, addressing his three companions, he said, calling each by his Christian name, " Yon, boys, had better not mix in this matter before it s necessary. I suppose the time will come, when there can he no skulking, But it s no use to hurry into trouble. As for four of you managing three, that s not impossi ble ; but I reckon there will be a fight first. These strangers may have weapons ; but whether they have or not, they look like men : and I reckon, you that know me, know that before my back tastes of any man s hickory, my knife will be likely to taste his blood." Dunbar replied rudely for the rest; and, but that Coulter quietly withdrew at this moment, seemingly unruffled, and with out making any answer, there might have been a struggle be tween the two rivals even then. But the companion- of Dunbar had no such mood* or motives as prompted him. They were impressed by what Coulter had said, and were, perhaps, (juite as much under his influence as under that of Dunbar. They ac cordingly turned a cold shoulder upon all his exhortations, and the commissioners, accordingly, left the house <f old Sabb in , FOB i-i: iMPi.i:." safety, attended by young Coulter. They little knew }\\< in cM-orting them to tin 1 dwelling <>f Rnmotfl Carter, where they -tt -td that night, and never knew the danger tV"in which bis piompt and manly courage had saved them. lint the ev.-nts of that night brought out Richard ( milter for the cause of tbe patriots; and a low months found him a second lieutenant in a gmllant corps "f Thompson s rangeis, raised for the defrix till- colony. Hut the commissioners jtarted from Frederick Sabb without making any impression on his mind. He professed to de*re to preserve a perfect neutrality this being tbe sugges tion of bis selfishness; but bis heart really inclined him to tin- support of the " goot King Jorge," from whom his grants of land had heen derived. "And \vhat dost thou think, brother Fields?" said he to the parson, after the commissioners had retired. " Brother Sabb," was the answer, " I do not see that we need any king any more than tbe people of Israel, when they called upon Samuel for one; and if we are to have one, 1 do not see why we should not choose one from out our own tril 44 Brother Fields, I hope thou dost not mean to go with these " Brother Sabb, I desire always to go with my - ;vri people." "And whom callest thou our own people?" " Tho-r \\ h<> dwell upon the soil and imrse it, and make it flourish ; who rear their flocks and children up >: % . it, in the fear of (1ml. and have no fear of man in doing so." "Brother Fields. 1 fear thou thinkst hardly of goot King Jorge, " said our Dutchman, with .1 sigh. " Minnicker, my rrw. get you de Piple." ( I! A I Ti: It II. WK v a long interval of (jnite (lire, j The "itudes of tbe Revolution had not materially affected tlie tiaOf of tli" -\r:.-i! ptrtiei to ( .ur narrative. 1 Curing this period ti. tl of South Carolina had 1 ..... n uniformlv - J ; ! e I* h from their chief . and had invariably chaxt /ed the lovali-N in all their tempts to make a diversion in favor ( ,f the foreign nem\-. But SOUTHWARD Hi) ! events wore changing. These performances had not been effect ed hut at great sacrifice of blood and treasure, and a for midable British invasion found the state no longer equal to ite defence. Charleston, the capital city, after frequent escapes, and a stout and protracted defence, had succumbed to the be siegers, who had now penetrated the interior, covering it with their strongholds, and coercing it with their arms. For a brititf interval, all opposition to their progress seemed to be at an end within the state. She had no force in the field, stunned by re peated blows, and waiting, though almost hopeless of her oppor tunity. In the meantime, where was Richard Coulter? A fugitive, lying perdu either in the swamps of Edisto or Conga- ree, with few companions, all similarly reduced in fortune, and pursued with a hate and fury the, most unscrupulous and unre lenting, by no less a person than Matthew Dunbar, now a captain of loyalists in the service of George the Third. The position of Coulter was in truth very pitiable ; but he was not without his consolations. The interval which had elapsed since our tirst meeting with him, had ripened his intimacy with Frederica Sabh. His affections had not been so unfortunate as his patri otism. With the frank impulse of a fond and feeling heart, he had appealed to hers, in laying bare the secret of his own ; and he had clon . so successfully. She, with as frank a nature, freely gave him her affections, while she did not venture to bestow on him her hand. His situation was not such as to justify their union, and her father positively forbade the idea of such a <-o:i- nection. Though not active among the loyalists, lie was now known to approve of their sentiments; and while tr;vin<z them all the aid and comfort in his power, without actually showing himself in armor, he as steadily turned a cold and unwilling front to the patriots, and all those who went against the monarch. The visits of Richard Coulter to Frederica v. er> all stolen ones, perhaps not the less sweet for being :;o. A slorm some times brought him forth at nightfall from the shelter (if the neigh boring swamp, venturing abroad at a time when loyalty was MI}>- d t- keep it- ^heller. j .uf these visits were aluays :ir panied by considerable peril. The eve of Matthew Dmshar was fieijiieiitlv drawn in the direction of the fiuritive, while his pa< si \T DUB BIT. 267 sions wen a! >-r in the de-ire which led him to seek for this particular victim. The contest was a well-known i^ue of life and death. The fugitive patriot was predoomed always to the halter, by those, who desired to parifv old revenues, or ac quire neu l>unhar did not actually know that Coulter and Krederica Sabb were in the habit of meeting ; hut that they had met, he knew, and he had sworn their detection. He had become a declared suitor of that maiden, and tin ; old Sabb would not sufl er him to decline his attentions to his daugh ter, or to declare against them. Ihmhar had hecome notoriously nn unmitigated ruffian. His insolence di-gusted the old Dutch man, who. nevertheless, fi-ared his violence and influence. Still, lined by pood old Minnicker Said), his rroic, the father had the firmness to tell l>nnhnr freely, that his daughters affections Hhonld remain unforced ; while the daughter herself, seeing the strait of her parents was equally c rueful !> avoid the final ne- repulsing her repulsive suitor. She continued, by a happy a--ertion of maidenly dignity, to keep him at hay, with out vexing hi- Mlf-O8teoin ; and to receive him with civility, with out affording him ; neouragement. Such was the con dition of things among our several parties, when the partisan war began: when the favorite native leaders in the south the first panic of their people having passed had rallied their little squads, in swamp and thicket, and were making those fir- de monstrations which began to disquiet the llritish author. dering then, doubtful of the c"n<|iie-N which they had <,, lately deemed secure. This. 1 e it remembered, was after tie defeat f (iates at Camden, when there was no sign of a Contin- army within the state. It was nt the d"-e of a cloudy afternoon, late in Ortol-pr, 17 V D. when Mat I )unhar, wit h a -mall command of eig! mounted men, approached the well-known farmstead t" Fred erick Sabb. The road lay ;d.>HLT the \ve<t bank of t 1 branch of the Kdist-i, inclining to or lt j u eofftepoodenec v-ith the width of the swamp, or the sinuo of the .stream. The fann "f Sabb \\ a< b!H! i. the rise-, and hi- within a mile of it. 1 however, the Ian-! iiely uncleared. I ! physical banier t" t! mid, SOUTHWARD Iln ! though rich, was liable to freshet, and required a degree <>t labor in the drainage which it was not in the power of our good Dutchman to bestow. A single wagon-track led through the wood to the river from his house ; and there may have been some half dozen irregular foot-paths tending in the same direc tion. When within half a mile from the house, Mat Dunbar pricked up his ears. " That was surely the gallop of a horse," he said to his lieu tenant a coarse, ruffianly fellow like himself, named Clymes. " Where away ?" demanded the other. " To the left. Put in with a few of the boys, and see what can be found." Clymes did as he was bidden ; but the moment he had dis appeared, Dunhar suddenly wheeled into the forest also, putting spurs to his horse, and commanding his men to follow and scat ter themselves in the wood. A keen suspicion was at the bottom of his sudden impulse ; and, with his pistol in his grasp, and hit* teeth set firmly, he darted away at a rate that showed the eager ness of the blood-hound, on a warm scent. In a few moments the wood was covered with his people, and their cries and halloas answering to each other, turned the whole solitude into a scene of the most animated life. Accustomed to drive the woods for deer, his party pursued the same habit in their present quest, "ucloMng the largest extent of territory, and gradually contract ing their rordvn at a given point. It was not long before a n-r- lain degree of success seemed to justify their pursuit. A loud shout from Clymes, his lieutenant, drew the impetuous Dunbar to the place, and there he found the trooper, with two others of the party, firmly confronted by no less a person than Frederica Sabb. The maiden was very pale, but her lips were closely compressed together, and her eyes lightened with an expre>sii-n which was not so much indicative of anger as of courage and re solve. As Dunbar rode up, she addressed him. "You an* bravely employed, Captain Dunbar, in hunting with your soldiers a feeble wmnan." "In faith, my dear Miss Sal.li, we looked for very different game," replied the leader, while a sardonic smile, played over his visaire. " But pnrhnp* y.-u ran put us in the way of finding it. Yon I mo ? k TK.\ QUtohSAfl FOB m- K\K>." And why IT. t ? You an- within hail of my father s dwelling." "But y.nirs. surely, arc not the * lonely walks." Ala>! MT, these are scarcely the times for any other." Wrli, v u must permit me to see that your walks arc in no danger from intrusion and insult. You will, no doubt, be con founded to hoar that scattered Lands of the rebels are supposed to he. even now, closely harbored iu these swamps. That vil lain. Coulter, is known to l>e among them. It is to hunt up these outlyers to protect yon from their annoyances, that 1 am here now." We cau readily dispense with ther-e sen ices, Captain Dunbar. I do not think that we are in any danger from such enemies, and in this neighborhood. It was some effort to say this calmly. "Nay. nav, vi.it are quite too confident, my dear Miss You know i:.it the audacity of these rebels, and of this Richard Coulter in particular. But let me lay hands on him ! You will hardly hi-lieve that he is scarce ten minutes gone from this sp<>t. I>id you not hear his h. I heard no horses but your own." 14 There it is! You walk the woods in such abstraction that you hear not the danger, though immediately at your ears. But di-per-.- yourselves in pursuit, my merry men, and wh ine the e.irs of this outlaw, shall have ten guineas, in the yellow gold itself. No continental sham! Remember, his vi We do imt want any pr:-<*n< r<. The trouble of hanging them out ef the way is alway- * ed by a sabre-cut or j. : bullet. Thi-re. ;\\\ The countenance of Kre lerira Sabb instnnth MMQIIlcd the keene.-t exjirewsinn of alarm and anxiety. He;- wls. _-itatrd. She advanced to the <! . -i tl;e ruffianly soldi-r, and ]>ut her hand up apj e^lin^ly. "Oh ! Captnin Dunl-ar, will you net please go hmne. with me, you nn-i HOW OOf supper-hour, and the H 1 j>ray yu. do ii"t think of >.(.. nrin^ woods at this Inte hour. :" your people may he hurt." all of them "There is no dan . I There is nol thr f no ti^ul !-. nor v-\r TV 270 SOUTHWARD HO ! "Oli, you mistake! there is surely some one in this wood who is either in your way or mine though you heard no horse." " Oh ! now I recollect, sir, I did hear a horse, and it Denied to be going in that direction." Here the girl pointed below. The tory leader laughed out right. " And so he went thither, did he ? Well, my dear Miss Sabb, to please you, I will take up the hunt in the quarter dinx-tJy opposite, since it is evident that your hearing just now is exceed ingly deceptive. Boys, away! The back-track, hark you ! the old fox aims to double." "Oh, go not go not!" she, urged, passionately. "Will I not?" exclaimed the loyalist, gathering up his reins and backing his steed from her " will I not? Away, Clyines, away, boys; and remember, ten guineas for that band which brings down the outlaw, Richard Coulter." Away they dashed into the forest, scattering themselves in the direction indicated by their leader. Frederica watched their departure with an anxious gaze, which disappeared from her tlir moment they were out of sight. In an instant all her .imitation ceased. Now thank Heaven for the thought !" she cried " it will jiiitc dark before they find themselves at fault ; and when they think to begin the search below, he will be wholly beyond their leach. But how to warn him against the meeting, as agreed on. The coming of this man forbids that. I must see I must con trive it." And with these muttered words of half-menniujr. quietly made her way toward her father s dwelling, secure of the present safety i if her lover from pursuit. She bad very smv fully practised a very simple rut for his escape. Her appivheu- e only but admirably simulated; and, in telling Duubar that the fugitive, hud taken one direcl mn. she naturally relied MI his doubts of her truth, to make him seek the, opposite. She had told him nothing but the truth, but she had told it as a false hood ; and it had all t! . Inch she de.-iied. The cha-w of the tOiy-CapUUil piove ! UQ8UCC6ttfllL i T PBA( 1 !! , ! < HAI TKU Ml. IT was quite dark before Captain Dunbar reached the o <>f Frederick Sahh, and lie did so in no jMiml humor. 1)1 p tinted of his firry, hr now su-pected tlir .simple ru.\f hy which lie had hern deluded, and his first salutation of Frcdcriea Sahh, as he entered the cottage, was in no friendly humor. "There aro certain hirds, Miss Sahh," said he, "who fly far from their younp- "lies at the approach of the hunter, yet make Mich a fuss and outcry, as if the nrst were elosr at hand and in danger. I see you havr learned to practise after their lessens." The jrirl involuntarily replied : " But, indeed, Captain Dun- har, I heard the horse g<> hrlow." "I see you undrrstand me," was the answer. 1 feel Assured that you told me only the truth, hut you had first put me in the humor not to believe it. Another time 1 shall know how to understand /.< rica smiled, hut did not seek to excuse herself, proceed ing all the while in the preparations fur supper. This had i pit in rradinrss especially lor the arrival of Dunhar and his party. He. with Clymes, his first oinVer, had heroine inmates of the dwelling; hut his troupers had encamped without, under instnii-tiui,-, ,,f j, articular vigilance. Meanwhile, supper pr-i- d. Sahh ami his rrotr brinu very heedful of all the. ex- ; conjectured wants of their arhitrarv ^rue^ts. It was while the rejiast was in pi u--res> that Dunhar fancied that he, beheld a c-.n-iilerahle decree of une; .-5i:i--s in the manner and onmtenai. : FVodericit She ate ni.thinj:, and her mind an-i :.ied equally to \\ andrr. He Mi>l!eid\ a !(!ie--ed her, and she starte 1 a- tY"iu a dream, at the sound of her own i:am-. and an-wered cunfu-edlv. s piin^ MrrOHg t " Said Dunbar. in a whimper, to ; " we can juit all rijrht. however, if we trv." A rigni/icfinl l>ok aecompanidd the whisper, and madr the ml ollirer ..l.M-r\ ant . When Mtpper was r.inrludrd, thi> eaptain of thr loyalists shuuc; ,t ueaiinr^ H.- yawnrd and stu-tchrd himself ama/in-!y. and witlnut much , id tu pruprii t\-. A liki - ! 272 in the second officer. At length Dnnbar said to Old Sabb, using a style of address to which the old man was familiar, ""Well, I ncle Fred, whenever my bed s ready, say the viord. I m ir. Mistrous like sleep. I ve ridden a matter of fifty miles to-day. IP. the saddle since four o clock and a hard saddle at that. I m for sleep after supper." The old man, anxious to please his guest, whom he now began rather to fear than favor, gave him soon the intimation which he desired, and he was conducted to the small chamber, hi a shed-room adjoining the main hall, which had bren assigned him on all previous occasions. Old Sabb himself attended his guest, while Lieutenant Clymes remained, for a while longer, the companion of the old ladv and her daughter. Dunliar soon released his host from further attendance by closing the door upon him, after bowing him out with thanks. He had scarcely done so, before he approached one of the two windows in the chamber. He knew the secrets of the room, and his plan of operations had been already determined upon. Concealing his light, so that his shadow might not appear against, the window, he quietly unclosed the shutter so as to rouse, no attention by the sound. A great fig-tree grew near it, the branches, in some degree, preventing the shutter from going quite back against the wall. This afforded him additional cover to his proceedings, and lie cautiously passed through the opening, and lightly de scended to the ground. The height was inconsiderable, and he enabled, with a small stick, to close the window after him. fn another moment he parsed un<l<-r the house, which stood on logs four or five feet high, after the manner f the country, and took a crouching attitude immediately behind the steps in tlut rear of the building. From these steps to the kitchen was an interval of fifteen or eighteen vards, while the barn and other outhouses lay at convenient distances beyond. Shade-trees were scattered about, and fruit-trees, chiefly peach, rendering the Dtweon something like a covered way. We need :io! inquire how long our capt;iin of loyalists continued his watch in this unpleasant position. 1 atience, however, is .|iiite as nat ural as necessary a quality to a temper at once passionate and vindictive. While he waited here, his lieutenant had left the house, scattered his niuii privily about the grounds, and hud >LL> i;i;.n;u. himself stolen to a porch, which enahled hiai to command tlin front entrance to the The only two means WMB thu- effectually guarded. In a little time the lionsehol.l was completely :juiet. Dunbar liad heard the muttering. tVom above, of the family prayers, in which it was no part "f his profe>si,,n to partake; and hnd heard the i ont.steps of the old co\i)ile as they passed through the passage-way to the chamber opposite the diuing-hall. A chamher adjoining theirs was occupied hy Frederica Sahb ; hut he listened in vain ! >.: iier I .otstep.s in that quarter. His watch was one calcidaled to try his patience, but it was finally re warded. He heard the movement of a lijjht foot over head. and soon the door opened in the rear of the dwelling, and he distinguished Frederica as she descended, step hy step, to the ground. She paused, looked up and around her, and then, dart ing from tree to tree, she made her way to the kitchen, which ied at her touch. Here, in a whisper, she .summoned to her side a nep-o nn old African who, we may at the same time mention, had heen her irrijuent emissary itefore, on missions such as she now designed. Hiou^h, as he was called, was a faithful Kho, who loved his younir mistress, and had shown himself par ticularly friendly to her fij/ fiircx tic ctevr. She put n paper into his hands, and her directions employed few words. " Bio:!_h. \Mumii-t s,-t off for Mass Richard, and ^rive hi:,! this. You inn.st keep cln>e, ,.r tin- will catch you. i don t know \\here they \,- --ne, hut no donht they re M-nttered in the woods, i have told him, in this paper, not to conic, as he promised ; hut should you ln.se the paper " " 1 no irnine l>M- em." said Jiroujjh >ci-iuinjrly rather displeas ed at the douht, tacitly conveyed, of 1. "Such a tiling mi-ht hap]>eii, Ihou^h ; nay, if von ! my of the tories, you onjjht to (iestioy it. Hi ie it, tear it i:,). 01- > valli\y it. x. that they won t he ahl to read it. 1 \ orry, mil " Very -o.,d I Ami now, vhon : ; Vhard. tell him not to come. Tell him bttfc th f.-ik, and dtheri iNer; tor that Mat I )unhar i. | j.ush after him to-morrow, And ha> sworn to hunt him up l.,-f ne he Tell hi n. I he u r him. f..r in; \ i.ut 274 >i>C TinVAIM) lin be afraid of that bad man, to keep out of big way, at least until he gathers men enough to meet him on his own ground." The startling voice of Dunbar himself broke in upon the whis pered conference. " Mat Dunbar is exceedingly obliged to you, Miss Sabb." "Ah!" shrieked the damsel "Brough fly, fly, Brough." But Brough had no chance for flight. " His wings are not sufficiently grown," cried the loyalist, with a brutal yell, as he grappled the old negro by the throat, and hurled him to the ground. In the next moment he possessed himself of the paper, which he read with evident disappoint ment. By this time the sound of his bugle had summoned his lieutenant, with half a dozen of his followers, and the kitchen was completely surrounded. " Miss Sabb, you had best retire to the dwelling. I owe you no favors, and will remember your avowed opinion, this night, of Mat Dunbar. You have spoken. It will be for me yet to speak. Lieutenant Cl vines, see the young lady home." "But, sir, you will not maltreat the negro?" " Oh ! no ! I mean only that he shall obey your commands. He shall carry this note to your favorite, just as you designed, with this difference only, that I shall furnish him with an escort." - Ah!" 1 oor Frederica could say no more. Clymes was about to hurry her away, when a sense of her lover s danger gave her strength. " Brough. she cried to the negro; "you won t show where Ma^s Richard keeps?" " Never show dem tory not in , missis." The close gripe of Dunhar s finger upon the throat of the ne gro stilled his further speech. But Frederica was permitted to M more. The hand of Clymes was laid upon her arm, Mid shr went forward promptly to save herself from indignity. She little, knew the scene that was to follow. THE OBDKAL Of i:< )IMO AND TRKK. 275 IV. THE moment she had disappeared from the kitchen, the n f,ro was taken forth by the captain of loyalists, who by this tim< had surrounded himself with nearly all his band. A single sol dier had been stationed by Clymes between the house, and kitchen, in order to arrest the approach of any of the whites from the former to the scene where Brough was about to undergo a cer tain painful ordeal. The stout old African, doggedly, with a single shake of his head, obeyed his captors, as they ordered him to a nei<_rhrioring wood- a small copse of scrubby oaks, that lay between the settlement and the swamp forest along the river. Here, without delay, Brongh was commanded, on pain of rope and hickory, to deliver up the - . -en-t of Richard Coulter s hiding- place. But the old fellow had promised to be faithful. He stubbornly refused to know or to reveal anything. The .scene which followed is one that we do not care to describe in detail. The reader n.ust imagine its particulars. Let it suffice that the poor old creature was haltered by the neck, and drawn up re- . dly to the .swinging limb of a tree, until the moral nature, feeble at least, and overawed by the terrors of the last mortal agony, surrendered in despair. Hnni^li consented to conduct the party to tlie hiding-place of Richard Coulter. The savage nature of Matthew Dnnbar was now in full f mid saddle!" was the cry ; and, with the negro, both arms pinioned, and running at the head of one of the dragoon s d ?o the stirrnp-leather, and in con. ant da: should lie be found trip]. ing. of a sudden sabre cut, the v, jiaity. with 1 l their May i-..\vn the coi:- ami mi- i-r the guidance of the African. Two of the soldiers had been j. laced in \\.-itch upm the premises, with instnictio;..., ],ow- H T. t !. Bp - m : -:!it, and m>t - i. Hut the suspicion of such an arrangement in e I now natural encu_li t > a mind, like tha; lira Said), made wary bv her recent mi-tortiine. She was soon f the i!ep;:rtu; l-.\al -t tl :. She W9t ^\* !;;;t -7 SOUTHWARD H<> ! to be done? Was her lover to be caught in the toils ? Was she to become indirectly the agent of his destruction ? She de termined at all events to forego no effort by which to effect his escape. She was a girl of quick wit and prompt expedients. No longer exposing herself in her white cotton garments, F.he wrapped herself closely up in the great brown overcoat of her father, which buried her person from head to foot. She stole forth from the front entrance with cautious footsteps employing tree and shrub for her shelter whenever they offered. In this way she moved forward to a spot inclining to the river, but taking an upward route, one which she naturally concluded had been left without a guard. But her objects required finally that she should change her course, and take the downward path, as soon as she could persuade herself that her progress was fairly under cover. Still she knew not but that she was seen, and perhaps followed, as well as watched. The spy might arrest her at the very moment when she was most hopeful of her object. How to guard against this danger? How to attain the necessary security ? The question was no sooner formed than answered. Her way lay through a wilderness of leaves. The silent droppings from the trees for many years had accumulated around her, and their constant crinkling beneath her tread, drawing her notice to this source of fear, suggested to her the means of safety. There had not been a rain for many weeks. The earth was pan-lied with thirst. The drought had driven the sap from shrub and plant ; ami just below, on the very route taken by the pursuing party, a natural meadow, a long, thin strip, the seat of a bayou or lake long since dried up, was cov ered with a rank forest of broom-grass, parched and dried by the sun. The wind was fresh, and driving right below. To one familiar with the effect of firing the woods in a southern country under such circumstances, the idea which ; the mind of our heroine was almost intuitive. She immediately stolfl back to the house, her eagerness finding win^s, which, however, did not betray her caution. The sentinels of Dunbar kept < watch, but she had not been unseen. The cool, deliberate tory had more th.-n once fitted his finger to the trigger of his horse man s pistol, as he i < i eld the rppronch toward him of the. shroml- f ] fi^ iip. But 1m \\ as not . | .( \ ( o shov, himself. <^r to FIKK I\ THK \VIHIJ>. 277 tin- alarm before he could detect the objects of lii> unknown vis- iter. H-r return to the hnu>e ^a- not beheld. He had lost sight t her in the woods, and fancied her still to be in the neigh- horhool. Unable to recover bis clue, he still maintained hia portion waiting e\ents. It was not long before she reappeared upon the scene. He did not see the figure , until it crossed an open space, mi his right, in the direction ot the river, lie saw it stoop to the earth, and he then hounded forward. His haste was injurious to his oh- II.- it-11 over the ji<-!rate trunk of a pine, which had : thrown down for ranging timber only a few days before, and lay dark, with all its bark upon it, in the thick c<ver of the His pistol went off in bis fall, and before be could recov er his feet, he was confounded to find himself threatened by a rapid rushing forest of flame, setting directly toward him. For a moment, the Midden blaze blinded him, and when be opened : liiy up"ii surrounding objects, be saw nothing human -nothing but the great dark shafts of pine, beneath which the was rushing with the roar and volume of swollen billows of the sen. breaking upon the shore which they promise to engulf. T save himselt, to oppose fire to fire, or pass boldly through the flame where it burned most feebly, was now a first necessity ; and we b-ave him n extricate himself as he may, while we fol low the progress ,,f Fieo rim Sabh. The tlame which she had .led in the dry grass and leaves, from the. little old stable- lantern ot the cottage, concealed beneath the great-coat of lather, had sufficed as a perfect cover to her movements. The fire swept below, and in the direction of the tory sentinel*. The nice ot the one, she had perceived, in the moment when she was communicating the. bla/ing candle to the furze. She fan- not when she heard t . -td ; but -ing her hand to her heart, the lantern still in her grasp, she darted headl rd by one of the paths leading directly to the liv.-r. TlM tiie was now r _ : all the tract betv her and the. trv >-..- from the pine ridge, and passed into the low flat land, strewed wi li gray cy- pn .->i - .with theii thousand krurs, or abutments. 1 he -\\an.p was nearly di-;. She found her way ab ?;g a well-known j.atlj to tbf river, and from benenth a clumji "t >brr- 278 SOI TH\VAKI) F!0| drew forth a little dug-out, the well-known cypress e.-.noe of the country. This was a small egg shell-like structure, scarcely capable of holding two persons, which she was well accustomed to manage. At once she pushed boldly out into the broad stream, whose sweet rippling flow, a continuous and gentle murmur, was strangely broken by the intense roar and crackling of the fire as it swept the broad track of stubble, dry grass and leaves, which lay in its path. The lurid shadows sometimes passed over the surface of the stream, but naturally contributed to in crease her shelter. With a prayer that was inaudible to her^ K, she invoked Heaven s mercy on her enterprise, as, with a strong arm, familiar in this exercise, she plied from side to side the lit tle paddle which, with the favoring currents of the river, soon carried her down toward the bit of swamp forest where her lover found his refuge. The spot was well known to the maiden, though we must do her the justice to say she would never have sought for Richard Coulter in its depths, but in an emergency like the present. It was known as " Bear Castle," a close thick et covering a sort of promontory, three fourths of which was en circled by the river, while the remaining quarter was a deep swamp, through which, at high water, a streamlet forced its way, converting the promontory into an islet. It was unfortunate for ;lter and his party that, at this season the river was much lower than usual, and (he swamp offered no security on the land side, unless from the denseness of the forest vegetation. It might now be passed dry shod. The distance from " Bear Castle" to the farmstead of old J Yedi-rifk Sabh, was, by laud, but four or five miles. By water i f was fully ten. If, therefore, the stream favored the progress >f our heroine, the difference against Dunbar and his tories was more than equalled by the shorter route before him, and the f-tart v, Inch he, had made in advance of Frederica. But Brough M I willing guide. He opposed freijnent difficulties to the distasteful pm^ress. an>i. as they neared the spot. Dunbar found it lie ,, iii.-ike a second application of the halter l>et rc the good old negro could be got forward. The love of life., the f rar . t death, proved superior to his loyalty. uld ha\ "intity uay, ho : ( V, 1 1 ! 1 . i i t BEAR CASTLE. 279 MULT. hut bis courage tailed, when the danger was tliat of being launched into eternity. A shorter process than the cord or swinging linih would not have found him so i>liant. With a choking groan ho promised to submit, and, with heart swollen almost to bursting, he led the route, off from the main road now, and through the sinuous little foot-paths which conducted to the place of refuge of our patriots. It was at this point, having ascertained what space lay be- tueen him and his enemy, that Dunhar dismounted his troopers. The horses were left with a guard, while the rest of his men, under his personal lead, made their further progress on foot. His object was a surprise. lie designed that the negro should give the " usual" signal with which he had heeu taught to ap proach the camp of the fugitive; and this signal a shrill whis tle, three times sounded, with a certain measured pause between each utterance was to he given when the swamp was entered over which the river, in high stages of the water, made its breach. The.se instructions were all rigidly followed. Poor Brough, with the rupe about his neck, and the provost ready to fling the other end of the cord over the convenient arm of a huge sycamore under which they stood, was incapable, of resistance. But his strength was not equal to his submi. i .n. His whittle was but f eehlv sounded. His heait tailed him and his voice; and a re peated contraction of the cord, in the hands of the provost, was found essential {,, make him repeat the effort, and give iii<>re volume to his voice. In the meanwhile, Dunhar cautiously pushed his men forward. They passed through great boll where, at full water, the alligator wallowed; where tin \\ h ing crane sought his prey at nightfall; where the i <-\ slept in safety, and the wild-cat in a 1 avorite domain. "Bear t a.-th " was the fortress of many fugitive*. AgeM Cjrpjre886l lay like the f Mindati . \\all.s. along the path, and great thorny vines an<i il.imi.ng, tlo\\ny c u i |.ei> flauuifd their .-am- er.-, in the faces of the midnight . lirough their solitn The lOUte Would h.i\e bftCn tJin00l i-.i iiN.-a: le during the for moil on horseback ; it I and til>ome by night I t-r n,r:i n foot I - .! 1 )unl ar, nothing doiibtii. the proximit \ . id with n v.hieh irl\ did not I oi-^.-t its j-.-.utuui. 280 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER V. THE little party of Richard Coulter consisted of four persons besides himself. It AV.IS, perhaps, an hour before this that he sat apart from the rest conversing with one of his companions. This was no other than Elijah Fields, the methodist preacher. He had become a volunteer chaplain among the patriots of his own precinct, and one who, like the bishop of Beauvais, did not scru ple to wield the weapons of mortal warfare as well as those of the church. It is true he was not ostentatious in the manner of the performance ; and this, perhaps, somewhat increases its mer it. He was the man for an emergency, forgetting his prayers when the necessity for blows was pressing, and duly remember ing his prayers when the struggle was no longer doubtful. Yet Elijah Fields was no hypocrite. He was a true, strong-souled man, with blood, will, energies and courage, as well as devotion, and a strong passion for the soil which gave him birth. In plait* terms, he was the patriot as well as the preacher, and his man hood was required for both vocations. To him, Ivhhard Coulter, now a captain among the partisans of Sumter, had unfolded the narrative of his escape from Dun- bar. They had taken their evening meal ; their three compan ions were busy with their arms and horses, grouped together in the centre of the camp. Our two principal persons occupied a little headland on the edge of the river, looking up the stream. They were engaged in certain estimates with regard to the num ber of recruits expected daily, by means of which Coulter was in hopes t< turn the tables on his rival ; becoming the hunter instead of the fugitive. We need not go over the grounds of their discussion, and refer to the general progress of event* throughout the state. Enough to say that the Continental army, defeated under Gates, wnn in course, of reorganization, nnd re- appTOftcbing under (Jrrrne; that Marion had been recently ac tive and successful below ; and that Sumter, defeated hy Tarle- ton at Fishing creek, w;ts rapidlv recruiting his force at the fool of the mountains. Richard ( <>ulter had not been utterly unsnc- c-ful in the same along the Edisto. A rende/vo< IIH recruits \va> appointed to take place on the ensiiim-- Sulur- BROrcH - SKJNAL. : and, at this ronde/vm. it was hoped tliat h- would find at loast thirty stout fellows in attendance. Hut wo anticipate. It was while in the discus.sion of these snhjects that the eyes of ( ;!ter, still looking in the direction of his heart, were attracted hy tlu Midden blaze which swept the forests, and dyed in lurid splendor the very lace of heaven. It had been the purpose of .erica Sjibb, in setting lire to the undergrowth, not only to shelter her own progress, hut in this way to warn her lover of his danger. But the effect was to alarm him lr//r/- safety rath er than his own. "That lire is at Sahb s place." \\as his first remark. " It looks like it." was the reply of the preacher. "Can it be that Dunhar has burnt the old man s dwelling ?" Hardly!" " He is not too good for it, or for anything monstrous. He has burnt others old Kumph s Ferguson s, and many Eel i nt he prefers to own, and not destroy old Sabh as he has a hope of getting Frederica, he will scarcely com mit such an outran " But if she has refused him if she answers him as she feels, scornful lv " n then he will prefer to punish in a different way. He will Anther ch< Obe to take the place by confiscation than burn it. He has never put that lire, or it is not at Sabb s, but this of it, or beyond if." It may be the act of some drunken trooper. At all events, it reijuire*. that we should be on the look-out. I will scout it for a while and see what the mischief is. Do you. meanwhile, keep everything I a start." "That fire will r.rver reach US." " Not with this wind, perhaps; but the enemy may. He evi dently beat the woods after my l.erls this evening, and may be here to-morrow, on my track. \V.- Keep the horses saddled and bitted. H Mfl open for any sum- mODS. Ha ! by h< it is Brough s signal now." " Is it Brought . It M, it i- scarcely from Bnnigh in a healthy state. The old fellow must have caught cold going to and fro at alJ hours in the service of Cupid." 282 SOUTHWARD HO ! Our preacher was disposed to be merry at the expense of our lover. " Yes, it is Brough s signal, but feeble, as if the old fellow was really sick. He has probably passed through this fire, and has been choked with the smoke. But ho must have an answer." And, eager to hear from his beloved one, our hero gave his whistle in reply, and moved forward in the direction of the isth mus. The preacher, meanwhile, went toward the camp, quite prompt in the performance of the duties assigned him. "He answers," muttered the tory captain; "the rebels are Delivered to our hands!" And his preparations were sternly prosecuted to make a satisfactory finish to the adventure of the night. He, too, it must be remarked, though somewhat wonder ing at the blazing forest behind him, never for a moment divined the real origin of the conflagration. He ascribed it to acci dent, and, possibly, to the carelessness of one of the troopers whom he left as sentinels. With an internal resolution to make the fellow, if offending, familiar with the halberds, he pushed forward, as we have seen, till reaching the swamp ; while the fire, obeying the course of the wind, swept away to the right of the path kept by the pursuing party, leaving them entirely with out cause of apprehension from this quarter. The plans of Dunbar, for penetrating the place of Coulter s refuge, were as judicious as they could be made under the rir- cumstanccs. Having brought the troopers to the verge of the encampment, the negro was fastened to a tree by the same rope which had so frequently threatened his neck. The tories pushed forward, each with pistol cocked and ready in the grasp. They had scattered themselves abroad, so as to form a front sufficient to cover, at moderate intervals, the space across the isthmus. But, with the withdrawal of the immediate danger, Brough s courage returned to him, and, to the furious rage and discomfi ture of Dunbar, the old negro set up on a sudden a most bois terous African howl such a song as tho Ebo cheers himself with when in the doubtful neighborhood oi ;. jungle which may hide, the lion or the tiger. The sound re-echoed through tho swamp, and startled, with a keen suspicion, not only our captain of patriots, but the preacher and his associates. Brough s voice THK RANDOM r.n.i.KT. 2S8 was wgll known t<> them all ; Imt that Umugh should use it I such a fashion was quite as unexpected to them as to Dunbar ami his tnes. One of the latter immediately dropped back, in tending to knock the negro regularly on tin- head; and, doubt- le--. such would have been the fate of the fellow, had it not been for the progress of events which called him elsewhere. Richard Coulter had pressed forward at double quirk time as he hear.; the wild chant of the African, and, being familiar with the re- . it occupied but little space to enable him to reach the line which the party of Dunbar was slowlv making its wav. Id aring but a single ibotfall, and obtaining a glimpse of a single liirure onh. Coulter repeated his whistle. He was answered with a pistol shot another and another followed; and he had time only to wind his bugle, giving the signal of flight t.> his comrades, when he felt a sudden sickness at his heart, and a faintness which only did not atVect his judgment. He could still feel his danger, and his strength sutlsci-d to enable him to roll himself close beside the massive trunk of the cypress, upon which he had unhappily been perched when his whistle drew the fire upon him of several of the approaching partv. Scarcelv had he thus covered himself from a random search when he sunk into insensibility. .while, " Biar Castle," rang with the signals of alarm and assault. At t 1 und of danger, Elijah Fields dashed for- uhich ( oulter had taken. But the pri- d lor the other was unanswered, and lie assailants Y,-O. - ow l>:vaking through the swamp, and were to be heard on every hand. To retreat, to rally his comrades, in i: into the river and take the stream, ;.il llie work oi an h.Mant. From the middle of the >wee|- ing current the shouts of hate and defiance rame to the eai the tones as they broke from the mpse and appeared on the banks of the river. A momentary glimpse of the dark bulk of one or more Meeds as they Whirled round an interposing in>a<l- land. drew from them the remaining bullets in their pistols, but without success; and, ignorant oi the eilect of a ran.i.iin builet uptiii tin- very j-eisoii whom, of all, he most desired t- Mat Dunbar felt himself once more foiled in a pursuit which he had this time undertaken with every earnest of SUCC688. 284 SOUTHWARD HO ! " That d d African !" was his exclamation. " But he shall hang for it now, though he never hung before." With this pious resolution, having, with torches, made such an exploration of Bear Castle as left him in no doubt that all the fugitives had escaped, our tory captain called his squad together, and commenced the return. The fatigue of passing through the dry swamp on their backward route was much greater than when they entered it. They were then full of excitement full of that rapture of the strife which needs not even the feeling of hate and revenge to make it grateful to an eager and impulsive temper. Now, they were baffled ; the ex citement was at an end ; and, with the feeling of perfect disap pointment came the full appreciation of all the toils and exertions they had undergone. They had but one immediate consolation in reserve, and that was the Lang-ing of Brough, which Dunbar promised them. The howl of the African had defeated their enterprise. The African must howl no longer. Bent on mur der, they hastened to the tree where they had left him bound, only to meet with a new disappointment. The African was there no longer. H A P T K R VI IT would be difficult to describe the rage .-.:..-;. ;v.ry of our cap tain of loyalists when he made this discovery. The reader will imagine it all. But what was to be done ? WAS tlis prey to be entirely lost ? And by what agency had Brough ma-ib his escape I He had been securely fastened, it was nought, and in such a way as seemed to render it iirnjosr,- b!; tl;at lie chouid have been extricated from his bonds without i:.<- .v-e of another. This conjecture led to a renewal of the starch. The rope which fastened the negTO lay on the ground, severed, as by a knife, in several places. Now, Brough could not use his hands. If he could, there would have been no sort of necessity for using his knife. Clearly, he had found succor from another apency than his own. Once more our loyalists darted into the. recesses of Bear ( astir; their torches were to be seen flaring in * \v:-y part of that dcn.-e patch of swamp-forest, as they WAV* .-very spot which seemed to promise conceal iiient to the fugitive. rat noBv-Toi i 285 Hark!" cried Dunhar. wli->r ears were <|uickened ly eager and bafiled passions. "Hark! I hear the dip nf a paddle." He was right. They darted forth from the woods, ami when Jit v reached the, river s edge, they had a glimpse of a small dark object. which they readily conceived to be a canoe, just rounding "lie ot the projections of the shore and going out of sip-lit, full a hundred yards below. Here was another mystery. The ramifications of Bear Castle seemed numerous; and, mys tified ns well as mortified. Dunbar, after a tedious delay and a 1 v renewed, took up the line of inarch back for old Sabh s cottage, inly resolved to bring the fair Fivderica to terms, or. in some way, to make her pay the penalty for his disappoint ments of the. night. He little dreamed how much she had to do with them, or that her hand had fired the forest-grasses, whose wild and terrific blaze had first excited the apprehensions and compelled the caution of the fugitives. It is for us to show what further agency she exercised in this nocturnal history. We left her alone, in her little dug-out, paddling or drifting down the river with the stream. She pursued this pro- with proper caution. In approaching the headlands around which the river swept, on that side which was occupied by Dun- bar, she suspended the strokes of her paddle, leaving her silent boat to the direction of the currents. The night was clear and beautiful and the river uudefaced by shadow, except when the current bore her beneath tbe overhanging willows which grew numerously along the margin, or when the winds Hung i: s .if smoke from the burning WO - its bright, smooth Kurtace. With the^e exceptions, the stream shone in a light not less clear and beautiful because va _rue and cap- . Moonlight and starlight seem to make a special atmosphere for youth, and tin* heart which loves, even when most troubled with anxi- for the beloved one, never, at such a I6M01I, proves wh. llv hwensible to the soft, seductive inline: ,-h an atmosphere, Our Frederica was not the herh ..... f convention. She had r imbibed romance from honks; but she had affect:. n< out of which hooks might lie written, filled with all those qualities. at once strong and tender, which make the. heroine in the mo- fceilt of emergency. Her heart softened fed in the c, -li tre of her little vessel. sh watched the soft light upon the 286 SOUTHWARD HO ! wave, or beheld it dripping, in bright, light droplets, like fairy glimpses, through the overhanging foliage. Of tear four for herself she had no feeling. Her apprehensions were all for Richard Coulter, and her anxieties increased as fho approached the celebrated promontory and swamp-forest, known to this day upon the river as " Bear Castle." She might be too late. The captain of the loyalists had the start of her, and her only hope lay in the difficulties by which he must be delayed, going through a blind forest and under imperfect guidance for she still had large hopes of Brough s fidelity. She wax too late too late for her purpose ; which had been to forewarn her lover in season for his escape. She was drifting toward the spot where the river, at full seasons, made across the low neck by which the promontory of " Bear Castle" was united with the main land. Her paddle no longer dipped the water, but was employed solely to protect her from the overhanging branches beneath which she now prepared to steer. It was at her ap proach to this point that she was suddenly roused to apprehen sion by the ominous warning chant set up by the African. " Poor Brough! what can they be doing with him ?" was her question to herself. But the next moment she discovered that this howl was meant to be a hymn; and the peculiar volume which the negro gave to his utterance, led her to divine its im port. There was little time allowed her for reflection. A moment after, and just when her boat was abreast of the bayou which Dunbar and his men were required to cross in penetrating the place of refuge, she heard the sudden pistol shooting under which Coulter had fallen. With a heart full of terror, trembling with anxiety and fear, Frederica had the strength of will to remain quiet for the present. Seizing upon an overhanging bough, she lay concealed within the shadow of the copse until the loyalists had nished across the bayou, and were busy, with lighted torche.-, exploring the thickets. She had heard the bugle of Coulter sounded as he was about to fall, after being wounded, and her quick consciousness readily enabled her to recognise it as her r s. But she had heard no movement afterward in the quar ter from which came the blast, and could not conceive that he Mj iuh! have made his way to join his comrades in the space of time allowed between that and the moment when she heard TIIK i:i:.\\ i: ,iuL. .hem taking to the river with their horses. This difficulty hid to IH-VV { cars, wliicli were agoni/ing BlKNlgh, i>ut m>t of a sorl to make lier fi.rgrtful of what was due to the person whom she ,-ame to save. She waited only until the torrent had passed the straits until the havoc was silent when she fastened her ittle boat t> the willows which completely enveloped her, and Ih-ldlv >tepped upon the land. With a rare instinct wliieii pro\ed how deeply her heart had intere:,ted itself in the operations of .icr -en-es. *he moved directly to the spot whence she had heard the bugle-note of her lover. The place was not far distant frori the point where .-he had been in lurking. Her progress was ar- 1 by the prostrate trunk of a great cypress, which the hur ricane might have, cast down some litty years before. It was with some diiliculty that she scrambled over it; but while cros- sinjr it she heard a faint murmur, like the voice of one in pain, .ahoring to speak or cry aloud. Her heart misgave her. Sim hurried to the spot. Again the murmur now certainly a moan. It i> at her feet, but on the opposite side of the cypress, which she a The place was very dark, and in the moment vheM, f i oin loss of blood, he was losing consciousness, Richard .her had carefully crawled close to the cypress, whose bulk, in this way, effectually covered him from passing footsteps. She ibund him, still warm, the, flow of blood arrested, and his con sciousness returning. " Richard! it is me Frcderica !" He only sighed. It required but an instant for reflection <m the part of the damsel ; and rising from the. place where she had crouched beside him, she darted away to the upper grounds where Hrough still continued to pour out his dismal ejaculations now of psalu.s and song, and now of mere whoop, Ifhlloo and im precation. A full heart and a light lout make quick progTWB when they go together. It was necessary that Frederica should lose no time. She had every reason to suppose that, fai!ij?g to .secure their prey, the t.-iics wuld suticr no delay iu rh.t- -Lvket. Fortunately, the continued dies of linuigh left l-er ;.f :. time doubtful of his where-ahouts. She soon found 1 : .1 to Lis tree, in a state suiiieiently uncoinf..rt;. am bition did not at all incline him to n tut, ^ ^t martyrdom was now his te.u. His tirst taftilMl 288 SOUTHWARD HO ! the alarm to the patriots, were succeeded by feelings ot no pleaa aiit character. He had already had a taste of Dunbar s punish iw.jits, and he dreaded still worse at his hands. The feeling which had changed his howl of warning: into one of lament - his whoop into a psalm was one accordingly of preparation lie was preparing himself, as well as he could, after his African fashion, for the short cord and the sudden shrift, from which ho lied already so narrowly escaped. Nothing could exceed the fellow s rejoicing as he became aware of the character of his new visiter. " Oh, Missis! Da s you? Loose em! Cut you* nigger lo< se! Le em run ! Sich a run ! you nebber see de like ! I take d ^se woods, dis yer night, Mat Dunbar nebber see me gen long \s he lib! Ha! ha! Cut! cut, missis! cut quick ! de rope is wo.V into my berry bones !" "But I have no knife, Brough." "No knife! Da s wha woman good for! No hab knife! Take you teet , misses gnaw de rope. Psho ! wha I tell you 1 Stop ! Put you* han in dis yer pocket you fin knife ; if I no loss em in de run." The knife was found, the rope cut, the negro tree, all in much Jftss time than we have taken for the narration ; and, hurrying the African with her, Frederica was soon again beside the person of her lover. To assist Brough in taking him upon his back, to help sustain the still partially insensible man in this position un til he could be earned to the boat, was a work of quick resolve, which required, however, considerable time for performance. But patience and courage, when sustained l>y love, become wonder ful powers ; and Richard Coulter, whose moans increased with his increasing sensibility, was finally laid down in the bottom of the dug-out, his head resting in the lap of Frederica. The In. at could hold no more. The faithful Brough, pushing her out inta the stream, with his hand still resting nn stern or gunwale, swnrn along with her, as she quietly floated with the currents. We have seen the. narrow escape which the little vessel had, as she rounded the headland below, just as Duul>ar came down upon tin. braeii. liu l:e l.eeu there when the canoe first began to round the point, it would have 1 to have raptured the whole party ; since tiic stream, somewhat narrow at this place, LOVE IN TIIK -\VAMI . *pt in for the shore which tin* tm-ies occupied, and a stout swim mer might h,v drawn the little argosy upon the banks. < IIAPTKU VM. To one familar with the den-e swamps that skirt tlio rivers through the alluvial bottom lands of the Smith, there will he no ulty in comprehending the tart that a fugitive may find temporary security within half a mile of his enemy, even where. his pursuers hunt for him in numbers. Thus it happened that, in taking to the river, our little corporal s guard of patriots, un der the direction of Elijah Fields, the worthy preacher, swim ming dieir lmrses round a point of land mi the opposite shore, sought shelter hut a little distance below " Hear island," in a similar tract of swamp and forest, and alun>t within rifleshot of their late retreat. They had no fear that their enemy would attempt, at that late hour, and after the long fatigue of their recent inarch and search, to cross the mer in pursuit of them ; and had they been wild enough to do so, it was equally easy to hide from search, or to fly from pursuit. Dunhar felt all this as sensibly as the fugitives; and, with the conviction of his entire failure at "Bear Castle," he gave up the game fur the present. ::while, the little hark of Frederica Sahh made its way down the river. She made her calculations on a just estimate of the probabilities in the situation of Coulter s party, and was n< <: ceived. As the boat swept over to tin- opposite shore, utter rounding the point of land that lay between it and " Hear Oft** tie," it was hailed by Field.-, for whom Urmigh had , --.\er. Some delay, the fruit of a proper caution. took place before our fugitives were properly sensible of the character of the strai but the i I, that, with returning consciousness. Richard Coulter I .mnd himself mice more in safety with his triends ; and, il more precious satisfaction, attended by the woman of his heart. It was not long before all the ad\ entures of Fred- in hi- ]- :.!rit became newly strengthened for conflict and endurance by such proofs of a more than feminine attachment which the brave young girl had shown. Let us h the little party for a MCMO, while we return with the captain of loyalists to the farmstead ofold Frederick Sabb. 11 J90 Hero Mat Dunhar bad again taken up his quarters as before, but with a difference. Thoroughly enraged at his disappointment, and at the discovery that Frederica had disappeared a fact which produced as much disquiet in the minds of her parents, a? vexation to her tory lover ; and easily guessing at all of the steps which she had taken, and of her object ; lie no longer 5m] any restraints upon his native brutality of temper, which, while lie had any hope of winning her affections, he had been at some pains to do. His present policy seemed to be to influence her fears. To reach her heart, or force her inclinations, through the dan^exs of her parents, was now his object. Unfortunately, the lax discipline of the British authority, in Carolina particularly, in behalf of their own followers, enabled him to do much toward this object, and without peril to himself. He had anticipated the position in which he now found himself, and had provided against it. He had obtained from Col. Nesbitt Balfour, the mil itary commandant of Charleston, a grant of the entire farmstead of old Sabb the non-committalism of the old Dutchman ne\er having enabled him to satisfy the British authorities that he was a person deserving their protection. Of the services and loyalty of Dunbar, on the contrary, they were in possession of daily evi dence. It was with indescribable consternation that old Sabb looked upon the massive parchment sealed, signed, and made authoritative, by stately phrases and mysterious words, of the pur port of which he could only conjecture with which the fierce Dunbar denounced him as a traitor to the king, and expelled him from his own freehold. "< )h ! mein Gott!" was his exclamation. "And did the goot king Tshorge make dat baber? And has de goot king Tshorge take awav mv grants?" The onlv answer to this pitiful appeal, vouchsafed him by the captain of loyalists, was a brutal oath, as be smote the document fiercely with his hand and forbade all further inquiry. Jt may have been with some rejrard to the probability of his future mar riage in spite of all with the old Dutchman s daughter, that he permitted him. with his wife, to occupy an rid log-house which stood upon the estate. He established himself within the duelling-house, which he occupied as a garrisoned post with all his sol-liers. Here he ruled as a sovereign. The proceeds of AKF AIR> AT i HK I \i:v- .\:\\>. 291 the fann were yielded to liini, tin 1 miserable pittance excepted which ho Mifierod to go to tin- su|)j)oi-t of tin- old couple. Sabb had a few slaves, who were now taught to recognise Dunbar ae their master. They did not serve him long. Three of them to the woods the night .succeeding the tory s usurpation, and hut two remained in his keeping, rather, perhaps, through the vigilance <>f hi> -entincls, aiul their own fears, than because of anv love which thev entertained for their new custodian, iioth ot these were women, and one of them no less a person than the consort of Brough, the African. Mrs. Brough or, as we had better call her she will understand us better Jlitm/ (the diminutive of Jemima), was particularly watched, as through her it was hoped to get some clue to her husband, whose treachery, it was the bitter resolution of cur tm-y captain to punish, as soon as he had the power, with exemplary torture-. Brough had some Scions of his design, which it was no part of his policy to ; but this did not discourage him from an adventure which brought him again very nearly into contact with his enemy. He determined to visit his wife by stealth, relying upon his knoub !ie woods, his own caution, and the thousand little arts with which his race usually takes advantage of the careless the inditVerenee, or the ignorance of its superior. His wife, he well knew, coiiM-ions of his straitx wmihl afford him MSJ4 in various ways. He succeeded in set-ing her just brf..re the da\\n of day one morning, and from her discovered the whole situation of affairs at the farmstead. Thi> came to him with rianv exaggerations; particularly when Mirny described the treatment to which old Sabb and hi> wife had been subjected. 1IU tale did not l".-e any of it> facts or dimensions when carried by I iri.ugh to the fugitives in the >wamp t : Edisto. The of a character to nvt-rw helm the aiVecti"iiate and dutiful heart "[ 1 Sabb. She instantly felt the nece>Mty 1 her. and prepared herself to encounter it. Nine day- and nights had she spent in the fore-t retreats >f her lover. Every tender- and forbearance had been shown her. Nothing had taken place to outrage the delicacy of the female heart ; ami pure in her mind had kept her free from any annoying doubts about the propriety of her situation. A leafy screen from the sun, a sylvan bo\\ er. of broad branches ami thickly-that 292 SOUTHWARD HO leaves, had been prepared for her com-h at night ; and, in one contiguous, lay her wounded lover. His situation had amply reconciled her to her own. His wound was neither deep nor dangerous. He had bled copiously, and swooned rather in con sequence of loss of blood than from the severity of his pains. But the hands of Elijah Field a rough but not wholly inexpe rienced surgeon had bound up his hurts ; which were thus per mitted to heal from the first intention. The patient was not slow to improve, though so precious sweet had been his attendance Krederica herself, like the damsels of the feudal ages, assisting to dress his wound, and so tender him with sweetest nursing, that he felt almost sorry at the improvement which, while lessening !iis cares, lessened her anxieties. Our space will not suffer us to Iwell upon the delicious scenes of peace and love which the two enjoyed together in these few brief days of mutual dependence. They comprised an age of immeasurable felicity, and brought the two together in bonds of sympathy, which, however large had been their love before, now rendered the passion more than ever at home and triumphant in their miUual hearts. But, with the tidings of the situation in which her parents suffered, and the evident improvement of her lover, the maiden found it necessary to depart from her place of hiding that sweet security of shade, such as the fancy of youth always dreams of, but which it is the lot of very few to realize. She took her resolution promptly. " I must leave you, Richard. "I must go home to my poor mother, now that she is homeless." lh- would, if he could, have, dissuaded her from venturing her self within the reach of one so reckless and brutal as Mat Dun- bar. But his sense of right seconded her resolution, and though lie expressed doubts and misgivings, and betrayed his uneasiness and anxiety, he had no arguments to offer against her purp -f. She heard him with a sweet smile, and when he had finished, she said : But I will give you one security, dear Richard, before we part, if you will suffer me. You would have married me more than a year ago; but as I knew my father s situation, his pref> erences, and his dangers. 1 refuse*! to do so until the war was over. It has not helped him that I refused you then. I don t MARRIACK AND CAPTIVITY. sco that it will hurt him if I marry you now ; and there is some thing in the lift- wo have spout together the last few clays, that tolls mo wo ought to be married, Richard. This was spoken with the swectot possible blush upon her cliooks. Do you consent, then, dear Freclerica ?" demanded the en raptured lover. She put her hand into his own ; he carried it to his lips, then drew her down to him where he lay upon his leafy couch, and .itod the same liberty with hers. His shout, in another moment, summoned Elijah Field to his side. The business in ;>ect was soon explained. Our good parson readily concur red in the proprietv of the proceeding. The inhabitants of the little camp of refuse were soon brought together, Brough placing himself directly behind his young mistress. The white teeth of the old African grinned his approbation; the favoring skies looked down upon it, soft in the dreamy twilight of the evening sunset; and there, in the natural temple of the forest none surely over prouder or more appropriate with columns of gi gantic pine and cypress, and a Gothic luxuriance of vine, and leaf, and flower, wrapping shaft, and cornice, capital and shrine, our two lovers were united before God our excellent preacher never having a more solemn or grateful sense of the ceremony, and never having been more sweetly impressive in his manner of performing it. It did not impair the validity of the marriage that Brough honored it, as he would probably have done his own, by dancing Julm. for a full hour after it was over, to his . \\n satisfaction at least, and in the absence of all other w: 868. Perhaps, of all his little world, thoie were mme whom the old negro l..ved (juite so much, white or black, as his \ mistress and her youthful husband. With the midnight, Fred- erica left the camp of refuse under the conduct of Elijah Fields. They departed in the boat, the preacher pulling up stream no MSJT work against a current of four knots with a vigorous arm, which, after a tedious space, brought him to the landing opposite old Sabb s farm. Here Frederiea landed, and the dawn of day found her standing in front of the old log-house which had been assigned her parents, and a captive in the strict custody of the tory sentries. 294 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER VIII. IT was with feelings of a tumultuous satisfaction that Mat Dun- bar found himself in possession of this new prize. lie at once conceived a new sense of his power, and prepared to avail him self of all his advantages. But we must sutler our friend B rough to become the narrator of this portion of our history. Anxious about events, Coulter persuaded the old African, nothing loath, to set forth on a scouting expedition to the farmstead. Following his former footsteps, which had been hitherto planted in secu rity, the negro made his way, an hour before daylight, toward the cabin in which Mirny, and her companion Lizzy, a young girl of sixteen, were housed. They, too, had been compelled to change their abodes nnder the tory usurpation ; and now occu pied an ancient tenement of logs, which, in its time, had gone through a curious history. It had first been a hog-pen, next a hunter s lodge ; had stabled horses, and had been made a tem porary fortress during Indian warfare. It was ample in its dimensions made of heavy cypresses; but the clay which had filled its interstices had fallen out ; of the chimney nothing re mained but the fireplace; and one end of the cabin, from the decay of two or more of its logs, had taken such an inclination downward, as to leave the security which it offered of ex ceedingly dubious value. The negro does not much regard these things, however, and old Mirny enjoyed her sleeps here quite as well as at her more comfortable kitchen. The place, indeed, possessed some advantages under the peculiar circum stances. It stood on the edge of a limestone sink-hole one of those wonderful natural cavities with which the country abounds. This was girdled by cypresses and pines, and, fortunately t<r Brough, at this moment, when a drought prevailed, was entirely t lom water. A negro loves anything, perhaps, better than water he would sooner bathe in the sun than in the stream, and would rather wad* through a fore.st full of snakes than sufViiM- his epidermis unnecessarily with an clement which no one will M was made f.r his uses. It was important that the sink hole near Mirny s abode should be dry at this juncture, for it was IK- re that Brough found his hiding-place. He could approacl this place under cover f the woods. There was au awkward KSPIU.VAGE. ~ . ; > interval ..I t, fifteen feet, it is true, hetween this place and tlie hovel, which the inmates had stripped of all its growth in the search tor fuel ; hut a dusky form, on a dusky night, care ful to crawl over the space, might ea-ily escape the casual glance of a i!i itinel; and Brough was jiartisan enough to kn-w that the hot caution implies occasional rxpo>ure. He u- t umxilling to incur the ri>k. We must not detail his , ^uigh that, hy dint of crouching, crawliv ing, rolling, and sliding, he had contrived to hurv himself, at ii under the wigwam, occupying the space, in part, of a de- caved l"g connected with the clayed chimney, and fitting him self to the space in the log, from which he had scratched out the, rotten fragment?., as snugly as if he were a part of it. Thus, with his head toward the lire, looking within his hody hidden from those within hr the nndecayed portions uf the timher with Mirny on his side of the fireplace, squat upon the hearth, and bu.sy with the hominy pot ; Bmugh might carry on the im-st in- :ing convcr.-ation in the world, in whispers, and occasionally he fed from the spoon "f his spouse, or drink from the calabash, withoHt any innocent per>on sii-pecting his jtropimjuity. We will suppose him thus quietly ensconced, liis old woman heside him, and deeply huiied in thv domestic lii>tnii-s which he came :i. \\ . must suppi.M- all the preliminaries to he des}>atched already, which, in the etfM "f an African ilnimatix jtersonee, are usually wonderfulh minute and cojii " And dis nigger tory, hf. s mau>-a yer for true?" " I tell yu. lin- ugh, he s desp r t had ! He tek ehhry ting fr he sef! li ir>| ehhry ting for him we nigger, de plantation. ho,s. Img, hominy ; and ef y<.nn^ mi<ses no marry um -you yeddy I [hear] he will han^ <>le maussa up to de sapling, same as you hang sc .\i de ci.rnt ud " Brough gmaiied in the hittrnu-.^ of his .spirit. " Wha ford,,, lirou-h >." " \\ h> L r \\ ine sa\- . 1 spec he inns ii^lit I m 1 um yet. Mass Dick no chicken He guiiu* light like de dehhil, soon he get strong, t -re dis tin- -wine happen. He hah soilger, and more come. I arvn Lijah gwiue fight too and dis ui| gwine light. >omer dan dis tory ride, whip and spur, ohcr we plantatio" " 296 SOUTHWARD HO ! " Why. wha you tink dese tory say to me, Brough ?" " Wha he say, woman ?" " He say he gwine gib me hundred lash ef I no get he breck- kus [breakfast] by clay peep in de morning !" "De toiy wha put hick ry pon you back, chicken, he hab answer to Brough." " You gwine fight for me, Brough ?" " Wid gun and bagnet, my chicken." " Ah, I blieb you, Brough ; you was always lub me wid you sperrit !" " Enty you blieb 1 You will see some day ! You got noder piece of bacon in de pot, Mirny ? Dis hom ny mos too dry in de t roat." " Leetle piece." " Gi me." His creature wants were accordingly supplied. We must not forget that the dialogue was carried on in the intervals in which he paused from eating the supper which, in anticipation of his coming, the old woman had provided. Then followed the reca pitulation of the narrative ; details being furnished which showed that Dunbar, desperate from opposition to his will, had thrown off the restraints of social fear and decency, and was urging his measures against old Sabb and his daughter with tyrannical se verity. He had given the old man a sufficient taste of his power, enough to make him dread the exercise of what remained. This rendered him now, what he had never been before, the advocate himself with his daughter in behalf of the loyalist. Sabb s vir tue was not of a self-sacrificing nature. lie was not a bad man was rather what the world esteems a good one. He was just, as well as he knew to be, in his dealings with a neighbor; was not wanting in that charity which, having first ascertained its own excess of goods, gives a certain proportion to the needy; he had offerings for the church, and solicited its prayers. But he had not the courage and strength of character to be virtuous in spite of circumstances. In plain language, he valued the se curities and enjoyments of his homestead, even at the peril of his daughter s happiness. He mired, with tears and reproaches, that soon became vehement, the suit of Dunbar, as if it had been bis own ; and even his good iron- Minnirker S.ibb, overwhelmed \i l>y his afflictions and her own, joined somewhat in his entreaty. \Ve may imagine poor Frederica s afflictions. She had not dared to reveal to either the secret of her marriage with Coulter. She now dreaded its discovery, in regard to the probable effect which it might have upon Dunbar. What limit would there be to his fury and brutality, should the fact become known to him? How how meet i: es ? She trembled as she reflected upon the possibilitv of his making the discovery; and, while inwardly swearing eternal fidelity to her husband, she resolved still to keep her secret close from all, looking to the chapter of providential events for that hope, which .-he had not the power to draw from anvthing within human probability. Her eyes naturally tinned to her hu.sband, first of all mortal ,;-. P.ut she had no voice which could reach him and what was his condition? She conjectured the visits of old Brough to his spouse, but with these she was prevented from all ; r,.nference. Her hope was. that Mimy, seeing and hear ing for heiself, would duly report to the African; and he, she well knew, would keep nothing from her husband. We have witnessed the conference between this venerable couple. The result corresponded with the anticipations of Frederica. Brough hurried hack with hi* gloomy tidings to the place of hiding in the swamp ; and Coulter, still suffering somewhat from his wound, and conscious of the inadequate force at his control, for the rescue of hN wife and people, was almost maddened by the intelligence. He looked around upon his party, now increased to seven men, not including the parson. But Elijah Fields as a host in himself. The men were also true and capable good ri tie men, good M-.-UK. and as fearle-- a* they were faithful. The troop under Duubar OOIlflittod of r .-liteen men, all well armed and mounted. The odd-; wen- great, hut the despair of Richard prepared to iverl..k -ill inequalities. Nor was Fit-bis disposed to di-courage him. "There is no hope but in ourselves. Elijah," was the r- of Coulter. Tr.ily, and in God !" was the reply. " We mu.t make the effort." " Verily, we must." We have seven men, nut counting yourself. Elijah." 298 SOUTHWARD HO ! " I too am a man, Richard," said the other, calmly. "A good man and a brave; do I not know it, Elijah? Bnt we should not expose you on ordinary occasions." "This is no ordinary occasion, Richard." 41 True, true ! And you propose to go with us, Elijah ?" " No, Richard ! I will go before you. I must go to prevent outrage. I must show to Dunbar that Frederica is your wife. It is my duty to testify in this proceeding. I am the first wit ness. " But your peril, Elijah ! He will become furious as a wild beast when he hears. He will proceed to the most desperate exgeai " It will be for you to interpose at the proper moment. You must be at hand. As for me, I doubt if there will be much if any peril. I will go unarmed. Dunbar, while he knows that I am with you, does not know that I have ever lifted weapon in Uie cause. He will probably respect my profession. At all events, I must interpose and save him from a great sin, and a cruel and useless violence. When lie knows that Frederica is irrevocably married, he will probably give up the pursuit. If Brough s intelligence be true, he must know it now or never." "Be it so," said Coulter. "And now that, you have made your determination, I will make mine. The odds are desperate, so desperate, indeed, that I build my hope somewhat on that very fact. Dunbar knows my feebleness, and does not fear me. I must effect a surprise. If we can do this, with the first ad vantage, we will make a rush, and club rifles. Do you go up in the dug-out, and alone, while we make a circuit by land. We can be all ready in live minutes, and perhaps we should set out at once." " Right !" answered the preacher; but are you equal to the struggle, Richard ?" The young man upheaved his powerful bulk, and leaping up to the bough which spread over him, grasped the extended limb with a single hand, and drew himself across it. "Good!" was the reply. "But you are still stiff. I have seen you do it much more easily. Still you will do, if you will only economize your breath. There is tne preparation first to be made, Richard. Call up the men." PRAYER BEFORE STRIFE. 299 They were summoned with a single, shrill whistle, and Coul- f cr soon put them in pops<inn of the adventure tliat lay before them. It needed neither argument nor entreaty to persuade them into a declaration of readiness t "r the encounter. Their onthusiasiu wjy* grateful to their leader, whom they personally loved. " And n>w. my brethren," said Elijah Fields, "I am about to leave you, and we are all about to engage in a work of peril. \Ve know not what u 511 happen. We know not that we shall meet again. It is proper onlv that we should confess our sins to God, and invoke his mercy and protection. My brothers, let us pray." With these wurds. the party sank upon their knees, Rrough placing himself behind Coulter. Fervent and simple was the prayer of the preacher inartificial but highly touching. Our BjMMe i " s n>t sutler us to record it, or to describe the seen* simp 6 imposing. The 9ft* "! the rough men were moistened, their hearts softened, yet strengthened. They firm and res. .lute to meet the worst issues of life and death, and, embracing each of them in turn. ]r>ugh not excepted, Elijah Fields led the way to the enemy, by embarking alone in the canoe, ( ..niter, with hi* party, soou followed, taking the route through the f.>: f HAPTFK IX. IN the meantime, our captain of loyalists bad gone forward in his projects with a very free and fearh p. The course which be pursued, in the present instance, afford* one of a thousand instances which go to illustrate the pet-feet rerkless.- with which the British conquerors, and their baser allies, . the claims of humanity, where the int p--ts the rights, or the affections of the whig inhabitants of South Carolina M concerned. Though resolutely rejected by Frederica, Dunbar -eemed determined to attach no importance to her refusal, but, despatching a me- I the village of Orangeburg, he brought thence one Nicholas Yeitrh, a Scotch I --riaii par- bon. for the avoucd ohje< iatiug at bis we. . !in- - Thfc parson, who was H g<.l man enough JM Tlnp*. w... \t .- 300 SOUTHWARD HO ! weak and timid one, wanting that courage which boldly flings itself between the victim and his tyrant. He was brought into the Dutchman * cottage, which Dunbur now occupied. Thither also was Frederica brought, much against her will ; indeed, only under the coercive restraint of a couple of dragoons. Jlir parents were neither of them present, and the following dia logue ensued between Dunbar and herself, Veitch being the only witness. " Here, Frederica," said Dunbar, " you see the parson. He comes to marry us. The consent of your parents has 1 . n already given, and it is useless for you any longer to oppose your childish scruples to what is now unavoidable. This day. 1 am resolved that we are to be made man and wife. Having the consent of your father and mother, there is no reason for not having yours." "Where arc they?" was the questiou of Frederic;!. Il> r face was very pale, but her lips were firm, and her eyes gazed, without faltering, into those of her oppressor. " They will be present when the time comes. They will be present at the ceremony." "Then they will never be present!" she answered firmly. "Beware, girl, how you provoke me! You little know tho power 1 have to punish "You have no power np<>n niv voice or my heart." "Ha!" The preacher interposed: "My daughter, be persuaded. The consent of your parents should be enough to incline to Captain I >unbar. They are surely the best judges of what is good for their children." " I can not and 1 will not marry with Captain Dunbar " "Beware, Frederica!" said Dunbar, in a voice studiously subdued, lint with great difficulty tin- passion speaking out in h> fiery looks, and his frame that trembled with its einotioii.s. 11 lit-ware T " said Ficderica. "Of what should 1 beware/ Your power? Your power may kill me. It can scared farther. Know, then, that 1 am prepared to die sooner than marry you." Though dreadfully enraged, the manner of Dunbar was till THK SK.HT OK TKRKOR. 301 carefully subdued. His words were enunciated in tones of ,1 laborious calm, a^ he replied : " You are mistaken in your notions of the extent of my power It can reach where yon little imagine. But I do not desire to u>e it. I prefer that you should give me your hand without restraint or coercion." That, I have told you, is impossible." Nay, it is not impossible." Solemnly, on my knees. I assure you that never can I, or will I, while I preserve my consciousness, consent to be your wife." The action was suited to the words. She sunk on her knees lie spoke, and her hands were clasped and her eyes uplifted, a> if taking a solemn oath to heaven. Dunbar rushed furiously toward her. "Girl !" he exclaimed, " will you drive me to madness I will yon compel me to do what I would not?" The preacher interposed. The. manner of Dunbar was that of a man about to strike his enemy. Even Frederica closed her eye-. g the blow. "Let me endeavor to persuade the damsel, captain," was the suggestion of Veitch. Dunbar turned away and went toward the window, leaving the field to the preacher. To all the entrea ties of the latter. Fre.lerica made the same reply. "Though death staved me in the l ;u -.-. 1 should never marry that man !" "Death shall stare you in the face!" was the fierce cry of Dunbar. " Nay. yon shall behold him in such terrors as have never fancied yet ; but you shall be brought to know and to submit to my power. Ho. there ! Nr-bitt, bring out the ,er." This order nat irallv startled Frederic*. She had continued kneeling. She now rose t her feet In the same moment I unbar turned to where she stood, fuJl of fearful expectation. -ped her by the wrist, and dragged her to the window. raided her head, ga\e but die glance at the scene before her, and fell back swooning. The cruel spectacle which she had been made to witness, was that of her father, surrounded by a guard, and the halter about his neck, waiting only the terrible word from the rutlian in authority. 302 SOUTHWARD HO! In that sight, the unhappy girl lost all conscimispp.es. She would have fallen upon the ground, but that the hand of Dunbar still grasped her wrist. He now supported her in his arms. " Marry us at once," he cried to Veitch. " But she can t understand she can t answer," replied tho priest." " That s as it should be," answered Dunbar, with a laugh ; " silence always gives consent The reply seemed to be satisfactory, and Veitch actually stood forward to officiate in the disgraceful ceremony, when a voice at the entrance drew the attention of the parties within. It was that of Elijah Fields. How he had made his way to the building without arrest or interruption is only to be accounted for by his pacific progress his being without weapons, and his well-known priestly character. It may have been thought by the troopers, knowing what was in hand, that lie also had been sent for ; and probably something may be ascribed to the excitement of most of the parties about the dwelling. At all events, Fields reached it without interruption, and the first intimation that Dunbar had of his presence was from his own lips. " I forbid this proceeding in the name and by the authority of God," was the stem interruption. "The girl is already married !" CHAPTER X. Li T us now retrace nur steps and follow those of Rienard Coulter and his party. We have seen what lias been the progress of Elijah Fields. The mute which ho pursued was considerably longer than that of his comrades ; but the differ ence of time w;:s 1 ullv equalized bv the superior and embarras sing caution which they were compelled t excrci.-e. The re-m was to bring them to the common centre at nearly the same moment, though the policy of Coulter required a different course of conduct from that of Fields. Long before he reached the neighborhood of old Sabb s farm, he had compelled his troopers to dismount., and hide their horses in the forest. They then made their way forward on foot. Richard Coulter was i-xpc: ; in all the arts of tho partisan. Though eager to frrnppl. wit, his o.neniy, and impatient to a-v<-rtain and arrest the dangers of COtll.TKll s >TUATK..I his h.vely wife, he yet made his approaches with a proper cau tion. The denseness of the fmest route ei-.ahled him easily to do so ; and, making a considerable circuit, he drew nigh to the upper part of the farmstead, in which stood the obscure out house, which, when Dunbar had taken possession of the mail ed to the aged couple. This he found d. he little dreamed for what reason, or in what particular emer gency the old Dutchman stood at that very moment. Making another circuit, he came upon a copse, in which four of Dunbar s troopers were grouped together in a state of fancied security. Their horses were fastened in the woods, and they lay upon the ground, greedily interested with a pack of greasy cards, which had gone through the campaign. Tin- favorite Bailie of that day was Qld-SUdgZ, or All-Fours, or Si - -I : by all of which names it was indiscriminately known. Poker, and JJrag, and LOO, and Monte, and Vint n, were then unknown in that region. These are all modern innovations, in tin- substitution of wliich good morals have made few gains. Dragoons, in all countries, are notoriously sad fellows, famous for .ring and gaming. Those of Dunbar were no exception {<> the rule. Our tory captain freely indulged them in the prac tice. He himself plaved with them when the humor suited. The tour upon whom Coulter came were not on duty, though thev w..re tlieir swords. Their holsters lay with their saddles across a neighboring lo^, not far oil , but not immediately within reach. Coulter BAW his opportunity ; the temptation was g; but these were not exactly his prey not yet, at all events. To place one man, well armed with rifle and pair of pistols, in a situation to cover the group at any moment, and between them and the farmstead, was his plan ; and this done, he proceeded on his way. Hi- policy was to make his first blow at the head of the enemy his very citadel trusting Muwwhaf to the scattered condition of the party, and the natural cilect of such an alarm to scatter them the more. All tl. inaged with great prude, with two more of hi* men set to watch over two other groups of tlu dragoons, he pushed forward with the remaining four until he reached the verge of the wood, jiibt where it opened upon f ie settlement. Hevc he hml a full view of the spectacle 304 SOUTHWARD MO . own party unseen and the prospect was such as to compel his instant feeling of the necessity of early action. It was at the moment which exhibited old Sahb in the hands of the provost, his hands tied behind him, and the rope about his neck. Clymes, the lieutenant of Dunbar, with drawn sword, was pacing between the victim and the house. The old Dutchman stood between two subordinates, waiting for the signal, while his wife, little dreaming of the scene in progress, was kept out of sight at the bottom of the garden. Clymes and the provost were at once marked out for the doom of the rifle, and the beads of two select shots were kept ready, and levelled at their heads. But Dunbar must be the first victim and where was he? Of the scene in the house Coulter had not yet any inkling. But suddenly he beheld Frederica at the window. He heard her shriek, and be held her, as he thought, drawn away from the spot. His excite ment growing almost to frenzy at this moment, he was about to give the signal, and follow the first discharge of his rifles with a rush, when suddenly he saw his associate, Elijah Fields, turn the corner of the house, and enter it through the piazza. This enabled him to pause, :md prevented a premature development of his game. He waited lor those events which it is not denied that we shall see. Let us then return to the interior. We must not forget the startling words with which Elijah Fields interrupted the forced marriage of Frederica with her brutal persecutor. "The girl is already married." Dunbar, still supporting her no\\- quite lifeless in his arms, looked up at the intruder in equal fury and surprise. "Ha, villain!" was the exclamation of Dunbar, "you are here?" "No villain, Captain Dnnhar. but a servant of the Most High :!" "Servant of the devil, rather! What brings you here and what is it you x.-ty . " " I say that Fredriica Sahb is already married, and her hus band living!" Liar, that you are, you shall swing for this insolence." " 1 am no liar. 1 say that the girl is married, and I witnessed the ceremony." in. i. 305 41 You did, did you . " ITM tin- sj eh of Ihinbar, with a tre mendous effort of coolness, laving down tin- still lifeless form of Frederica a In- spoke ; "and perhaps you performed the ceremony . oli, worthy servant of the Most High!" It was my lot to do "Grateful lot! And pray with whom did you unite the dam- sol ?" " With Richard Coulter, captain in the service of the State of South Carolina." Though undoubtedly anticipating this very answer, Dunbar echoed the annunciation with a fearful shriek, as, drawing his swi.rd at the same moment, he rushed upon the speaker. But his rage blinded him ; and Elijah Fields was one of the e<>< of all mortals, particularly when greatly excited. He met the assault of Punbar with a fearful buffet of his list, which at once felled the assailant ; hut he. rose in a moment, and with a yell of fury he, grappled with the preacher. They fell together, the latter uppermost, and rolling his antagonist into the fireplace, where he was at once half buried among the emhers, and in a cloud of ashes. In the struggle, however. Ihinbar contrived to extricate a pistol from his belt, and to lire it. Fields struggled up from his embrace, but a torrent of blood poured from his side as he did >o. He rushed toward the window, grasped the sill in his hands, then yielded his hld, and sunk down upon the floor, losing his consciousness in an uproar of shots and shouts from without. In the next moment the swords of Coulter and Dun- t ar were crossed over his pn !y. The stn . short and fierce. It had neaily terminated fatally to (". milter, on his discovering the still insensible form of Frederica. in his vay. In the endeavor to avoid trampling upon her, he aft- ii advantage to his enemy, vhicli nothing prevented him fi.-in (Mil] the utnmst but the ashes with which his eyes we re- still half blinded. As it \\ as, he inl. vere cut np>n the. shoulder of the partisan, which rendered his left arm temporarily But the latter ler-.verel himself instaiitlv. His i was in fearful violence. He r.igrd like a />//-.\r/7,t/- of the North men absolutely mocked the danger of | .p. .a thrust him back signing tl ! the house, and lieu ing him almost down with one terrible blu\v upon the bhuulder. with a 30(3 SOUTHWARD HO ! mighty thrust, immediately after, he absolutely speared him against the wall, the weapon passing through his body, and into the logs behind. For a moment the eyes of the two glared deathfully upon each other. The sword of Dunbar was still up lifted, and he seemed about to strike, when suddenly the arm sunk powerless the weapon fell from the nerveless grasp the eyes became fixed and glassy, even while gazing with tiger appetite into those of the enemy and, with a hoarse and stifling cry, the captain of loyalists fell forward upon his conqueror, snapping, like a wand of glass, the sword that was still fastened in his body. XI. WE must briefly retrace our steps. We left Richard Coulter in ambush, having so placed his little detachments as to cover most of the groups of dragoons at least such as might be im mediately troublesome. It was with the greatest difficulty that he could restrain himself during the interval which followed the entry of Elijah Fields into the house. Nothing but his great confidence in the courage and fidelity of the preacher could have reconciled him to forbearance, particularly as, at the point which he occupied, he could know nothing of what was going on with in. Meanwhile, his eyes could not fail to see all the indignities to which the poor old Dutchman was subjected. He heard his groans and entreaties. " I am a goot friend to King Tshorge ! I was never wid de rebels. Why would you do me so ? Where is de captaine ? I have said dat my darter shall be his wife. Go bring him to me, and let him make me loose from de rope. I m a goot friend to King Tshorge !" "Good friend or not," said the brutal lieutenant, "you have to hang for it, I reckon. We, are better friends to King George than you. We fight for him, and we want grants of land as well us other people." " Oh, mine Gott !" Just then, faint sounds of the scuffle within the house, reached the ears of those without. Clymes betrayed some uneasiness; and when the sound of the pistol-shot was heard, he rushed for ward to the dwelling. But that signal of the strife was the aig- THE MF! 307 nnl for Conlter. Ho naturally feared that his comrade had been shot down, and, in the same instant his rifle pave tin- signal to hi* followers, wherever they had been placed in ainhush. Almost multaneoosly the sharp cracks of the fatal weapon were heard from fnr "i ii\e sexeral quarters, followed by two or th tering pistol-shots Coulter s rifle, dropped Clymes, just as he was about to ascend the steps of the piazza. A second shot fn>m one of his companions tumbled the provost, having i" charge old Sabb. His remaining keeper let fall the rope and fled in terror, while the old Dutchman, sinking to his knees, crawled rapidly to the opposite side of the tree which had been chosen for his Callows, where he crouched closely, covering 1 his ears with his hands, as it , by shutting out the sounds, he could shut out all danger from the shot. Jlere he IMH so..n joined by Brough. the African. The faithful slave bounded toward his master the moment he was released, and hugging him first with a most rugged embrace, he proceeded to undo the degrading halter from about his neck. This done, he got the old man on his feet, placed him still further among the shelter of the t; and then hurried away to partake in the struggle, for which he had provided himself with a grubbing-hoe and pistol. It is no part of our object to follow and watch his exploits; nor do we need to report the several results of each ambush which had been set. In that where we left the four gamblers bu-v at 1C proceeding had been most murderous. One of ( mil- men had been an old scout. .1 "b Fisher fafl mton..i; his stern deliberation and method, lie had not been content to pick hi.> man, but continued to revolve around the gambler* until he could range a couple of them, both of whom fell under his tire. Of the two other*, one was shot down by the com panion of Fibber. The fourth took to his heels, but wa* over taken, and brained with the butt of the rille. The scouts thru hurried to other parts of the farmstead, agreeable to previous arrangement, where they gave assistance to their fellows. The history, in short, was one of complete surprise and route the dragoons were not allowed to rally ; nine of them were slain outright not including the captain; and the, rest dispersed, to he picked up at a time of r , ;.!. A : . . i \\ Gouloer s party were asseinbling at tbe dwelling, Brwuh hrd 308 SOUTHWARD HO ! succeeded in bringing the old couple together. Very pitiful and touching was the spectacle of these two, embracing with groans, tears, and ejaculations scarcely yet assured of their escape from the hands of their hateful tyrant. But our attention is required within the dwelling. Rapidly extricating himself from the body of the loyalist captain, Coulter naturally turned to look for Frederica. She was just recover ing from her swoon. She had fortunately been spared the sight of the conflict, although she continued long afterward to assert that she had been conscious of it all, though she had not been able to move a limb, or give utterance to a single cry. Her eyes opened with a wild stare upon her husband, who stooped fondly to her embrace. She knew him instantly called his name but once, but that with joyful accents, and again fainted. Her faculties had received a terrible shock. Coulter himself felt like fainting. The pain of his wounded arm was great, and he had lost a good deal of blood. He felt that he could not long be certain of himself, and putting the bugle to his lips, he sounded three times with all his vigor. As lie did so, he became con scious of a movement in the corner of the room. Turning in this direction, he beheld, crouching into the smallest possible compass, the preacher, Veitch. The miserable wretch was in a state of complete stupor from his fright. "Bring water!" said Coulter. But the fellow neither stirred uor spoke. He clearly did not comprehend. In the next mo ment, however, tin; faithful Brough made his appearance. His ciics were those of joy and exultation, dampened, however, ab he beheld the condition of his young mistress. " Fear nothing, Brough, she is not hurt she has only fainted. But run for your old mistress. Run, old boy, and bring water while you re aliont it. Run !" " Hut you arm, Mas* Dick he. da bleed! You hu t ?" "Yes, a little away !" Brough was gone ; and, with a strange sickness of fear, Coul ter turned to the spot where Elijah Fields lay, to all appearance, dead. But he still lived. Coulter tore away his clothes, which were saturated and already stiff with blood, and discovered th^i 1 ullet-wound in his left side, well-directed, and ranging clear igh the body. It needed no second glance to ece that th DEATH <>r THK TKKACHER. 309 shot was mortal ; and while Coulter was examining it, the good preacher opened his eyes. They were full of intelligence, and a pleasant smile was upon his lips. "You have seen, Richard; tin wound is fatal. I had a pre sentiment, when we parted this morning, that such was to be the case. But I complain not. Some victim perhaps was no- ry, and I am nt unwilling. But Frederic "She lives! She is here: unhurt hut suffering. -All ! that monster!" By this time the old couple made their appearance, and Fred- erica was at nce removed to her own chamher. A few moments tendance sufficed to revive her, and then, as if tearing that she had not heard the tiuth in regard to Coulter, she insisted on going where he was. Meantime, Elijah Fields had been re moved to an adjoining apartment. He did not seem to suffer. In the mortal nature of his hurt, his sensibilities seemed to be great 1\ levelled. But his mind was calm and firm. lie knew all around him. His ga/.e was fondly shared between the young cuple whom he had so lately united. ch other," he said to them ; " h.ve each other and forget not me. I am leaving you leaving you fast. It is pre- sumpti"ii, perhaps to say that one does not fear to die but I am resigned. I have taken life always in self-defence still I have taken life \ 1 would that I had never done so. That makes me doubt. I feel the blood upon my head. My hope is in the Lord ,le>us. May his blood atone for that which I have shed ; IT BJ4N <d>ed. Hi- lips moved, as it were, in silent pra\ er. M he looked out upon the two. who hung with streaming above him. " K;-- me. Richard and y>\\. I rederica dear children 1 have loved you always, (iod be with \ \\ and me I" He was ^ilent. Our Story heie is ended. We need not follow Richard Coti, ter through the remaining vicissitudes of the war. Enough that he continued to distinguish himself, rising to the rank of major in the service of the state. With the return of p, n e, he re moved to the farmhouse of his wife .- parents. Hi. r him, in all probability, tip I ->uld have been forfeited , and the a love which the good old Dutchman pvpAMMJ for King 310 SOUTHWARD HO ! George might have led to the transfer of his grant to some one less devoted to the house of Hanover. It happened, only a few months after the evacuation of Charleston by the British, that Felix Long, one of the commissioners, was again on a visit to Orangeburg. It was at the village, and a considerable number of persons had collected. Among them was old Frederick Sabb and Major Coulter. Long approached the old man, and, after the first salutation, said to him "Well, Frederick, have we any late news from goot King Tshorge ?" The old Dutchman started as if he had trodden upon an adder gave a hasty glance of indignation to the interrogator, and turned away ex claiming " D n King Tshorge ! I don t care dough I nebber more hears de name agen !" CHAPTER XIV. GLIMl SFS Al.o.\<; SHoKF. OK THK <H.| NORTH STATE. IF yon liave ever, in a past period of your life, been a coastwise vovager, south or north, along our Atlantic Chop s and making your way, after an antique t asliion, in one of those good old slow- and-easy coaches, called packet ship*., brigs, or schooners, you niMft a thousand times have bewailed the eternal prospect, the endle>s length of wate and unprofitable shore, which the old North State continued to untold to your weary e\ <-. c: e.-ping forward at a snail s pace under the intluence of contrary winds, or no winds at all, with every now and then the necessity j (iLout, lest the nose of your vessel having thereto a strong native tendency should thrust itself into une of JYleg lYrkin s tar harrels. clo-e hy 1 ainlico, or, worse still, into the Ugly Seylla and Charyhdis, the >hip-traps <f Cape Hatteras. l- n.ni rise of inorn to -..-t of sun, still the same va-ue, taint, monotonous out line. Y"ii ppQ t" \ our ht-rth at night, with a half-smothered cm the enormous 1-ulk of hody which the good old state protrudes along your path. You rise in the morning and ask, with the smal lest possihle expectation, of the steward Where are \ve now ?" and still the same lamentable an>wer " fur North Carolina, sir." Yon | k. ami there, precisely as she lay last niglit. sin- Ijis morning a slugg ^h monster drowsing on the deep, like- that to the hack of which Sinhad had recourse, dreaming it a cond ortalde i-d, :,iit habitation. " Hi lint jtwiiu tin- nrt-nii The annoyance u a^ imnieaMirable, and, doubtless, to thi> ferling maybe ascribed much of that sharp sarcasm to which, in it- son, the good old North State h xp.-sed ; she neverthe less. all tho while, showing herself very scornfully indifferent to 312 j-ouTHw.uin HO: that vulgar thing, called, very ridiculously, " public opinion." Angry travellers were apt to assume an intellectual sluggishness on the part of her people corresponding to that which her vast outline along the sea seemed to indicate to the voyager. That she made no great fuss in the body politic that she kept her self out of hot water of all kinds, and, in proportion to the ex hibition of morbid energies on the part of her neighbors, seemed all the more resolute to subdue her own these were assumed as proofs of a settled mental atrophy, which only made her enormous bulk of body show more offensively in the eyes of the impatient traveller. He visited upon her genius the very vast- ness of her dimensions, and fancied that her soul was small, sim ply because her physique was gigantic. "And, by the way," answered my Gothamite, "a very rea sonable assumption according to human experience." "True enough," interposed our orator with a leer, " as in stanced in your own state of Gotham." Duyckman felt uneasy and looked savage for a moment. The Alabamian continued. " What was felt of tedious, passing the shores of the old North State, was not a whit lessened when you took the land route, seeking to shorten the progress by the help of railroads and locomotives. A more dreary region than the track from Wil mington to Portsmouth is hardly to be found anywhere. The region through South Carolina, from Augusta to Charleston, is bad enough. That through her ancient sister is a fraction worse." " Something is due to our own impatience. Our thoughts do not keep progress with our eyes. Were travellers observers, which they rarely are, and still less thinkers upon what they ob serve, they would make many more grateful discoveries along the, route than they do. lie who goes from Dan to Beerslu-b.-i rind reports nothing to he seen, is simply an animal that has n<>t duly acquired the use of his eyes." " My friend," quoth the Alabamian with pvrn ryes "your have been indulgent. I have tried as inm-h as possible to see something along your Carolina routes, hut to little profit." " Perhaps," put in a sharp, peppery, little fellow, whom wo afterward ascertained to be from the old North State himself IN! 313 " perhaps y" i did *U your seeing through those ton-green spec tacles." 1 surely have done so al\v;iys when passing through North i lina." answered the other quietly. " It was needful to give, the trees shrubs, fields and flowers, something of a natural com- jilexi- ii. N"\\ . 1 will report briefly the result of several prog- :ii that state, during the. growing season. The le count rv. so far as its agriculture is concerned, seemed wretchedly unpromising. The ghmp>e liere and there nf a to] rrable farm. was only an oasis in tin- desert, which made the rest of the country more and more distressing to the eye. The corn fields were few, 1 could have covered half of them with a table cloth, and the crops raised seem all defined for the marke* Laputa." "Laputa? Where s that. 1 wonder?" (juoth North Carolina. "Somewhere north of Brobdignag, 1 believe, and west of the tropics, between the equator and the Fro/en sea, and crossed by the central fires of the Kquinox, which enables the people to raise potatoes and barley with equal facility, but prevents them from growing corn. This commodity, of which they are nately fond, eating an ear at a mouthful, and chewing the at their leisure, is brought to them only once a year by one Cnptain (julliver, a native of Cape Cod, the only known trader between Laputa and North Carolina. I should not be surprised if he is even now taking in a cargo at Wilmington." " I never heard of the man, and I reckon I know all the peo ple that trade to Wilmington, captains and ships. .Just say now, it y \\ ran remember, what s the v-.d railed that he n;, " The Long How." wa> the quiet and immediate answer. is a great craft for shallow waters. She certainly does trade with North Carolina somewhere are you sure that you remem ber all the names of the Mat ply to y.-ur p " K\ ery one of them . " "You! mo>t wonderful memory, my friend. But pas sing from the cornfields of your state, I am sorry to Bay that I can say as little for its habitation-,. The dwellings weie all of the rudest construction, and signs of gardening, or culture of any kind, were as rare, almost, as you will find them along the waste places of the Tigris and the U >Al t -r fruit, the 11 314 SOUTHWARD HO ! and apples offered us along the route were such as nature seemed to have designed for the better encouragement of Cholera, a sort of bounty offered for bile, indigestion, dyspepsia and riled " But that s only along the railroad route/ said our little North Carolina man, " and who ever expects to see a decent country along a railroad route in any agricultural region ?" Another party came to the succor of the North-Carolinian with whom oui bilious orator was evidently disposed to amuse himself. " He is right. You will form a very erroneous notion of this truly valuable state if you assume its general character from what you see along the railroad route. North Carolina, is even now, in many respects, one of the most prosperous of all the states. She lacks nothing but population to exhibit incomparable resources, of vegetable and mineral treasure, such as in future days shall make us utterly forgetful of California. Penetrate the interior even now, and you will be rewarded in a thousand ] daces by the beauties of a careful cultivation, the sweets of a mild and graceful society, and the comforts of a condition to which want and care are strangers, and where the real misfortune is that the means of life are so easily and abundantly found. North Carolina has suffered a greater drain upon her population, in emigration to the Southwest, than probably any of her At lantic sisters. How often have I met, twenty years ago, her poor wayfarers from Tar River or thar abouts, trudging on by the side of their little wagons, from which the great eyes of a wilderness of young ones were peeping out, thick as tho dogwood blossoms in the spring-time. The surplus population the natural increase of this state, and that of South Carolina and Virginia have thus for thirty years or more been carried off to the unrestoring AVest ; and it is only within the last seven that the torrent seems to be measurably stayed. The pros perity of these staVs depends in great degree upon the arrest of this outflow; since all the improvements ever ellrrted in a state all of its newer devel"pinents of resource are only to be made by its own surplus, or natural increase, under the stim ulus of necessities, the result of a more crowded condition, and a closer competition in the fields of labor. That portion of a pop- THK ALABAMA QUIZ. 31G illation which ha> reached ti agr of forty seldom achieve any nrw development of the resources of a country. To hold their own to he what they have been and keej> as tliey are, is all that can reasonably he expected at their hands. But they are d>ing much more than this. As a state, and as communities, thev are making large general improvements, and as individuals, they are rising equally in education and in prosperity." "Glad to hear it, but take leave to douht," responded the man of hile. " You are evidently an enthusiast, my friend ; a word in your ear " Here he slid up to the previous speaker, looked him slyly un der his green spectacles, gave him a nudge in his side, and whispered : " Don t I know Rip Van Winkle as well as you or anybody but don t you see that this little fellow don t know me. We ll have some fun out of him. He has a large capital of patriotism out of which we shall manufacture many a broad grin, such as would do no discredit to a Washington politician. Listen now, while I touch him under his diaphragm. It s something of a b of words," lie resumed aloud, "to be discussing North Carolina. But one question. Have you ever been to Smith- ville ? If you want to know something of her, go to Smithville. We "iice put into that port, somewhat in distress, making the voyage from Charleston to New York in one of those cockle shells which Pennoyer got up to run between the two places. She \\as the Davy Brown 1 think. She had very nearly car ried me to Daw Jones . It is a God s mercy that these miser able little mantraps had not gulfed their hundreds as did the Home. Well, we put into Smithville a gale blowing on deck, and fifty children squalling in the cabin. A few of us got to shore, counting on an \ >t T supper. We met a fellow se\en feet high, with his back against a bank nf sand that kept oft the wind, \\hih- the fragment of an old cutter s deck, hanging the bank, covered him from tin- rain all except drippings and h-akage. Tin-re was the bottom of an old turpei.tine tub beside him from which he detached occasional fragments of gum to gnaw upon. We questioned him about oysters. Reckon it s hard to find em now. " Why r SOUTHWARD HO ! " Why, you see, we ve done cleaned off all a top. and them down low in the water s mighty hard to come at. Don t get much oysters at Smithville now. Reckon there mought have been a right smart chance of cm long time ago bout the Revolution. " Well, do you think we can get any broiled chickens any where V " Chickens don t do so well at Smithville. I m thinking they drink too much of the salt water, and the gravel s too coarse for em, but they die off mighty soon, and there s no cure for it. " Eggs? " Well now, as for eggs, somehow the hens don t lay as they used to. Folks say that there s a sort of happidemic among the poultry of all kinds. They don t thrive no more in Smithville. " And what have you got in Smithville V 11 I reckon there s pretty much all the Smiths here that was here at the beginning. Old granny Pressman Smith lives thar in that rether old house that looks a most as if it was guine to fall. Lijah Smith keeps opposite. He had the grocery, but he s pretty much sold out though they do say there s a schooner expected mighty soon with some codfish and p taters for him, from down East. Rice Smith owns that ere flat, you sees thar with its side stove; and the old windmill yander with the fans gone b longs to Jackson W. Smith, the lawyer. He s pretty much broke up I hear, by buying a gold mine somewhere in the South. I m a Smith myself my name s Fergus Smith, but I m the poorest of the family. I don t own nothing, no how, and never did. " Now there s a chronicle," said our orator. "Was there ever such a complete picture of all sorts of debris and ruin ?" " But Smithville is not North Carolina," was the reply of our little red-faced native, who seemed particularly to resent this portraiture. " I am afraid it is," was the reply of the orator, coolly spoken, and without seeming to heed the evident ruffling of the young one s plumage. " I have seen somewhere," he continued, " a picture of the old North State, of which I remember just the heads. Doubtless there is some exaggeration in it, but on the whole the thing is true. It is true in generals if not details HOB OF NUKTll CAKoLINA. ::it of tin- whole, it regardless of all occasional ex ceptions. We have luul a picture of the Virginian. We cau not object to one of the North-Carolinian, and he who objects to it as not true, will he wise enough to regard it as a jest, not wholly without hotly in the fact." 14 Oh, you re only a-jesting, then 1" "Jesting, sir! I never jest. I am as serious as the Dutch Momus, and I never suffer myself to smile except in a thunder storm." And what make- y.-u lOulc then . " " To hear so much ado about nothing." You re a mighty strange person, I m a thinking." Ah ! that s a practice, my young friend, you should not in dulge in. Don t go out of your way, at any time, in search after vain things." Y..u don t call thinking a vain thing?" " By no means only you search after it." " I don t rightly understand you." " The fault, I suspect, is rather yours than mine ; and I don t see how we re to amend it. I must leave you to your unassisted efforts; and, if you will suffer me, I will resume my portrait of the old North State." That s right ! Go ahead, old Bile !" cried the Texan, irrev erently. The Alabamian glanced at him from under his green " Have you been eating cabbage, my friend /" " Cabbage, no !" It must be the cocktails then ! Either MS ear off from cock tails altogether, Texas, or go and get yourself another. Your complexion is rather the WMI-M* for wear." ( )h I (1 11 the complexion," CT* . " and bree/e away with what you ve pit. Hurrah for nothing p aiie id !" " Thank you for permission," was the c 1 reply. " And now, gentlemen, for our unknown chronicler of the virtues of the oil North State. 1 may n.-t give I I language always, but you will excuse my involuntary fault : " The genius of Ninth Carolina, 1 !i-aily mas culine. He has no feminine refinements. i >u will not n< him of unnecessary or enfeebling : , and, one merit, h 318 SOUTHWARD HO ! is totally free from affectation. You have strong smells of him before you approach his shores, but these occasion no concern in " Here, however, a be . rang, which seemed to have some pecu liar meaning in it. The Texan curled himself up only to stretch away for the cabin. His example was about to be followed by the rest, and our orator seeing this, judiciously proposed that we should for the present forbear the discussion of the old North State for the more grateful discussion of the supper a proposi tion which was carried nem. con. We adjourned to meet again CH A I TKR XV. MORE OF THK <;l.\ll S OF THK U.H NORTH STATH. "WK must not forget our pledges," said the sea-green ora tor, as we seated ourselves in a group nrar the wheel, after sup- rfgmrt all lighted. "And, if not too full of hotter stuff, my trim.!-. I propose t<> give you tho chronicle of the old North State, of which I have spoken. As I have mentioned already, tho matter is not my own. I gathered it from the correspondence of a traveller in some of the newspapers. It seemed so truth ful, so appropriate, and confirmed so admirahly my own experi ence, that I memori/ed it without any effort." -.nti:iir. the Alahamian proceeded with his narra tive. \ery mr.eh a- follows : " The -enius of tho old North State, said ho, is deci- , mascMiliiie. With a larg physical devolopmont, ho is as rious of his strength as totally indifferent to its QM& Indif ference is his virtue. He would he as little interested if the ( s which he > ave forth W.M-.- C-IM^HO instead of turpentine, stands MI- ]\r<, an enormous wa-te of manhoo.l. looking out upon the Atlantic. H!^ f-.rm, though hulky. is angular one shoulder rather h .-her than the other, and one l,-^ standing awkwardlv at ease. His hreeches. you perceive, are of the most antique fa>hion equally short and tiirht. He ha- dently onturown them, hut the evidence is not yet appaientto his own mind. Hi^ meditations ha\ I CXmAueted him to p..;nt, where the : ;iii^ hiuixdf with a hot ter tit. a more l>ec,nn n^ cut, and a thoroughly new pair, C upon him with the force ..( -onio sudden sujiernatural conviction. "SVhen they do, he will receive Mich a sh.-ck as will cover him with porspiranoii enough for a thousand years. He stands n"W, if you helieve me. in pretty nearly the same attitude which he maintained when they wore running the State Lino between him B20 SOUTHWARD H<>! and his northern brother (Virginia) to the great merriment, and the monstrous guffawing of the. latter, lie carries still the same earthen pipe, of mammoth dimensions, in his jaws ; and you may see him, any day, in a fog of his own making, with one hip resting against a barrel of tar, and with his nose half buried in a fumigator of turpentine. He is the very model of that sort i-f constancy which may at least boast of a certain impregnable- ness. His taste* and temper undergo no changes, and are what they have been from the beginning. The shocks of the world do not disturb his gravity. He lets its great locomotives pass by, hurrying his neighbor through existence, and congratulates himself that no one can force him into the car against his will. lie is content to be the genius of tar and turpentine only. His native modesty is quite too great to suffer him to pretend to any thing better. "The vulgar notion is that this is due wholly to his lack of energy. But I am clear that it is to be ascribed altogether to his excessive modesty. He asserts no pretensions at all he dis claims most of those which are asserted for him. Some ambi tious members of his household have claimed for him the first revolutionary movements, and the proper authorship of the Dec laration of Independence. But his deportment has been that of one who says, " What matter ? I did it, or I did not ! The thing is done ! Enough ! Let us have no botheration." " Do you ask what he does, and what he is? You have the answer in a nutshell. He is no merchant, no politician, no ora tor ; but a small planter, and a poor farmer and his manufac tures are wholly aromatic and spiritual. They consist in tur pentine onlv, and his modesty suffers him to make no brag even of this. His farm yields him little more than peas and pump kins. His corn will not match with the Virginian s, and that is by no means a miracle. 1 have seen a clump of sunflowers growing near his entrance, and pokeberries and palma-christi are agreeable varieties in his shrubberies. Of groundnuts he raises enough to last the children a month at Christmas, and save enough f<>r next year s acre. His pumpkins arc of pretty good size, though 1 have not seen them often, and think they nr<- apt to rot before he can gather them. His cabbage invaria bly turns out a collard, from which be so constantly strips the SHIPPING OF THE OLD NORTH STATE. 821 nnder leaves that the denuded vegetable grows finally to be Al most as tall as himself. His cotton crops are exceedingly small so short in some seasons as not to permit the good wife to make more than short hose for herself and little ones. His his torian is Shocco Jones. " 44 Where the. d 1 is Shocco Jones now ?" was the in quiry of the little red-faced native, who tried to appear very indifferent to all that the orator was saying. " He wrote well, that Jones. His defence of North Carolina against Tom Jeffer- *on was the very thing, and I have seen some of his sketches of the old State that were a shine above Irving s." 41 No donbt ! no doubt ! Jones and Smith have possibly gone on a visit to their cousin German, Thompson. To proceed: " His orators are Stanley and Clingrnan. who are by no means better than Webster and Calhoun and his shipping consists of the " Mary and Sally," and " Polly Hopkins " 44 He must have others, for I saw a wreck at Smithville in 1835, on the stern of which I read 4 Still-Water. " 44 She is there still," said the orator, "and still-water at that. She was beached in 1824 the Sleeping Beauty taking her place, between Squam Island, Duck s Inlet, Old Flats, and Smithfield, till, lingering too long in the river, the tide fell and left her on the Hognose Bank, where her beauty is somewhat on the wane. But to proceed with our authority " 44 Your authority is an abominable falsehood all throughout a lie of whole cloth," said the fiery native "so let s have no more of it." 44 Go on ! Go on ! old Bile ! It s prime !" quoth the Texan. Not heeding either, the Alabamian proceeded as if he were reading from a book : Wilmington is his great port of entry hi> city by the sea. Here he carries on some of his largest manui. averting daily into turpentine a thousand barn-Is of the odoriferous jrum. His dwelling here are of n. ttwhere. Ho lias lately been (loin-; them up. rebuihlin^ and retouching in a style that shows that he has .suddenly opi ne<! his eyes upon what the world has been doing elsewhere. The change i> really not in uni.Min with his character. It sit*, unnaturally upon him. nd givpfi him a *lightly fulpottv r.i.mt.pr which is nn way* pre- 322 SOUTHWARD HO ! possessing. He seems to be impressed with an idea that the world requires him to bestir himself. He has a certain respect for the world, and is not unwilling to do what it requires, but he moves slowly and awkwardly about it, and lie must not be hur ried. If lie can accomplish the new duty without disparaging the old habit, he has no objection, but he seems quite unwilling to give up his pipe, his tar barrel, and his luxurious position in the shade, just on the outer edge of the sunshine. The superfi cial observer thinks him lazy rather than luxurious. But this is scandal surely. I am willing to admit that he has a Dutch infu sion in his veins, which antagonizes the naturally mercurial characteristics of the South ; but it is really a Dutch taste, rather than Dutch phlegm, which is at the bottom of his failings. " It has been gravely proposed to neutralize his deficiencies through a foreign grafting, and by the introduction of a colony from Blufffcon in South Carolina otherwise called Little Gasco- ny and no doubt an amalgamation with some of the tribes of that impatient little settlement would work such a change in his constitution as might lead to the most active demonstrations. It would be as the yeast in the dough, the hops in the beer, the cayenne in the broth. The dish and drink would become rarely palatable with such an infusion. 11 But, even if we allow our brother to be indolent, or apathetic, we are constrained to say that he is not without his virtues. His chief misfortune is, that knowing them to be such, he has grown rather excessive in their indulgence. His prudence is one of his virtues. For example, he will owe no money to his neighbors at a season when states beggar themselves in the wildest speculations, and dishonor themselves through a base feeling of the burden of their debts. Speculation can not seduce him into following their foolish and mean examples. He be lieves in none of the fashionable bubbles. Fancy stocks have no attractions for him. He rubs his forehead, feels his pockets, and remembers his old sagacity. Sometimes he has been be guiled for a moment, but a moment only, and his repentance fol lowed soon. He has been known, for example, to lay down a railway, and has taken it up again, the more effectually to make himself sure of being able to meet his contracts. His logic is <Jonbtful perhaps, his purpose and policy never. You can not OPINIONS OF THE OLD NORTH STATE. 328 gull him into banks, though, strange to say, he thinks Nick Bid- die an ill-used man, and still halts with a face looking too much in the direction of Whiggery. And, with the grateful smell of his turpentine factories always in his nostrils, though with no other interest in manufactures, you can not persuade him that a protective tariff is any such monstrous bugbear, as when it ia painted on the canvass of his southern sister. " Of this southern sister he is rather jealous. She is too mer curial to be altogether to his liking. He thinks she runs too fast. He is of opinion that she is forward in her behavior too much so for his notions of propriety. A demure personage him self, he dislikes her vivacity. Even the grace with which she couples it, is only an additional danger which he eschews with warning and frequent exhortation. His error is, perhaps, in as suming her in excess in one way, and he only proper in the oppo site extreme. " As little prepared is he to approve of the demeanor of his northern brother. Virginia is none of his favorites. He has never been satisfied with the high head she carries, from the day when that malicious Col. Byrd, of Westover, made fun of his commissioners.* The virtue of our North-Carolinian runs some what into austerity. We fear that he has suffered somehow a cross with the Puritans. His prudence is sometimes a little too cloe in its economies. His propriety may be suspected of cold- ; and a very nice analysis may find as much frigidity in his moi! uritv and sensibility. He is unkind to nobody so much as to himself. He puts himself too much on short com mons.! He does not allow for what is really generous in his nature, and freezes np. accordingly, long before the " Yule Log" is laid on the hearth at Christmas. His possessions constitute him, in wealth perhaps, no less than size, one of the first class state* of the confederacy yet lie has failed always to put the proper value on them. His mountains of which we shall givo i after a series of sketches are salubrious in a high drgrn * S. Mnnnarriptii, ont of the pl-annttst of native productions-, from a genuine wit and humorist, and a frank and manly Southron. t The venerable Nathaniel Mncon, a very noble and virtuous gentleman, ha* bon heard to uy to his friend*, " Dor corn* to see m this se**oo for I v uiadr DO corn. I ll have to buy." 324 very beautiful to the eye, and full of precious minerals and met als.* But his metallurgists do precious little with the one, and he has failed to commission a single painter to make pictures of the other. He has some first rate lands scattered over his vast domains the valleys between his mountains making not only the loveliest but the most fertile farmsteads, while along his southern borders, on the seaboard, it is found that he can raise as good rice as in any other region. But he is too religiously true to tar and turpentine to develope the rare resources which he possesses and might unfold by the adoption of only a moder ate degree of that mouvement impulse which the world on every side of him exhibits.! He has tried some experiments in silk, but it seems to have given him pain to behold the fatiguing la bors of his worms, and, averting his eyes from their sufferings, he has forgotten to provide the fresh mulberry leaves on which they fed. When they perished, his consolation was found in the conviction that they were freed from their toils ; with this additional advantage over men, that their works would never follow them. His negroes are fat and lazy, possessing, in the former respect, greatly the advantage of their masters. " Our North-Carolinian will be a lean dog always though it would be no satisfaction to him if the chase is to be inevitable from the leanness. His experience refutes the proverb. Certain ly, the contrast is prodigious between his negroes and himself. They have the most unctuous look of all the slaves in the South and would put to utter shame and confusion their brethren of the same hue in the Yankee provinces the thin-visaged, lank- jawed, sunken-eyed, shirking, skulking free negroes of Connec ticut and Rhode Island. Our North Carolina negro rolls rather than walks. His head is rather socketed between his shoulders than upon a neck or shaft. When he talks, it is like a heated dog lapping his mouth is always greasy, and he whistles when- * It is not so generally known that the only diamond* found in the United Stairs have been found, of Litt; years, in North Carolina. Sonic six or eight huve been picked up without search, attesting the probable abundance of the region. t Our orator must not forgot the new railroad progress of the old North State. It strikes us she has nlready turned over a new leaf, and promises t become a moving character. ED. VIRTUE OK 1 UE OLi> N UKTH STATK. ever be has eaten, lie is the emblem of a race the moat sleek, :ied, and saucy in the world. You see the benevolence of the master in the condition of the slave. He derives his chief enjoyments, indeed, from the gay humors of the latter. lie seems to have been chosen by Heaven as a sort of guardian of the negro, his chief business being to make him happy. "Our North-Carolinian, with all his deficiencies, is a model of simplicity and virtue. His commendable qualities are innumer able. He never runs into excesses. You will never see him playing Jack Pudding at a feast. He commits no extravagances. You will m-ver find him working himself to death for a living. He is as moderate in his desires as he is patient in his toils. He seems t<> envy nobody. You can scarcely put him out of tem per. He contracts no debts, and is auspicious of those who do. He pays as he goes, and never through the nose. He wastes mine of his capital, if he never increases it, and his economy is such that he never troubles himself to furnish a reason for his conduct, before he is asked for it. In truth he is almost too vir tuous for our time. He seems to have been designed for quite another planet. He is totally unambitious, and though you may congratulate yourself at getting ahead of him, you will be morti fied to learn from himself that this is altogether because he pre fers to remain behind. He has no wants now that I remember, with a Dingle exception. Without having a single moral feature in common with Diogenes, he perhaps will be obliged to you if you will nut interrupt his sunshine. " Well, have you done at last ?" demanded the fiery little son of the old North State, as the oilier appeared to pau^-. 14 The chronicle ] yes." 11 Well, I ll just take leave to say that it s a most slanderous and lying history tVm iu-ginning to end." 44 To what iio you ol.jrrt f" " To t-vi-r\ tiling." " Hut \\hat i.s tin-re that you deny to ba true?" Wrll, there s that about our .shipping. Why, instead vessels, Wilmington s got fifty, more or less, and some of them steamers, and some of them square-rigged, brigs and hermaphro dites." 826 SOUTHWARD HO! " I admit the hermaphrodites. I have seen one of them my self." " Ah ! have you ? and you ll admit the brigs and schooners too, I reckon, if you re put to it, and the steamers. Then, too, yo* don t say a word of our exports." 44 Your produce, you mean ! Didn t I admit the pumpkins and the peas ?" 44 As if six millions could be got out of peas and pumpkins." " It does seem a large amount, indeed, from such a source, but of course there s the tar and turpentine." 44 1 say, young hoss," put in the Texan, 44 don t you see that old Bile is just putting the finger of fun into the green parts of your eye." 44 Well said, son of Texas ; the figure is not a bad one. The finger of fun ! green parts of the eye ! Good decidedly. * 44 He s poking fun at me, you mean to say." "That s it!" 44 Well, he shall see that he can t do that without risking some thing by the transaction. One thing, my friend, you forgot to say about the people of North Carolina in your chronicle. They won t stand impudence of any sort. And now I have just to ask of you for an answer, up and down, to one question." 41 Propound !" " Did you mean to make my state or me, personally, ridiculous by what you have been saying ?" 44 Ridiculous, indeed, my friend ! How can you imagine such a vain thing. You are quite too sensitive. Your self-esteem is singularly undeveloped. Your state is a very great state, after a somewhat peculiar model, and no doubt, though a small man, you are one who need not be ashamed of yourself or your acquaintance." We all assured the young Carolinian that there could be no purpose to give him offence that the Alabamian was simply 2iideavoring to amuse the company with a salient view of men -ind communities. " But he shan t do so at my expense. " Oli ! lie means nothing of the kind. "If he did!" " Well !" quoth the Alabamian. " If I did ! what then 1" PROWESS OF THE ORATOR. 327 44 Why, you d only try it at some peril." 44 Peril of what 1" "Of a fight to be sure ! We d see who was the best man after all." " There is something in the warning to prompt a person to tread cautiously. The rattle announces the snake. Now, look you, my friend, once for all, I beg leave to disclaim all desire to offend you. I simply sought to enjoy my jest, in an innocent way, and to amuse other people by it. That ought to be suffi cient ; but, for my own sake and self-esteem, I must add that it is only as a good Christian that I say so much. I am apt to be riled rather, feel skin and hair both raised unnaturally when I am threatened ; and, as for a fight, it sounds to me rather like an invitation than a warning. Were you now to desire to do battle with me how would you propose to fight I" " Why, if I were really anxious, I shouldn t much care how. I am good at pistol and rifle, and have heft enough for a good bout at arms-length with a bigger man than myself." " Well, my good fellow, for all that, you d stand no chance with me at either. I should whip you out of your breeches, without unbuttoning mine." - You ?" Yes, I." We were ail now somewhat curious. The orator did not look half the man of his opponent. Now," said he, "without lighting, which wouldn t do hero i coui.-.r, N\e t-an tot the chances of the two. Suppose you try and lift that little l<ni pin. _ yonder," pointing to the can- n in nf the steamer, "our captain s brazen beauty." I can t do it, nor you." An>wt-r tor youiM-lt . / can. Hut la-re is a test." With the>e woid> he sei/ed two chair* that stood at hand. " Hold the hacks ot these tinnlv," he >aid to the bvstandeiu. He placed the- chairs M-HU- ti\e feet apart, and in the twinkling of an eye had Mi etched hliuM-lf at length, the back of his head resting upon one chair, his heels upon the other. 44 Now, some halt dozen of YOU sit upon me." To the astonihhinriit ( ,f all, the slight-looking pc.rson. who 8emcd too frail to support him-elf, maintained two or three pr 328 SOUTHWARD HO ! sons for several seconds sitting upon his unsupported body. He stretched out his arms to the group. " Feel them." They were all muscle so much whip, cord and wire. "You spoke of pistol and rifle," continued the orator. "You shall have a sample of shooting." He retired for a few moments^ and returned, bringing with him a large case which, when opened, displayed a beautiful brace of pistols and a rifle of elegant pro portions and high finish. The pistols were already charged. A bottle was thrown into the sea, and, at the flash of the pistol, was shattered to a thousand pieces. " My friend," quoth the orator, " I have led just that sort of life which makes a man up to anything ; and the use of the weapon, of every sort, is natural to me in any emergency. * " Well, faint your muscle and strength and good shooting that would keep me from having a trial with you, in case you show d a disposition to insult me." " But I avow no such disposition, my excellent friend of tho old North State." " Many s the man that s a good shot at a bottle, who can t take a steady aim, with another pistol looking him in the face." " Nothing more true. But we need say no more on this head, unless you still think that I designed offence." " Well, since you say you didn t, of course, I m satisfied." " I m glad of it. There s my fist. I didn t mean offence to you, my friend ; but I confess to amusing myself at all hazards and with any sort of customer. You happened in the way, and I stumbled over you. You are a clever fellow, and I don t like you the less for standing up for your state, which is a clever and most respectable state, a state of size, and some sizable steam boats and schooners, not forgetting the hermaphrodite. And now, let us have a touch of snake and tiger together." "Where were you born?" dcmaixlcd the North-Carolinian. "I was born in a cloud and suckled by the east wind." " Oh, get out ! I reckon you re crazy, after all." " I ll defend myself against the imputation when you ll prove to me that anybody is quite sane. It is but a difference in iegree between the whole family of man." ANTIQUITIES OF 3MITHVILLE. 329 "What s your biisin,-x> > Yon v served, I reckon, iu the army. " Yes, as a ranger." " Been in many fights ?" " A few. The last I had was with seven Apache Indians. I had but one revolver, a six-barrel " - Well !" " I killed six of the sava^ " And the seventh ?" " He killed me ! And now for the snake and tiger." The two disappeared together, steering in the direction of the bar. When they next joined us, the North-Carolinian had his arm thrust lovingly through that of his tormentor, and came forward laughing uproariously, and exclaiming: " You should have heard him. Lord, what a fellow ! He s mad as thunder that s certain; but he s got a mighty deal of sense in him, in spite of all." " We are about opposite Smithville now, said our captain, as the Alabamian came up. The latter turned to the North-Caro linian, and, with a poke in his ribs, said : " Y<>u thought me quizzing your state, when, in fact, I have more reverence for its anti<iuities than any person I know. ThL place, Smithville, for example, I have .studied with great industry. It was settled perhaps you have heard by the first man of the name of Smith that came out of Noah s ark. suppMM-d, iii.ii ( -.1, to be the very spot where the ark re>ted when the waters subsided. There is an old windmill here, btill to be seen, and the most picturesque object in the place, which is referred back to the period when Noah carried three sheets in the wind. The people here, of cour>e, are all named :.." "Oh, that s a mistake, my dear fellow," put in the North-Caro linian. l> You have been imp >.-ed upon. 1 know the place, and know that the Buttons live here, and the Black family ; and there s another family "Nevermind it is y.,u who are mistaken. They are really all Smiths, however much they may (li&giiise and deny. There s a family likeness miming through all of them which nobody c*n dispute." 380 SOUTHWARD HO ! " That s true. There is such a likeness, I admit." " Of course you must admit. Everybody sees it. The won der is, that, boasting such a great antiquity, they are so little ambitious. Their enterprise is limited to an occasional visit to the oyster bank, where it is said they will feed for some hours at a stretch, but they never trouble themselves to carry any of the fruits away. The pearl-fisheries, which conjecture supposes to have been very active here at one period, were discontinued and fell into neglect somewhere about the time of the Babylonian captivity. Smithville is a place that should largely command the veneration of the spectator, apart from its antiquity of site, and the antiquities which may yet be found within its precincts after proper exploration ; it is a study for the ethnologist. There is one peculiarity about the race all the children here are old when they are bom. The period of gestation seems to be about eighteen years. The child is invariably born with a reddish mustache and imperial, and a full stock of reddish hair." " Bless me, what a story ! Why, how they have imposed upon you, old fellow ! I tell you, I myself know the families of Button and Black, and and they all have children real children, just like any other people s children little, small, helpless, with hardly any hair upon their heads, not a sign of a moustache, and the color of the hair is whitish, rather than reddish, when they are born." The assurance was solemly given by our Carolinian. 44 How a man s own eyes may deceive him ! My dear friend, you never saw a child in Smithville of native origin at all. The natives are all full grown. If you saw children there ordinary children they were all from foreign parts, and griev ously out of their element, I assure you. Your supposed facts must not be allowed to gainsay philosophy. I repeat, the re gion, on this score of idiosyncrasy in the race, should attract the ethnologists. In mere antiquities in the proofs of ancient ail it is also rich. I have found curiously-wrought fragments of stone there, sharp at the edges, somewhat triangular of shape " " Nothing but Indian arrow-heads, I reckon." "My frieud, why expose yourself? Tbey were sacrificial implements, no doubt. Then, curious vases. > n fragment* ro THE ANCIENT SUITOR. 331 to be still picked up, such as were probably employed for sacred purposes in the temples of their gods." "As I live, old Bile," said the Texan "nothing but Injun pots and pans for biling hominy." "Get thee behind us, Texas blanket thyself and be silent. The present inhabitants of Smithville are certainly the Autoc- thones natives of the soil. They have never known any other. And yet, Smith is said to have been a common name among the Phoenicians. Its founder was undoubtedly Tubal- Cain. It is fortunate that we have a place like Smithville. des tined for its perpetuation. "We are, unhappily, fast losing all traces of the venerable name in every other quarter of the country." "Why how you talk! There isn t a name so common as Smith in all our country." " Ah, my dear fellow ! do you not see that you are giving constant proof of what I said touching Smithville, that all the babies were grown men at birth ?" " That s somehow a fling at me, I reckon ; but I sha n t quar rel with you, now I know you." At this moment, the tender tinkle of the guitar, in the hands of Selina Burroughs, announced that my friend Duyckman had succeeded in his entreaties ; and we gathered around the ladies, and the mischievous fooling of our Alabamian ceased for a sea son, but only for a season. The young lady sang v iv sweetly ont of Anacreon Moore s best lyrics, accompanied by my friend from Gotham. When she had done, to the surprise of all, our orator, who seemed quite a universal genius, coolly took up the guitar when the damsel laid it down, and, without apology or preliminary of any kind, gave us the following pie of the mock-heroic with equal archness and effect : THE ANCIENT SUITOB. OLD Tirm- wai an ancient iuitor, Who, hcrdlrts of jinv nnd judge, Still k-pt to the MWI of hit tutor And h.-l.l that all fashion waa fudg : He DCS. -i kept tc-nnji *itli the tailor*, Th. aid of th* Urber* h nconTd 832 SOUTHWARD HO ! And with person ns huge as a whaler s, His person lie never adorn d. Sing Out on that ancient suitor. What chance could he have with a maiden, When round her, the gallant and guy Came flocking, their bravest array d in, Still leading her fancies astray T But he studied the chapter of chances, And hnving no green in his eyes, He gallantly made his advances, As if certain to carry the prize. Sing Hey for that ancient suitor. But his beard had grown whiter than erer, He still made no change in his drest, But the codger had Anglican clever, And was confident still of success; And the ladies now smiled at his presence, Each engerly playing out trumps, And his coming now conjured up pleasance, Where before it but conjured up dumps. Sing Ho for that ancient suitor! And what were the arts of our suitor? Why, the simplest of nil, to be sure He took up Dnn Plutus ns tutor, Dan Cupid he kicked from the door. Still sneering at sentiment-gammon, He found thnt whene er he could prove, That his Worship found favor with Mammon, His worship found favor with love. Hurrah ! for tnat ancient suitor ! " Oh ! most lame and impotent conclusion," cried the lady An old and stale scandal." 41 What a slander of the sex," echoed Gotham, looking more sentimental than ever. " I have given you but a true and common history," answered the orator. " It is within every man s experience ; but here s a case that occurred in one of our own villages. The ladies there admit the fact to be undeniable, though they assert Credat Jud&us ! that the world can show no other such marvellous example." Here he again fingered the guitar with the ease of one who had mastered all its pulses, and sung the following historical ballad, which he called INVITATION MK WIDOWHOOD, LOVE S CONTINGENT REMAINDER. AT eve, when the young moon wns shining, And thp South wind in whispers arose, A youth, by the smooth strenm reclining, Thus pour d forth the stream of his woes; " I sigh and I sing for the maiden, Who dwells in the depths of yon grove ; Not the lily, its whiteness army d in, So beautiful seems to my love." An2 ihe maiden, she drank in the ditty With keen sense and a tremulous heart t But there dwelt an old man in the city, And he in her musings had pan: She answer d love s song by another, To the very same air, but less sweet, And some sighs which she struggled to smother Found their way to the youth at her feet. Ah ! Dick, I confess you are dearest, But then you can buy nothing dear; Your song is the sweetest and clearest. And I dote on your whiskers and hair; But then, the old man in the city, Has bonds and bank-notes, and a store, Such possessions, both costly and pretty, And he promises gold in galore. With you I should find love in marriage, But love is poor feeding uloin- ; With him I have horses and rnrriajfe ; With you but n mist and a hone; He leaves me no lime to consider, Still pressing with tongue nnd with pen, Kut if ever he leaves me a widow, Oh ! Dicky, nme sinp to me then ! 14 Worse ami worse !" cried tnd lady. Truer and truer," answerer! the orator. 44 Bless me, sir, for wlmt rea^m is it tli.it you so hate our sox ?" Hate your sex ! Nobody loves it better. I have been married three times!" 44 That accounts for it all !" quotb Gotham, totto rorf, with the fooling of one who in amply avenged. Selina Burroughs 884 SOUTHWARD HO! " The danger seems to be that he will leave just such an in scription upon his monument as the Hon. Mr. Custis of the East ern Shore." There was a pause. " No story to-night ?" inquired one of the party. " By the way, yes and our friend here from North Carolina, has been appointed to deliver it." With a thousand excuses and apologies, some stammering and much confusion, our fiery little companion commenced his task, in a legend of the North Carolina shore, which he entitled THE SHIP OF FIRE. 44 THE State of North Carolina, the assumed poverty of which in material resources, and in mind, has been a little too much dwelt upon by some portions of this company, is, nevertheless, quite as rich, in all respects, as any of her sister states. Her deficiency seems to lie in her want of a seaport of capacity equal to her product, and in the lack of a population sufficiently dense for her territorial magnitude. We may never be able to supply the one deficiency, except possibly by railroads which shall give us the free use of the harbors of our sister states ; but the latter will be developed on a magnificent scale, so soon as the popula tion shall become sufficiently dense for the due exploration and working of our soil. Our productions, as the case stands, must now amount to fully eight millions, sent to market along shore. And this, be it remembered, is pretty much a sur plus production. As an agricultural community, North Carolina supports herself apart from what she sells. Of the morals of tho people of our State, I have only to say, that they shrink from comparison with none. We do no startling things, but we rob no exchequers. We attempt no wonderful works, but we repudi ate none of our debts. In brief, we owe no debts. There is no State in the Union quite so independent as North Carolina. Yon may smile at her simplicity, but you must respect her honesty. You may see something green in her eye, but nothing jaundiced. If goaded by no wild ambition, she is troubled with no excess of bile. Her brains may never set rivers on fire, but they are sure not to blow up her locomotive. 4 But, even in enterprises, such as are so laigely assumed to bf THE SHIP OF KlKb. 885 the signs of moral progress, she is not idle. In proportion t< the strength of her population, her railroads are as extensive as those of any other Southern State; and *hen you consider the wide stretch of her territory and the difficulties of her situr tion, lacking an eligible seaport, she has done more and better than most. Her people are prosperous, making money fast ; the results of tar and turpentine will put to shame those of your boasted regions of rice and cotton ; and our railroads hnve brought into use, for these productions, vast territories which have hitherto yielded nothing. I repeat, that in the morals of her peo ple, their physical prosperity, their virtues and advance in edu cation, North Carolina need shrink in comparison with none of the states of this confederacy." " Bravo ! spoken like a patriot ! But what of the story all this time?" " Patiently : I had first to fling off some of the feeling with which you, sir, have been stirring me up about my good old State for the last twenty-four hours." "Well - you have relieved yourself?" " Perhaps : but a few words more, before I begin my legend. I shall not say anything here about our lack of literature in North Carolina, since the argument necessarily belongs to most of the Southern States in fact, to all the States our national deficiency being still a reproach to us in the mouths of other na tions. When the nation, as a whole, shall be able to answer this reproach satisfactorily, it will then be quite time enough for North Carolina to show her solicitude as to what people think of her shortcomings." 11 Quite logical that." " I have no doubt that the native genius of the old North State will bring her intellectual wares into the market in dut season for her reputation." " Save her distance, you mean." " As you please. Her native material affords adequate stuff for the future author and artist. She is rich in traditions and unwritten histories. Her revolutionary chronicles are by no meaijs meagre, and only lack the chronicler and author. They will be found as soon as our communities shall become suffi ciently dense and numerous to afford the audience." :f M.flH \\AKD HU "Meanwhile, we will put off the re^iisition ad Gmxu* Kai- endas. The argument is a good plea for all the states if ad- missible in the case of one. I doubt its propriety. I am not prepared to believe in that inspiration which waits upon the gathering of the audience. But the point needs no discussion. Go ahead with your story." " My story must excite no expectations. I am no artist, and shall attempt nothing but a simple sketch a bare outline of a legend which oiu simple people along the seashore, wreckers and fishermen, have told a thousand times with grave looks and a most implicit faith. It will add but another chapter to the vast chronicles of credulity which we possess, and skepticism will decide against it only as further proof of human supersti tions which keep their ground even in the most enlightened ages. Be it so. The wise man will find much occasion for thought even where the subject is a vulgar superstition. The inventive genius may go further, and weave from it some of those beautiful fictions which need no better staple than tho stuff which dreams are made of which delight us in the fancies of Comus, and carry us into new creations, and new realms of exploration in the Tempest and Midsummer Night s Dream." Thus far the preliminaries. Our raconteur then proceedeo as follows : " You are then to know that annually, at a regularly-recur ring period, the coast of North Carolina, even the very route over which we voyage now, is visited by a luminous object hav ing the exact appearance, at a little distance, of a ship on fire. This appearance has been seen regularly, according to the tra dition, and the fact has been certified by the sworn state ments in recent times, of very credible witnesses. They afiirm that nothing can be more distinct than the appearance of this ship, limned in fire, consuming, yet always ujQConsumed. She invariably appears approaching from the east. She Sjp slowly toward the west, nearing the shores always until serrn- ingly about to run aground, when she disappears, for a moment, only to re-emerge again from the distant east. Thus advancing perpetually, she appears to grow in bulk to grow more vivid and distinct as she draws nigh, until, when most perfect to tho nye. and about to enter tlir harbor whon she flits from sight, IHK 1 ALAlINK-v only to shoot up in the distance ami renew her fiery progrena to the shore. " Every part of her seems ablaze. Hull and gunwale, mart and spar, sail and cordage, are all distinctly defined in fiery mass and outline. Yet she does not seem to burn. No iiery flakes .d, no smoke darkens her figure, no shroud or sail tails, no visible change takes place in her fate, or dimensions and thus perfect, she glides onward to the shore, glides along the shore, skirts the breakers into which she appears about to penetrate, then suddenly goes out; but only, as I have said, to loom up once more upon the eastern edge of the sea. This operation continues for twenty -four hours, one day in every year." " Bless me, how curious. I wish we could get an exhibition of It now. Is it a regular day in the year on which it app- " So it is asserted, but I do not recollect the day, and I doubt if our chronicles determine the fact. But the affidavits of re spectable witnesses give the date on which they declare them selves to have seen the spectacle, and that day, each year, may be assumed to be the one on which it annually reappears." " Well, how do they account for this singular exhibition ?" " In the following manner. The tradition, I may add, is a very old one, and the historical facts, so far as they may, are found to confirm it. " The burning vessel is known as The ship of the Palat::. The story is that, some time during the region of the First George of England, and when it was the anxious policy of that monarch to encourage emigration to the Southern Colonies, a small company of that class of colonists who were known a* German Palatines having come from the Palatinate, arrived in London set-king means to get to America. They were sus tained lor a time at the, public expense, until a vessel could be chartered tor their use, when they took their departure 1 . . New \V--rld. The public policy made it comparatively ea-v to per-uade the crown to this sort nf liberality ; and MU-OU- of this character was fretjurntly accorded to this cla>s <>f ad venturers, win* wore supposed to have a special claim mi the bounty t the German monarch of the English. The emigrants, in the pi< instance, wore the appearance of poverty so common to their class, and studiously forebore to betray the fact that they had 15 888 -iTTHWAltl* " any resources of their own. But, as usual, in all such cases, they were far less destitute than they avowed themselves. Our Palatines, on this occasion, were in rather better condition, in pecuniar}" respects, than was commonly the fact with their coun trymen. It was only a natural cunning which prompted their concealment of means which they preferred to keep in reserve for other uses. Upon their secresy, on this head, depended their hope of help from private bounty and the public exchequer. They kept their secret successfully while on shore. It was their great error and misfortune that they were less prudent when they put to sea. They had treasures speaking with due heed to the usual standards of inferior castes of considerable value; treas ures of gold and silver, jewels and movables ; old family acu- mulations, little relics of a former prosperity: relics of an affection which sometimes stinted itself in its daily desires, that it might provide token and trinket to give pleasure to a beloved one. The stock, in these things, which had been parsimoniously kept, and cunningly hidden away by this little community of adven turers, was by no means inconsiderable. A treasure of great value in their own eyes, it was a sufficient bait to lust and cupid ity, when beheld by those of others. But I must not anticipate. These treasures of the precious metals, toys, and trinkets, wore easily concealed in close nooks, among their common luggage, and, seeming no other than a poor peasantry, and mere destitutes of society, they went on board of the vessel which had been chartered for them, and soon after put out to sea. " The voyage was a very tedious one, protracted by bad weather, and thwarting winds. The bark in which they sailed was one which would be likely, in our day, to be condemned as unseaworthy, except when soldiers, doing battle for the country, needed to be sent to Texas and California. It would answer even now for such purposes perhaps find preference." " A good hit, young Turpentine," quoth the Alabamian. " Our Palatines were pretty well wornout by the tedium of the voyage, their miserable fare and more miserable accommoda tions. The ship was leaky, the stores stale, the storms frequent, and, our poor adventurers, new to such a progress, were terribly subdued in spirit long before they made soundings. When at length they did, when at length the low gray coast of North DISAPPOINTMENT. 839 Carolina, stretched its slight barriers across their western horizon, and the cry of land* sounded in their ears, they rose from the deeps of despondency into an extremity of joy. They were in ecstasies of hope, and, in their madness of heart, they forgot that prudence which had hitherto kept them humble and cautious. Seeing the shores so nigh, growing momently nearer, the great trees, the verdant shrubs, the quiet nooks and sheltering places for which their fancies had so long yearned, they felt that all danger, all doubt and delay was at an end, and all reserve and secretiveness were forgotten. They prepared to leave their gloomy prison-ship, and to taste the virgin freedom of the shores. Each began to gather up his stores, and to separate his little stock of worldly good?, from the common mass. They gathered their bales and boxes from below. They strapped and un strapped them ; and grouped themselves upon the decks, waiting to see the anchor dropped, and to dart into the boats which were to carry them ashore. " Thus men for ever cheat themselves with their hopes, and the impatience of a single moment, will undo the work of years. "They were destined to disappointment. To their surprise, the ship was suddenly hauled off from land. The sails were backed. The shores receded from sight. They could not land that day. The captain had his reasons. They were in danger ous soundings. There were treacherous currents. The insidi ous rocks were about to work them disaster. It was necessary thnt they should seek a more accessible region in which to effect their progress to the desired haven. These were the grounds for the movement which baffled their anticipations at the moment of seeming certainty. " The last feather, it is said, breaks the camel s back. It in the last drop of bitter poured in the cup already full of bitter ness. I can not say that our poor Palatines were utterly broken down by their disappointments; but it is very sure that they felt as wretched that night, as they receded from the land so freshly won, as if they were required to begin their Anew. Of course, the pretexts i.f the master were wholly :. He had made his port. He had reached his true destiu.v Had run his proper course, and might have landed all his Pala tines that very night. That he did not, was due to their own #40 SOUTHWARD HO ! error of policy to that wild eagerness and childish hope, which made them heedless of a caution which they had hitherto pre served with a religious strictness, through long years in which they had known nothing but the caprice of fortune. " The careless, or the ostentatious exhibition of their hitherto concealed treasures, now held to be secure, was the true cause of the master s change of policy. His greedy eye had caught golden glimpses among their luggage. He had seen the silver vessels and the shining jewels he had detected the value of those heirlooms which had been accumulated and preserved by the tribe of adventurers, in spite of the trials of poverty, through long generations. " These discoveries awakened the devil in his heart. His was the sort of honesty which kept steadfast only in the absence of the tempter. He had, otherwise, few or no human motives for its exercise. His life had been a reckless and a restless one, and sober business performance was only to be pursued by way of variety, and in the absence of more exciting stimulants. His mate, or second officer, was a person after his own heart. To him he dropped a hint of his discoveries. A word to the rogue is quite as sufficient as to the wise man. It required but few words between the two to come to a mutual understanding. The seamen were severally sounded ; and the ship clawed off from the shore. " In those days the profession of piracy had no such odious character as it bears in ours. Successful piracy was, in short, rather a creditable business. It was not dishonorable, and he who practised it with most profit, was likely to acquire from it the best credit. Great pirates were knighted by great kings in tnose periods. Witness the case of the monster Henry Morgan. The bloody hand was rather a noble badge indeed, provided it was shown at court y//-handed. Then, as now, it was only your poor rogue who was hung for making too free with his neigh bor s goods. Piracy was legitimated beyond the line, and found its national and natural excuse in Great Britain when it could prove that the victims were only Spaniards or Frenchmen. Like any other speculation, its moral depended wholly on its results. We are not to feel surprised, therefore, at the easy virtue of our mariners a peopl" in thosr days, wlmsr livrs and morals <K* THE MIDNIGHT ASSASSINS. 341 casioned no such respectful concern or consideration among the pious as they command in ours. " The devil, accordingly, found nothing to obstruct his machi nations in the hearts of our captain and his subordinates. They determined upon possessing the goods and chattels of the poor emigrants, about whose fate the government was hardly likely to inquire. Hence the sudden purpose of drawing off from the shore, at the very moment of landing, to the mortification and final defeat of the hopes of our simple and unsuspecting Pala tines. 44 It was not found difficult to convince these ignorant people, that the safety of the vessel required these precautions that they had erred somewhat in their reckoning that they were still short of their promised port, and that a progress farther west was necessary. No matter what the plea, it was sufficient to silence complaint or murmuring. They were at the mercy of the master, whether he were pirate or honest mariner, and re signed themselves, with what philosophy they might, to the de cree that told them of rolling a few days longer on the deep. 44 They did not linger on deck after night, and when the shores were no longer visible. The hope deterred which makcth the In-art sick, drove the greater part of them to their hammock-. Their baggago, with the unhappily exposed wealth, was a^ain restored to tin- interior of the ship. Hut a few <* tlie \ ming men .at upon the .leek, watching the faint lines ,,f the land, until swallowed up in daikness ; even then, with eyes straining in the direction of the shore for which they yearned, conversing to gether, in their own language, in hope and confident expectation of their future fortunes. 14 While thus employed, the captain and his crew, in another part of the vessel, were concocting their fearful scheme of vil Inny. " The hour grew late, the nipht deepened ; the few German* who remained on deck, stretched themselves out where they were, and were soon composed in slumher. " While thus they lay under the peaceful c..pe and can heaven, in a slumber, which the solemn .starlight, looking down upon, seemed to hallow, the merciless M , urderers, with cautious foot step ;uid l.ar- upon them. The i-Hbin- I-M of the 342 SOUTHWARD HO ! vessel had been fastened, the entrance closed to the hold. Each seaman stood by his victim, and at a given signal they all struck together. There was no chance given for struggle the mur derers had planned their crime with terrible deliberation and consummate skill. A spasmodic throe of some muscular frame a faint cry a slight groan may have escaped the victims but little more. At least, the poor sleepers below were una- roused by the event. " The deck cleared of the murdered men, the murderers de scended stealthily to the work below. Passing from berth to berth with the most fiendish coolness, they struck seldom twice always fatally men, women, and children; the old, the young, the tender and the strong, the young mother and the poor angel-innocent but lately sent to earth all perished , not permitted to struggle, or submitting in despair, incapable of arresting the objects of the criminals. We may fancy for our selves the horror of such a scene. We may imagine some one or more of the victims awaking under the ill-directed knife awaking to a vain struggle unkindly alarming those into con sciousness who had no strength for conflict. Perhaps a mother may have found strength to rise to her knees, imploring mercy for the dear child of her heart and hope; may have been suf fered to live sufficiently long to see its death struggle, its wild contortions, in the grasp of the unrelenting assassin. Art may not describe such a scene truly, as imagination can hardly con ceive it. They perished, one and all that little family of em igrants; and the murderers, grouped around the treasures which had damned their hearts into the worst hell of covetousness and crime, were now busied in the division of their bloody spoils. 44 How they settled this matter among themselves what divis ion they made of the treasure and with what temper they decided upon their future course, must be wholly matter of con jecture. Tradition rarely deals with the minor details of her subject, though sufficiently courageous always in the conception of leading events. " The story further goes, that, having done the fearful deed without botching, thoroughly, effectively, suffering neither resis tance nor loss having possessed themselves of all that was valu%ble in the ship, as well a among the stores of theii vie- 1HK BIRNIV, Vi | dins the pirates proceeded to set the vessel on fire, as the safe mode for concealing all the proofs of their crime. They launched their boats. It was midnight. The night was calm and very Beautiful the stars looking down with serene . as innocently and unconsciously, as if there were no guilt, ami shame, and murder, anywhere visible; as if Death had not yet been born anywhere among the sons of men. No voices in the winds, no wail along the sea, arose to startle the secret con sciences of the bloody-handed wretches, fresh from their cruel sacrifice. They worked as if Law and Love both presided gratefully over their labors; and, with jest and laughter, and perhaps song, they cheerily toiled away, until their ill-gotten spoils were all safely transferred to the stowage of the boats. They then set the condemned vessel on fire " That fatul bark, Built in th* erlipso, and riggM with ruro dark ; and plied their prows in the direction of that shore, from the opening harbor of which they had withheld their longing vic tims. The fire, fed by tar ami other combustible matter, seized in-runtly on every portion of the fabric. The pirates had made their arrangements tor its destruction, in such a way as to leave no sort of doubt that the ship would be utterly destroyed. She herself sufficiently old and combustible. The flames rose triumphantly in air, licking aloft with great, red, rolling tongues, far above the maintop, darting out to the prow, climbing along spar and shuft, from stem to stern, from keel to bulwark, involv ing the whole mass in inextinguishable lire. The pirates looked with satisfied eyes upon their work. Not the deluge now should arrest the conflagration. The deep should engulf its embers! 14 Vain hop ! The Providence still sees, though the stars prove erring watchers. Suddenly, as the receding criminals looked back, the ship had ceased to blaze ! The masts, and spars, and sails, and cordage, still all alight, bright in fiery beauty, perfect in every lineament, no longer raged with the fire. The flames hissed and spread no longer. The fiery les no longer ascended like hissing serpent^ commi.ss! to destroy. They seemed each to sleep, long lines of red-hot glow, streaks of fire, shrouds of fire, sails of fire, hull and masts ciOUTHWAKl* HO ! of fire, fire alight of a fierce re.l Hame like that of an August sunset but fire that would not consume the thing of which it seemed to have become the essential life ! " What a wonder ! what a spectacle ! To the murderers, the finger of God was present. He was present, beholding all, and his judgment of fire was already begun. " For a moment every arm was paralyzed. The boats drifted idly on the waters. The oars dipped and dragged through the seas, undirected by the stroke, until the husky but harsh voice of the captain startled them into consciousness. He was a hardened sinner, but he too felt the terror. He was simply the first to recover from his paralysis. " Hell yawns ! It is hell we see ! Pull for dear life, men pull for shore. " And they obeyed ; and, fast as they fled, stoutly as they pulled for land, they looked back with horror and consternation at the sight that terrible spectacle behind them a ship all lire that would not burn a fire that would neither destroy its object, nor perish itself, nor give out conce<nling smokes, shrouding the form with blackness, shrouding the dreadful secret which they themselves had lighted up for the inspection of Heaven. Was God, in truth, presiding over that bloody deck? Was he then penetrating the secrets of that murderous hold ? Did hell really yawn upon them with its sulphurous fires ! Strange, indeed, and most terrific spectacle ! "They reached the land before the dawn of day. They drew their boats on shore upon a lonely waste, a few miles only from human habitations, but in a region utterly wild and savage. They had strength only to reach the land and draw the boats on shore in safety. Then they sank down, incapable of further effort, and gazed with vacant eyes upon the illuminated beacon of their hellish deeds. There, was a God there was a hell! They read Loth truths, for the first time clearly, in that awful picture of judgment. "All night thus did the ship continue to glow with unconsuming brightness. The mortal fires had been extinguished in the super natural. And thus articulately limned in phosphoric brightness, the fatal ship sped to and fro, now passing forward to the shore upou which they crouched now suddenly lost to sight, and THE CHARRED VESSEL. 845 reappearing in the east only to resume the same fast fearful toward the shore. At moments when they lost her, they breathed freely in a relieving sigh, and cried out: > sunk at last gone now gone for over ! \ moment after, they would cry out in horror: " Hell ! There she is again ! "A- : M the night passed. " With the dawning of the day the vessel had ceased to burn. She was no longer illuminate. But she was there still erect as ever perfect in hull, and masts, and spars, and sails, and i-ordage all unconsumed everything in its place, as if she were just lea\inr }" rt, hut everything blackened charred to supernatural blackness terribly sable gloomy ns death solemn, silent, portentous, moving to and fro in a never-ceasing progress from east to west. "With fascinated eyes the miserable murderers watched the dreadful spectacle all day. They ate nothing. They drank nothing. They had no sense but in their eyes, and these had but the one object. Every moment they watched to see the ship go down. When they spoke, it was with this hope ; and lien for a moment the spectre vessel recteuCd in the east, they cried thi.s hope aloud in gasping accents full horrid joy. Rut the j"\ changed in a moment as she reap peared unite near again to a despair more horrid. " With the return of ni<_ r ht the terrible fascination increased. The Min went down in beauty; the stars came out in serene sweetness; the ^ky was without a rloud. the sea without a mur mur; the winds slept upon the waves; the trees along shore hung motionle>s ; and all gradually melted mi.stily into the so ber darkne all but the Mackrned \esvel. Suddenly, she brightened. Suddenly, they beheld the snaky lire- running up the cordage. They wound abut tin- ma>t>; they Mjvtched themselves over the canvass ; they glared out upon the hr.-ad black sea with a tlmu.xand eye* of tire ; and the ship n^ahi went to and fro. from east to \\ est, illuminate in .supernatural fire. She bore down upon them thus, and st<nd off, then prore, then preyed with all canvass toward the beach upon which thev crouched, until mortal \\rakness could no linger endure the tenor. The dreadful horror could no more be borne. The 346 SOUTHWARD HO ! murderers fled from the shore fled to the cover of the forest, and buried themselves in the vast interior. " According to tradition, the penalty of blood has never been fully paid ; and the rule of retributive justice requires that the avenging fates and furies shall hang about the lives of the crim inals and their children, unless expiated by superior virtues in the progeny, and through the atoning mercies of the Savior. Hence the continued reappearance, year after year, of the Ship of Fire. The immediate criminals Feem to have gone free. At all events, tradition tells us nothing of their peculiar pains and penalties. Doubtlessly, Eternal justice followed on their footsteps. Their lives were haunted by terror and remorse. Horrid aspects crowded upon their souls in dreaming hours and in solitude. They lived on their ill-gotten spoils to little profit ; and, according to the story, each year brought them down, as by a fearful necessity, to the seashore, at the very period when the spectre ship made her fiery progress along the coast. This spectacle, which they were doomed to endure, kept alive and for ever green in their souls the terrible memory of their crime. They have all met the common destiny of earth are all dead ; for the period of their evil deed extends back long beyond the usual limit of human life. Their descendants still enjoy the fruits of their crime, and hence the still-recurring spectacle of the Ship of Fire, which, according to the tradition, must continue to reappear, on the spot consecrated by the crime, until the last de scendant of that bloody crew shall have expiated, by a death of shame and agony, the, bloody offences of his miserable ancestor " Our North-Carolinian paused. " Have you ever seen this Ship of Fire ?" was the question of one of the ladies. " I have seen something like it something BO utterly unac countable otherwise, under the circumstances, that I have been reluctantly compelled to account for the mystery by a reference to the tradition." This was said somewhat hesitatingly. The Alabamian touched the narrator on the shoulder: " I do not censure your credulity, my dear young Turpentine, nor will I question your belief in any way ; but suffer me to coun sel, that, whatever you may Ix-liove, you never permit yourself to Eriv a certificate of the f;irt. Xo affidavios. if you arc wise." CHAPTER XVI. SP1KIT-\VHISPERI\GS. REMINISCENCE. THE thanks of our little company were frankly given to uc:r young North-Carolinian, who had delivered himself much more successfully than we were prepared to expect, from the previous scenes in which his simplicity had quite failed to suspect the quizzing of the Alabamian. That satirical worthy joined in the applause with great good humor and evident sincerity, though he could not forbear his usual fling at the venerable North State. " Yerilv, tliuu hast done well, my young friend from the em pire of Terebinth ; thou hast delivered thyself with a commend able modesty and simplicity, which merits our best acknowledg ments. Pray, suppose me, among the rest, to be eminently de lighted and grateful accordingly. That a tragedy so grave, and so symmetrical as the one you have told, could have been coii- jured nut "f any of the historical or the traditional material of North Carolina, 1 could scarcely have l.flirved. I have been plea-rd to think her genius too saturnine or phlegmatic for such conceptions. If she lost the phlegm for a moment, it was to indulge in a spasmodic sort of cacchinati<>n. She relishes the ludicrous at times. Travelling la^t .summer over her railroad to the M>t. v. e came to a place called Strickland. " Strickland! cries the conductor: and at the word, an old woman got out, and a group of smiling country-girfi :t in. " Strickland, i: Bzdaimed "in- .Teiuthan I). -LI.-., an aged person in a bn>wn linen >-\ erall, and with a n;outh fnu; to r: ir . defiled ;it both extieinities. \\ith the bio\Mie>t juices of the weed Stricklanl, indeed! that s one of them big v they xe got up now, to take in ponple that don t kimw. The |ir..ple all about here calls the place Tear-Shirt* and they kain t be got to 1 aru your 6ne big name for it. Strickland s quite too big a mouthful for a corn-cracker. 348 SOUTHWARD HO! 41 Think of the pathetic susceptibilities of any people \v ho call their village Tear-Shirt ! I could not well believe it, and knowing in what sort of ditch water hyperbole our common sort of people are apt to deal, I turned to the fellow and said You don t mean that Tear-Shirt is the real name of this place ? " Why to be sure I do, said he that s what the people calls it all about ; its only the railroad folks that names it Strick land ; and he then told a long cock-and-bull story of a famous fight in these parts, at the first settling of the place, in which one of the parties, though undergoing a terrible pummelling all the while continued to tear the shirt wholly from the back of his assailant ; and this imposing event, seizing upon the popular imagination, caused the uainuig of the place the ludicrous naturally taking much firmer hold with the vulgar than the sub lime. The most pathetic circumstance that I ever witnessed, or, indeed, heard of in North Carolina, occurred iu this very region, and on the same occasion. I mentioned that a group of country girls came into the carts, at this place of ragged-linen cognonn. They were pretty girls enough, and several beaux were in at tendance ; and such sniggering and smiling, and chirping and chittering, would have made Cupid himself ache to hear and wit ness, even in the arms of Psyche. . " Ain t you going to take little CJiurnjbusco along with you, Miss Sallie V demanded one of the swains, holding up a pet pup py to the windows of the car. " 4 Ef they d let me, answered one of the girls; but they d want me to pay for his passage. " He ll be so sorry ef you leave him ! quoth the lover. " Well, I reckon, responded the girl, pertly enough, he won t be the only puppy that s sorry. " You re into me, Miss Sallie ! was the answer; and I shall feel sore about the ribs for the rest of the day. " I don t think, answered the girl 1 never gin you credit for any feeling. " * Ah ! you re too hard upon a body now. "Well, I don t want to be; for when I think about leaving Churrybusco, 1 has a sorrowful sort of feeling for all leetle dogs. "Well, take us both along. I ll pay for myself, and I reck- . . un the conductor won t see C hurry, anil he wont $ay nothing ef he does. " You think so? 441 I does. Well, hand him up here. I ll try it. And, with the words, the insignificant little monster, of gray complexion and curly tail, was handed into the window of the car, and carefully snuggled up in the shawl of Miss Sallie. Soon we wrre under way. Soon the conductor made his appear ance and received his dues. If he saw the dog, he was civil enough not to seem to see. For a few miles, the puppy and the. damsel went on (juietly enough. But Churrybusco became impa tient finally of his wrappings in the mantle, and he scrambled out, first up>n the M-.tt, then upon the floor of the car. Anon, we stopped tor a moment at some depot, where twenty-two barrels of turpentine were piled up ready for exportation. Here Churrybusco made his way to the platform, and, just as the car was moving oft , a clumsy steerage passenger, stepping from one car to another, tumbled the favorite from the platform upon the traek. Verv terrible and tender was the scream of the young lady- 44 Churrybusco ! Churrybusco! He .^ killed ! he s killed ! 44 But the whining and yelping puppy soon showed himself running with all his little legs in pursuit of the train, and bow- wowing with pitiful entreaty a* he ran. 44 Stop the ear! stop the car! cried the young lady to the conductor passing through. 44 Stop h 1 ! was the horrid answer t the ruffian. 44 The lady sobbed ami begged, but the oh.lurate monster was not to be moved by her entreaties. The damsel was whirled away, weeping all the while. If you :i-k tradition, it will prob ably tell you that the pup has kept on running to this day. n his stumps, as the fellow fought in the >hl Knglish ballad. The whole scene was very pathetic -niter a fn>hion. Now, that is the most tragic adventure that I ever hnd in North Carolina." 44 You may find other.-, more tragical," (ju>th uur North-Caro linian, significantly, 4t if you travel frequently on that route, and use your tongue as freely as you d> here." We soon g"t Lack to the traditions of the great deep itfl 3f>0 SOUTHWARD HO ! storms and secrets. Our captain then told the following anec dote of his own experience : " You remember the fate of the Pulaski 1 Well, when she arrived from Savannah, full of passengers, and took in almost as great a number in the port of Charleston, the packet-ship Sutton, which I then commanded, was up for New York also. The Pulaski was all the rage, as she had announced that she was to be only one night at sea. My ship had a large list of her own passengers, some of whom were prudent enough to prefer our ancient slow and easy sailer. But two of them were now anxious to leave me, and take the Pulaski. Of course, I had no objections to their doing so ; I simply objected to giving them back their money. They were not so anxious to get on as to make them incur double expense of passage, so they remained with me, growling and looking sulky all the way. Of course, my reso lution saved their lives, but I do not remember that they ever thanked me for having done so, or apologized for their sulks upon the way. But, curious enough, before they left the port, and while they were clamoring for their discharge, there came a gentleman from the interior, who had taken passage in the Pu laski, and paid his money to that vessel. He implored a place in my ship, giving as his reason that he was afraid to go in the steamer. He was troubled with a presentiment of danger, and preferred to forfeit his money, rather than lose his life. His earnestness to get on board the Sutton, and to escape the Pu laski, was in amusing contrast with that of my two passengers who wished to escape from me. I had no berth for the stran ger, but he insisted. He could sleep anywhere any how and desired conveyance only. He was accommodated, and was, of course, one of those who escaped the danger. " It so happened that we had on board the Sutton several members of one of the most distinguished of the South Carolina families. A portion of tin* family, in spite of the wishes of the rest, had gone in the Pulaski. The steamer, of course, soon showed us her heels, and the Sntlon went forward as slowly as the most philosophical patience could desire. We had light and baffling winds nothing to help us forward but no bad weather. The long-sided coast of North Carolina stretched away, never ending in length, for days upon our quarter. A* MYSTERIOUS VOICES. 361 length, by dint of patience rather than wind, we reached that latitude in which the 1 ulaski had Mown up four days before. Wr must have boon very nearly over the very spot, as we dis covered by calculation afterward. Of course we were wholly in ignorance of the terrible catastrophe. 1 That evening, one of the gentlemen of the Carolina family I have mentioned, came to me, and said that he had heard < of distress and meanings, as of some persons upon the water. I immediately set watches about the vessel, examined as well as I might myself, but could neither hear nor see any object be yond the ship. He again heard the noises, and again I watched and examined. He was excited necessarily, and I greatly anx ious. With the first dawn of morning I was up in the rigging, and sweeping the seas with my glass. Nothing was to be seen. We had no special fears, no apprehensions. There seemed no reason for apprehension. None of us thought of the Fulaski. She was a good seaboat, and, saving the presentiment of the one passenger, who did not again speak of the scruples ho bad expressed on shore, there were not only no apprehensions en tertained of the steamer s safety, but our passengers, many of them, were all the while regretting that they had not gone in her. We never heard of her fate, or suspected it, till we took our pilot, off Sandy Hook. Now, what do you say of the warn ing criea which were heard by the one gentlemen, whose kins men in the Pulaski were all lost. Four days before, they were perishing, without help, in that very spot of sea. The presenti ment* of the one passenger, before we started, the signs mani- d to another after the terrible event, arc .surely s>jir.ewh*t curious, as occurring in the case of this single ship. 1 think that I am as little liable to superstition* fears and fancies as any body present, and vrt. these things, \\ith a thi>u>and others in my sea experience, have satisfied me to believe with Hamlet, that "TlnTi- in.- more l! li (! i - :i:nl Earth, Than HP- ilp-nm--<| of in nur i-h:!. <,j.hv. " Once open the way for the supernatural, and it is surprising what a body of testimony you can procure. Most people are sensitive to ridicule on this subject, and will rarely deliver the ecretA of their prison houbc to other ears, unless the cue hu 352 SOUTHWARD HO ! been first given to the company by one bolder than the rest. Our captain s anecdote led to a variety of experiences and revela tions, at the close of which, one of the party, being reminded of his appointment as next raconteur, bestowed the following dark fancy-piece upon us, which he assured us was woven in the world of dreams, and was, in most respects, a bonajidc report of a real experience in the domain of sleep : THE WAGER OF BATTLE. A TA1.ROF THE FEUDAL AGES. C H A I* T E K I. THE analysis of the dreaming faculty has never yet been made. The nearest approach to it is in our own time, and by the doctors of Phrenology. The suggestion of a plurality of mental attributes, and of their independence, one of the other, affords a key to some of the difficulties of the subject, without altogether enabling us to penetrate the mystery. Many diffi culties remain to be overcome, if we rely upon the ordinary mo. les of thinking. My own notion is, simply, that the condition of sleep is one which by no means affects the mental nature. I tilink ir probable that the mind, accustomed to exercise, thinks IH, however deep may be the sleep of the physical man ; that the highest exercise of the thinking faculty -that which involves the. imagination is, perhaps, never more acutely free to work out its problems than when unembarrassed by the cares and anxieties of the temperament and form ; and that dreaming is neither more nor less than habitual thought, apart from the or dinary restraints of humanity, of which the memory, at waking, retains a more or less distinct consciousness. This thought may or may not have been engendered by the topics which IKU e im pressed or interested us during the day ; but this is not necessary nor is it inevitable. We dream precisely as we think, with sug gestions arising to the mind in sleep, spontaneously, as they do continually when awake, without any special provocation ; and our dreams, in all probability, did not our memory fail IKS at awaking, would possess that coherence, proportion and mutual relation of parts, which the ordinary use of the rati"oin*tivO THK NI.;HT I KiKl KCT. 858 faculties requires. I have no sort of doubt tliat the sleep of the physical man may he perfect, even while the mind is at work, in a high state of activity, and even excitement. in its mighty store house. Tlie eye may he shut, the ear close. 1, the tongue sealed, the ta<te inappreciative, and the nerves of touch locked up in the fast embrace of unconsciousness, while thought, fancy, im agination, comparison and causality, are all husy in the most keen inquiries, and in the most wonderful creations. Hut my purp-isp is n>t now to insist upon these phenomena, and my speculations are only meant properly to introduce a vision of my own ; one if those wild, strange, foreign fancies which sometimes so unex- -dly people and employ our slumbers coherent, seemingly, in all its parts, yet as utterly remote as can well be imagined from the topics of daily experience and customary reflection. I had prohably hern asleep a couple of hours, when I was Fwakenei! with some oppressive mental .sensation. I was con scious that I had hern dreaming, and that I had seen a crowd of persons, either in long pn>cessj ( ,n. ,-r engaged in some great state ceremonial. Hut of the particulars the place, the parties the purple. or the period, I had not the most distant recollec tion. I was conscious. however, of an excited puke, and of a feeling so NftieMi as made me, for a moment, fancy that I had r. Such, however, was not the case. 1 lose, threw on my robe df chamtirc, and went to the window. Tin- moon was in her meridian ; the whole landscape was llickering with the light ilvery haze with which she carpeted her pathway. From the glossy surface of the orange leaver immediately heneath the window, glinted a thousand diamond-like points of inexpressible itne.ss ; while over all the fields wa- spi-ad a fleecy softneM, that w;s (loul.lv pure and delicate in contact with the sombre foliage of the great forest, to the very foot of which it stretched. There \\ as nothing in the MM btfort me that was n,,t at once gentle and beautiful; nothing which, by the most remote nection, could possihh an idea c*f darkness or of terror. I gazed upon the scene only for a few moments. The night was cold, and a sudden shivering dullness which it sent through all my frame, counselled me to get back to bed with all possible ex pedition. I did so, but was not successful in wooing the return 354 SOUTHWARD HO ! of those slumbers which had been so unusually banished from mine eyes. For more than an hour I lay tossing and dissatisfied, with my thoughts flitting from subject to subject with all the caprice of an April butterfly. When I again slept, however, I was again conscious of a crowd. A multitude of objects parsed in prolonged bodies before my sight. Troops of glittering forms then occupied the canvass, one succeeding to the other regularly, but without any individuality of object or distinct feature. Hut I could catch at intervals a bright flash, as of a plume or jewel, of particular size and splendor, leading me to the conviction that what I beheld was the progress of some great state ceremonial, or the triumphal march of some well-appointed army. Hut whether the procession moved under the eagles of the Roman, the horse-tails of the Ottoman, or the lion banner of England, it was impossible to ascertain. I could distinguish none of the en signs of battle. The movements were all slow and regular. There was nothing of strife or hurry none of the clamor of invasion or exultation of victoiy. The spectacle passed on with a measured pomp, as if it belonged to some sad and gloomy rite, where the splendor rather increased the solemnity to which it was simp^ tributary. CHAPTER II. THE scene changed even as I gazed. The crowd had disap peared. The vast multitude was gone from sight, and mine eye, which had strained after the last of their retreating shadows, now dropped its lids on vacancy. Soon, however, instead of the great waste of space and sky, which left me without place of rest for sight, I beheld the interior of a vast and magnificent hall, most like the interior of some lofty cathedral. The style of the building was arabesque, at once richly and elaborately wrought, and sombre. The pointed arches, reached by halt-moon involu tions, with the complex carvings and decorations of cornice, column, and ceiling, at once carried me hack to those wondrous specimens which the art of the Saracen has left rather for our admiration than rivalry. The apartment was surrounded by a double row of column*; slender shafts, which seemed rather the antenna? of graceful plants than bulks and bodies of stone ami marble, rising for near fifty feet in height, then gradually II IK I KTDAL I AI | 355 spreading in numerous caryatides, resembling twisted and un folding serpents, to the support of the vast roof. All appearance ut bulk, of cumhrousiies.s, even of strength, seemed lo>t in tin* elaborate delicacy with which these antenna- stretched them selves from .side to side, uniting the several arche> in span- if tlie most airy lightness and heauty. The givat root for \\ Inch they furnished the adequate snj;jort, m>e tpO high in the hut partial light which tilled tin- hall, to enable me to gather in. .re than an imperfect idea of its eharacter and workmanship. Hut of its great height the very incapacity to define its character at d me a sufficient notion. Where the light yielded the de.sired opportunity, I found the tlo\\ ery beauty of the architecture. ,.n v hand, to be alike inimitable. To describe it \\ould be im- ;bh . A tliousand extjui.site points of light, the slenderest beams, seemed to depend, like so many icicles, from arch and elevation to fringe the several entrances and windows to hang from every beam and rafter; and to ru-t over all, an ap pearance so peifcctly aerial, as to make me doubtful, at moments. whether the immense interior which 1 saw them span, with the massive but dusky ceiling which they were inteiide 1 to sustain, were not, in fact, a little world of wood, with the blue sky dimly overhead, a realm of vines Mini tl<>\\ers. with poli.sheil woodland shafts, lavishly and artfully accumulated in the open air. to produce, in an imperfect light, a dclusi\ e appearanee of archi tectural weight, magnificence and majesty. An immense avenue, formed of columns thus embraced and bound together by the most elaborate and fantastic carvings, linked vines, binighs, flowers and serpent.-, opened before me, rondin ting tli through tar vista* of the same des -ription, thus continuing the impression of cathedral avenue- -. The uiled along these ja->.-a^e.-. wandered into other.- ijuite as iiit iininable, with fre<|uent gliiiipHo* into lateral range> <|U tc ..s \\ ..n.i-iful and ample, until the dim peispective \\ as shut, not beranx- ,,l tl,,. tennuiAtion of the pa age. tml I MIMM "f the painful inability in the sight anyfuither to pursue it. Kac h of these a\ -nues had its dec. .rations, .-imilaily rlaboiate and om.ite uith the n-t of the interior. Vine- and llo\\ n-. -tar* and \\ reath-. croH868 ami circle..- \\ith -ui-h \ariet \ of form and color as the ka,. scope only mignt product i emulation of the fancy \\i-ie 11 356 SOUTHWARD HO ! present, but symmetrically duplicated, so as to produce an equal correspondence on each side, figure answering to figure. But these decorations were made tributary to other objects. Numer ous niches opened to the sight, as you penetrated the mighty avenue, in which stood noble and commanding forms; statues of knights in armor; of princes; great men who had swayed nations ; heroes, who had encountered dragons for the safety of the race ; and saintly persons, who had called down blessings from heaven upon the nation in the hour of its danger and its fear. The greater number of these stood erect as when in life ; but some sat, some reclined, and others knelt ; but all, save for the hue of the marble m which they were wrought so exquisite was the art which they had employed would have seemed to be living even then. Around the apartment which I have been describing, were double aisles, or rather avenues, formed by sister columns, corresponding in workmanship and style, if not in size, with those which sustained the roof. These were deep and sepulchral in shadow, but withal very attractive and lovely places ; retreats of shade, and silence, and solemn beauty ; autumnal walks, where the heart which had been wounded by the shafts and sorrows of the world, might rly, and be secure, pud where the form, wandering lonely among the long shadows of grove and pillar, and in the presence of noble and holy images of past worth and virtue, might still maintain the erect stature which belongs to elevated fancies, to purest purposes, and great designs for ever working in the soul. But it would be idle to attempt to convey, unless by general ities, any definite idea of the vast and magnificent theatre, <T of that singular and sombre beauty with which I now found myself surrounded. Enough, that, while I was absorbed, with my whole imagination deeply excited by the architectural grandeur which I surveyed, I had grown heedless of the progress of events among certain human actors if I may be thus permitted to des ignate the creatures of a vision which had meanwhile taken their places in little groups in a portion of the ample area. While mine eyes had heen uplifted in the contemplation of things inanimate, it appears that a human action was in progress on a portion of the .-<vne below. 1 was snddenlv aroux-d by a >tir and bustle, followed by a faint murmur, as of applauding voices, THE SOVEREIGN. 357 which at length reached my cars, and diverted my gaze from tlio remote and lofty, tn the rirli tesselated pavement of tlie apart ment If the mere splendor of tin- structure had so fastened upon my imagination, what can I say i.f the scene which now commanded my attention ! There was tin- pomp <f courts, the pride of majesty, the glory of armor, tin md charm of aristocratic heauty. in all her plumage, to make me forgetful of all other display. I now heheld groups of nohle p.-rsons, clad in courtly dresses, in knightly armor, salde and purple, with a profusion of gold and jewels, rich scarfs, and plumes ..f sn: sing splendor. Other groups presented me with a most imposing vision of that gorgeous church, whose mitred prelates could place their fret upon the necks of mightiest princes, and s\\av, for good or evil, the destinies of conflicting nations. There were priests clad in flowing garments, courtiers in silks, and nohlest dames, who had v.vayed in courts from immemorial time. Their long and rustling trains were npl.orne by damsels and pages, lovely enough, and richly enough arrayed, to he apt ministers in the ^ erv courts of Love himself. A chair of state, massive, and richly draped in purple and gold, with golden insignia, over which hung the jeweled tiara of sovereignty, was raised upon a ilaix some five feet nhove the level of the crowd. This was filled hy a tall and sh-nder person, to whom all made obeisance as to an imperial master. He was hahited in salde, a single jewel upon his hrow. hearing up a massi\ ( . shock of feathers as Mack and glossy as if wrought out of sparkling coal. The air of ma; in his action, the hahitual command upon his hrow, left me in no douht of his sovereign state, even had the oln-isance of the mul titude heen w.mting. Hut he looked not as if long destined to hold sway in mortal provinces. His person \\ a> meagre. M if wasted hy disease. Hi- checks \\ere pale and holh-w ; while a peculiar brightness of the eyei shone in painful contrast uith the pale and ghastly coh.r of hi> face. Hehind his chair stood one vho evidently held the jmsition of a favorite and trusted coun sellor. H. irai magnificently hahited with a profusion of jrwels, which nevertheless added hut little to the nohle air and exquisite symmetry of his perton. At intervals he could he seen to hend over to : f the prince, as if whispoing him in >eciet. This show of intimacy, if phsisini: to his -uperior. was vot 358 SOUTHWARD HO ! evidently of different effect upon many others in the assembly The costume of the place was that of the Norman sway in Eng land, before the Saxons had quite succeeded, through the jealousy entertained by the kings, of their nobles, in obtaining a share of those indulgences which finally paved the way to their recognition by the conquerors. Yet, even in this respect of costume, I was conscious of some discrepancies. Some of the habits worn were decidedly Spanish ; but as these were mingled with others which bore conclusive proof of the presence of the wearers in the wars of the Crusades, it was not improbable that they had been adopted as things of fancy, from a free com munion of the parties with knights of Spain whom they had encountered in the Holy Land. But I was not long permitted to bestow my regards on a sub ject so subordinate as dress. The scene was evidently no mere spectacle. Important and adverse interests were depending wild passions were at work, and the action of a very vivid drama was about to open upon me. A sudden blast of a trumpet pene trated the hall. I say Hunt, though the sounds were faint as if subdued by distance. But the note itself, and the instrument could not have been mistaken. A stir ensued among the spec tators. The crowd divided before an outer door, and those more distant bent forward, looking in this direction with an ea^cr anx iety which none seemed disposed to conceal. They were not long kept in suspense. A sudden unfolding of the great valves of the entrance followed, when a rush was made from without. The tread of heavy footsteps, the waving of tall plumes, and a murmur from the multitude, announced the presence of other parties for whom the action of the drama was kept in abeyance. The crowd opened from right to left, and one of the company stood alone, with every eye of the vast assemblage fixed curi ously upon his person. CHAPTKR III. AND well, apart from every consideration yet to be developed, might they gaze upon the princely form that now stood erect, and with something approaching to defiance in his air and man ner, in the centre of the va>? a-enihlagc. lie * habited in THE TRAITOR PP.TNTF. haiii armor, the admirable work, in all probability, of the shops it Milan. This, though {tainted >r stained thoroughly black, yet threw out a glossy lustre of incredible brightness. I pon liis hrea<t. a* if the luve token of some noble damsel, a broad scarf of the most delicate hlue was seen to float. A cap of velvet, with a double loop in front, hearing a very large brilliant from wliicli rose a bunch of sable pinmes, was discarded from his brows the moment that he stood within the royal presence. He stood for a brief space, seeming to survey the scene, then ad vanced with a bold and somewhat rapid step, as if n natural spirit of fearlessness bad been stimulated into eagerness by a con sciousness ..f wrong 1 and a just feeling of indignation. His face scarcely le-s noble than his form and manner, but it was marked by angrv passions was red and swollen and as he passed onward to the foot of the throne, he glanced fiercely on either hand, as if seeking for an enemy. In spite of the tea; Mil ..f hiv pngveM, I could now perceive that he was under constraint ami in dure . A -fnmg body of halberdier- c upon his course, and evidently stood prepared and watchful of his everv movement. As he approached the throne, the sever*! groups gave way befoi-- him, and he stood, with unobstructed vision, in the immediate pre-mce of the monarch. For an in stant he remained erect, with a mien unsubdued and almost haughty, while a low murmur as I fancied, of indignation in various portions of the hall. The face of the king him self seemed suddenly flu-lied, and a livelv play of the muscles of hi- countenance led me to believe that he was about to give utterance to his anger: but. at this moment, the stranger sunk fully but proudly upon his knee. and. bending hi* forehead, with a studied humility in his prostration, disarmed, if it had h-"i felt, the indignation of hi-. I This done, he n>-e to his feet with a manly ease, and stood silent, in an attitude of expec tation, but with a calm, martial erectness, as rigid as if cut from the inflexible rock. Thr kiii _ r spoke, but the words were inaudible to my ear- Then- was a murmur from vari<>u- parts of the assembly. Sev eral voices followed that of the monarch, but of these I could not comprehend the purport. I could only judge of the charac ter of what was said by its startling effect upon th If 360 SOUTHWARD HO ! excited before, he seemed to be almost maddened now. H R eyes followed the murmuring voices from side to side of the as sembly, with a fearful flashing energy, which made them dilate, as if endangering the limits of their reddened sockets. A like feverish and impatient fury threw his form into spasmodic action. His figure seemed to rise and swell, towering above the rest. His arms were stretched in the direction of the assailing voices. His clenched fist seemed to threaten the speakers with in stant violence. Unintimidated by the presence in which he stood, his appearance was that of a subject, not only too strong for his superior, but too confident and presumptuous for his own self-subjection, even in the moment of greatest peril to himself. He resumed his composure at last, and the murmur ceased around him. There was deep silence, and the eyes of the stran ger were fixed rigidly upon those of his prince. The latter was evidently moved. His hand was extended something he spoke. which I again lost ; but, strange to say, the reply of the stranger came sharply and distinctly to my ear. "Swear! Why should I swear? Should I call upon the Holy Evangel as my witness, when I see not my accuser ? Let him appear. Let him look me in the face, if there be lord or knight in this assembly so bold, and tell me that I am guilty of this treason. Sire ! I challenge my accuser. I have no other answer to the charge!" CHAPTER IV. THE lips of the king moved. The nobleman who stood be hind his throne, and whom I conceived to be his favorite, bent down and received bin orders ; then disappeared behind one of tin- columns whose richly-decorate l. but slender shafts, rose up directly behind him, like some graceful steins of the forest, over which the wildering vine, and the gaudy parasite clambers with an embrace that kills. But a few moments elapsed when the favorite reappeared. He was accompanied by a person, whose peculiar form and aspect will deserve especial description. In that hall, in the presence of princes, surrounded hy knights and noltles of the proudest in the land, the person newly come though seemingly neither knight nor noble was one of the most THK MAMCIAN. 861 lofty in his carriage, and most imposing and impressive in his h">k and manner. He was not only taller than the rare of men in general, but be was obviously taller than any in that select circle hy which he was surrounded. Nor did his features mis- beseem his person. These were singularly nolde, and of Italian cast and character. His lace *ai large, and of the most perfect oval. Though that of a man who had probably seen and suffered under sixtv winters, it still him- the proofs of a beauty once remarkable. It still retained a youthful freshness, which spoke for a conscience free from remorse and self-reproach. UN \\eiv ,.f a mild, but holily expressive blue; and beneath their rather thin white brows, were declarative of more than human benevolence. His fun-head was very large and lofty, of great breadth and compass, in the regions of ideality and sublimity, as well as cau-.ilitv; while his hair, thick still, and depending from behind his head in numerous waving curls, was. like his heard, of the mo>t silvery whiteness. ThU WM spread, massive- 1\, upon his breast, which it covered almost to the waist. His complexion was very pale, but of a clear whiteness, and harmo nized sweetly with the antique beauty and power of his head. lli> costume differed in style, texture and stutV, entirely from that which prevailed in the assembly. A loose white robe, \\hich Xtoftded fioiu his .shoulders to the ground, was hound about his bodv by a belt of plain Spanish leather, and worn with a grace and noldenes- perfectly majestieal. His feet \\ ere clothed iu .Jewish sandals. Hut then- \\ as nothing proud or haughty in his majesty. < >n the contrary.it was in omtrast with the evident humility in his eye and gesture, that his of bearing be trayed itself. Thi- seemed to be as much the fruit of pure and elevated thoughts, calm and RMg I that Miperior physical organi/atiou which made thi- aged man t..\\er as greatl\ | the rest, in [ :d\ did in air ami iuai.: He advanced, as he appeare-i. to the f.,..t uf the th: fullv sunk I ftore it, then lising, stood in ijuiet. ns awaiting tlu- royal command to speak. II nice seemed to till the Heinidy with eager curiosity. A sudden hush prevailed a* he approached, the natural result of that a\\e \\hich gieat superior ity usually inspire.-- in the breast <>| ignorance. There was but one face amoug the spectators that bcemed to betray no curiosity 16 3f>2 SOUTHWARD HO ! as he came in si^ht. This was that of the accused. With the first coming of the ancient man, I had instinctively fixed my gaze upon the countenance of the nobleman. I could easily discern that his lips were compressed as if by sudden effort, while his usually florid features were covered with a momentary paleness. This emotion, with the utter absence of that air of curiosity which marked every other visage, struck me, at once, as somewhat significant of guilt. "Behold thy accuser!" exclaimed the sovereign. " He ! the bookworm ! the dreamer ! the madman ! sor cerer to the vulgar, but less than dotard to the wise ! Does your majesty look to a star-gazer for such evidence as will degrade with shame the nobles of your realm ? Sire ! if no sorcerer, this old man is verily distraught! He is lunatic or vile a madman, or a bought servitor of Satan !" The venerable man thus scornfully denounced, stood, mean while, looking sorrowful and subdued, but calm and unruffled, at the foot of the dais. His eye rested a moment upon the speaker, then turned, as if to listen to that speech, with which the favor ite, behind the throne of the monarch, appeared to reply to the language of the accused. This I did not hear, nor yet that which the sovereign addressed to the same person. But the import might be divined by the answer of the ace-used. "And 1 say, your majesty, that what he hath alleged is false all a false and bitter falsehood, devised by cunning and malice to work out the purposes of hate. My word against his my gauntlet against the world. I defy him to the proof ! I defy all my accusers !" " And he shall have the truth, your majesty," was the firm, clear answer with which the venerable man responded to this defiance. His tones rang through the assembly like those of a sweet bell in the wilderness. " My life, sire, is sworn to the truth! 1 can speak no other language. That I have said nothing falsely .f this lord, I invoke the attestation of the Lord of all. 1 have had his sacred volume brought into this presence You shall know, sire, what I believe, by what I swear!" He made a step aside. even while, lie spoke. to a little girl whom I had not before seen, l>ut wh had evidently followed him intc the assembly. She now approached, bearing in her hands one TI1K \< * ! --\Tinv. 368 rtf those finely illuminated manuscripts of an early day of hris- tian history in Kurope. which are now worth their we^ht in g^)ld. I could just perceive, as lie opened the ma-she fohiine, by its heavy metallic cla-ps. tliat the characters were strange, and readily conjectured them to he Hebrew. The work, from what he said, and the use to which lie applied it. I assumed to be the Holy Scriptures. He received it reverently from the child, placed it deliberately upon one of the steps of the /A//.v, then knelt he fore it, his venerable head for a moment, being bowed to the very floor. Then raisini: hi* eyes, hut without rising from his position, he placed one hand upon this volume. raided the other to heaven, and, with a deep and solemn Voice, called upon (iod and the H..ly Kvanirelists, to witness that what he had spoken, and was about to speak, was " the truth, and the truth only spo ken with no malice -- no wicked or evil intent and rather to defeat and prevent the evil designs of the per son he accused." In this posture, and thus affirming, h< pro ceeded t<> declare that " the accused had applied to him for a potent poison which should have the power of usurping life sln\\]y. and without producing any of those striking effects upon the outward man. as would induce suspicion of criminal practice." II. added, with other particulars that "the accused had invited him, under certain temptations, which had been succeeded by threats, to become one of a party to his designs, the victim of which was to be his majesty then sitting upon the throne." CHAPTER V. Si . U was the tenor of the asseverations which he made, for tified by numerous details, all tending -tnni^Iy to confirm the truth of his accusations, his own testimony once hcin^ relied on. There was something so noble in this man s action, so delicate* so impressive. Ml limpfe, vet so ;raud ; and tin- particulars which he j^ r ave were all so prohahlv arraved. so well put together, and emingly in continuation of other circumstances drawn from the testimony of other parties, that all around appeared fully impressed with the most perfect conviction that his accusation was justly made A short but painful silence followed his nar ration, which seemed, for an instant, to confound the guilty no- 3t)4 SOUTHWARD HO! ble. The sad countenance of the monarch deepened to seventy while a smile of triumph and exultation rose to that of the favor- ite behind his throne. At this sight the accused person recov ered all his audacity. With half-choking utterance, and features kindling with fury rather than faltering with fear, he demanded, "Am I to be heard, your majesty . " A wave of the monarch s hand gave him the desired permis sion, and his reply burst forth like a torrent. He gave the lie to his accuser, whom he denounced as an impostor, as one who was the creature of his and the king s enemies, and tampering, himself, with the sovereign s life while pretending to minister to his ailments. He ridiculed, with bitterness and scorn, the notion that any faith should be given to the statements, though even )ffered on oath, of one whom he affirmed to be an unbeliever *nd a Jew ; and, as if to crown his defence with a seal no less ftnpressive than that of his accuser, he advanced to the foot of the throne, grasped the sacred volume from the hands by which it was upheld, and kneeling, with his lips pressed upon the opened pages, he imprecated upon himself, if his denial were not the tnith, all the treasured wrath and thunder in the stores of Heaven ! The accuser heard, with uplifted hands and looks of holy hor ror, the wild and terrible invocation. Almost unconsciously his lips parted with the comment : " God have mercy upon your soul, my lord, for you have spoken a most awful perjury !" The king looked bewildered, the favorite behind him dissatis fied, and the whole audience apparently stunned by equal incer titude and excitement. The eyes of all parties fluctuated be tween the accused and the accuser. They stood but a few paces asunder. The former looked like a man who only with a great struggle succeeded in controlling his fury. The latter stood sor rowful, but calm. The little girl who had brought in the holy volume stood before him, with one of his hands resting upon her head. Her features greatly resembled his own. She looked terrified ; her eyes fastened ever upon the face of her father s enemy with a countenance of equal curiosity and suspicion. Some conversation, the sense of which did not reach me. now ensued between the king and two of his counsellors, to which THE GA(;K OF BATTLE. hi.s favorite w;s a party. The former again addressed the ac cuser. Have you any other testimony but that which you yourself offer of tlie truth of your accusation. " N<>nr, your majesty. I have no witness of my truth but God, and it is not for vain man to prescribe to him at what sea- his testimony should be given. In bringing this accusa tion, my purpose was not the destruction of the criminal, but the safety of my sovereign ; and I am the more happy that no con viction can now follow t roin my charge, as from the dreadful oath which he has just taken, he places it out of the power of human tribunal to resolve between us. For the same reasons, he is in no condition to suffer death ! Let him live ! It is enough for me that your majesty is safe from the present, and has been warned against all future danger at his hands." " But not enough for me !" cried the accused, breaking in im petuously. "I have been charged with a foul crime ; 1 must free n-v <cutehe.n from the shame. 1 will not rest beneath it. If this Jewish sorcerer hath no better proof than his own false tongue, I demand from your majesty the wager of battle ! I, too, invoke God and the blessed Jesu, in testimony of my innocence, enemv hath slandered me; I will wash out the slander with his blood ! 1 demand the trial, sire, his arm against mine. iing to the laws and custom .f this realm." " It can not be denied !" was the cry from many \nices. Tin- favorite looked grave and troubled. The eyes of the king \\ere fixed sadly upon the venerable accuser. The latter >ecmcd to understand the expression. "1 am not a man of blood, your majesty. Strife hath long banished from thin bosom ; carnal weapons have long been discarded from these hands." "Let him find a champion!" was the tierce an-wer of tin- accused. "And of what avail to me." returned the accuser. M the brute valor of the hireling who -,-lU tor wages the strength of his man hood, and perils for gain the -atetv of his life. Little >hnild I hope from the skill of .such M he. opposed in combat to one of the greatest warriors of the realm." " Ah, sorcerer ! tlmu fearest !" was the exulting cry of the 366 SOUTHWARD HO! accused; "but, if thy cause ho that of truth, as thou hast chal- 1 on prod the Most High to witness, what hast thou to fear? The >tars which thou searchest nightly, will they not do battle in thy behalf?" " Methinks," said the favorite, who now advanced from behind the throne, " methinks, old man, thou hast hut too little reliance on the will and power of God to assist thee in this matter. It is for him to strengthen the feeblest, whore he is innocent, and in the ranks of war to do successful battle with the best and bravest, Is it not written, The race is not always to the swift, nor the triumph to the strong! " " Ah ! do I not know this, my lord ? Do not think that T ques tion the power of the Lord to do marvels, whenever it becomes his will to do so ; hut who is it, believing in God s might and mercy, that flings himself idly from the steep, with the hopo that an an gel s wings shall ho sent to bear him up. I have been taught by the faith which T profess, to honor the Lord our God, and not to tempt him ; and 1 do not readily believe that, we may command the extraordinary manifestations of his power by any such vain and uncertain issue as that which you would now institute. I believe not that the tnith is inevitably sure to follow the wager and trial of battle, nor will I lean on the succor of any hireling weapon to avouch for mine." " It need be no hireling sword, old man. The brave and the noble love adventure, for its own sake, in the paths of danger ; and it may bo that thou shalt find some one, even in this assem bly, noble as him thou accusost, and not less valiant with his weapon, who, believing in thy truth, shall bo willing to do bat tle in thy behalf." "Thyself, perchance!" cried the accused, impetuously, and turning a fiery glance upon the speaker. In this glance it s.MMned to me that I could discover a far greater degree of bit terness and hate than in any which he had shown to his accuser. " It is thyself that would do this battle ? Ha them art he, then, equally noble and not less valiant, art thou? Be it so! It will rejoice me shouldst thou venture thy body in this quarrel. Hut I know thee thou Invest it to., well thou durst not." "Cli iMM- me for thv champion, old man," was the further speech of the favorite, with a difficult effort to be calm. " 1 will THK ,1.<>VK. do battle for thee, and with (;..d > mercy, sustain the right in thy behalf." Thou shall not !" exclaimed the king, vehemently, but feebly, half rising as he spoke, and turning to the favorite. " Thou shalt not! I command thee mix not in this matter." More was said, but in such a feeble tone that it failed to reach my senses. When the king grew silent, the favorite bowed with submissive deference, and sunk again behind the throne. A scornful smile passed over the lips of the accused, who looked, with a bitter intelligence of gaze, upon a little group seemingly his friends and supporters, who had partly grouped themselves around him. i- .dlowing his glance, a moment after toward the royal person, I was attracted by a movement, though fora single instant only, of the uplifted hand of the favorite. It a sign to the accuse.!, the former withdrawing the L from his right hand, a moment after, and Hinging it, with a sig nificant action, to the floor behind him. The accused, \\ hi>pered a page hi waiting, who immediately stole away and disappeared from sight. But a little while elapsed when I beheld him ap- . -h the sjH.t where the glove had fallen, recover it adroitly, and convey it, unperceived, into his bosom. All this by-play, though no doubt apparent to many in the assembly, was evi dently unseen and unsuspected by the king. I infeired the rank luxuriance of the practice of chivalry in this region, from the nicety \\ith which the afVair was conducted, and the forbearance of all those by whom it had been \\itnes.-ed, to make any report of what they had beheld. The discussion was resumed by the 1 am aware, your majesty , that by the laws and practice of your realm, the wager of battle is one that may be freely chal lenged by anv MHO Accused of treason, .r other crime against the utate, against whom there shall be no \\itne.ss but th. It is not the fear of danger which makes me unwillin. this conflict; it is the fear of doing \\rong. Though the issues of battle urn in the, hand* of the I Hit shall persuade me that he has decreed the coinhat t take place. Nou I do confess that 1 regard it as unholy, ;i i,\ invocation of t: Peace, to be a witness in a strife which his belle: tach U8 to abhor a strife i;r"-slv at variance with his most settled and divine ordinances." 868 SOUTHWARD HO ! " I am grieved, old man, to hear you speak this language, was the grave censure of one who, from his garments, seemed to be very high in authority and the church. " What thou say est is in direct reproach of holy church, which has frequently called in the assistance of mortal force and human weapons to put down the infidel, to crush the wrong-doer, and to restore that peace which can only owe her continued existence to the presence ever of a just readiness for war. Methinks thou hast scarcely shown thyself enough reverent in this thy hold opinion." " Holy father, I mean not offence ! I do not doubt that war, with short-sightedness of human wisdom, has appeared to hccnrc the advantages of peace. I believe that God has endowed us with a strength for the struggle, and with a wisdom that will enable us to pursue it with success. These we are to employ when necessary for the protection of the innocent, and the res cue and safety of those who are themselves unwilling to do harm. But I am unwilling to believe that immortaJ princi ples the truth of man, and the value of his assurance* are to depend upon the weight of his own blows, or the address with which he can ward off the assaults of another. Were this the case, then would the strong-limbed and brutal soldier be always the sole arbiter of truth, and wisdom, and all moral government." We need not pursue the argument. It has long since been settled, though with partial results only to humanity, as well by the pagan as the Christian philosopher. But, however inge nious, true, or eloquent, was the venerable speaker on this occa sion, his arguments were entirely lost upon that aiwnihly. He himself soon perceived that the effect was unfavorable to his cause, and exposed his veracity to question. With a proper wisdom, therefore, he yielded promptly to the current. But first he asked : " And what, may it please your majesty, if I decline this ordeal ? "Death !" was the reply of more than one stern voice in the assembly. "Death by fire, by the burning pincers, by the tortures of the screw and nick." The venerable man replied calmly. "Life is a duty! Life is precious!" He spoke musingly, THE GAGE TAKEN UP. 369 looking down, as he spoke, upon the little girl who stood beside him, while tlu big tours gathered in his eyes as he gazed. 1 > \oii demand a diampi-.n ?" was the inquiry of the king N It , in hehalf of my trntli, this battle must be fought, its dangers must be mine only." Thim* !" exclaimed the favorite. 44 Ay, my lord mine. None other than myself must encoun ter this peril." A murmur of ridicule passed through the assembly. The accused laughed outright, as the exulting warrior laughs, with hi> captive naked beneath his weapon. A brief pause followed, and a visible anxietv prevailed among the audience. Their ridicule afforded to the accuser sufficient occasion for reply : " This murmur of surprise and ridicule that I hear on every hand, is of itself a sufficient commentary upon this trial of truth by the wager of battle. It seems to all little less than madness, that a feeble old man like myself, even though in the cause of right, should oppose himself to the most valiant warrior in the kingdom. Yet, it it be tnie that God will make himself mani- -ue. what matters it whether I be old or young, strong or weak, well-skilled or ignorant in arms ? If there be a just wisdom in this mode of trial, the feeblest rush, in main tenance of the truth, were mighty against the steel-clad bosom of the bravest. I take the peril. I will meet this hold criminal, nothing fearing, and will, in my own person, en^a.i: 1 in the hat- tie which is thus forced upon me. But 1 know not the use of lance, or ->\\ord, or battle-axe. These weapons are foreign to my hands. Is it pennitted me to use such implements of :< as my own skill and understanding may invent, and 1 may think proper to emplo \ "Tho U shall use no evil arN. old man." exclaimed the church man who had before spoken, anticipating: the answer of the monarch. "No sorcerv. no charms no spells, no accursed de vices of Satan. I warn thee. if tlum art found guilty of arts like these, tlum shah surely perish by In." 41 None Of these, holy father, -hall 1 employ. I -iiall be those ouly. the principh - .,t which 1 shall proclaim to thy self, or to anj noble gentleman of the kind s household. My weapons shall be those onlv which a human intelligence may 370 SOUTHWARD HO ! prepare. They belong to the studies which I pursue to the same studies which have enabled me to arrive at truths, some of which thou thyself hast been pleased to acknowledge, and which, until I had discovered them, had been hidden from the experience of men. It can not be held unreasonable and un righteous that I employ the weapons the virtues of which I know, when my enemy uses those for which he is renowned ?" Some discussion followed, the demand of the accuser being strenuously resisted by the friends of the accused. " The weapons for knightly encounter, said they, " have long since been acknowledged. These are sword, and battle- axe, and spear." " But I am no knight," was the reply ; " and as it is permit ted to the citizen to do battle with staff and cudgel, which are his wonted weapons, so may it be permitted to me to make use of those which are agreeable to my strength, experience, and the genius of my profession." Some demur followed from the churchman. " Holy father," replied the accuser, " the sacred volume should be your guide as it is mine. My claim is such as seems already, in one famous instance, to have met the most decisive sanction of God himself." Here he unfolded the pages of the Holy Scriptures. " Goliah," said he, " was a Philistine knight, who came into battle with the panoply of his order. David appeared with staff, and sling, and stone, as was proper to the shepherd. He rejected the armor with which Saul would have arrayed him for the combat. The reproach of the Philistine knight comprises the objection which is offered here Am 1 a dog, said Goliah, that thou comest to me with staves? The answer of David, O king ! shall be mine : And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not with sword anl spear; for the battle is the Lord s, and he will give you into our hands. Such were his words they are mine. God will deliver me from the rage of mine enemy. I will smite him through all his panoply, and in spite of shield and spear." He Hjmke with a momentary kindling of his eyes, which was oon succeeded by an expression of sadness. " And yet, O king ! I would be spared this trial. My hear* THK I HII.nsoPHER S CELL. loves not strife. Mv soul shrinks in horror from the sheddinp of human blond. Require not this last proof nt my hands. Suffer me to keep my conscience white, and clear of this sacri fice. Let this unhappy man live ; tor as surely as we strive together, so surely must he perish." 44 Now this pasxeth all belief, as it passeth all human endu rance!" exclaimed the accused with irrepressible indignation. 11 I claim the combat. () kinp, on any condition. Let him come as he will, with what weapons he may, though forgod in the very armory of Satan. My talisman is in the holy cross, and the pood sword buckled at my thiph by the holiest prince in Christendom, will not fail me against the devil and all his works. I demand the combat !" " Be ye both ready within three days!" said the king. 44 I submit," replied the aped man. 4< I trust in the mercy of God to sustain me apainst this trial, and to acquit me of its awful consequences." 44 Ready, ay, ready !" was the answer of the accused, as with his hand he clutched fiercely the handle of his sword, until the steel rang apain in the iron scabbard. CHAPTER VII. TIIK scene underwent a sudden chanpe, and I now found myself in a small and dimly-liphted apartment, which seemed _-ned equally for a studio and a laboratory of art. The walls were surrounded by enormous cases, on the shelves of which were massive scrolls of vellum, bupe parchment manu scripts, and volumes fastened with clasps of bra** and -ilver. Some of theso lay open. Charts hunp wide marked with strange characters. Frame* of ebony were Mm* suspi-nded n\> hearinp the <ipnv: of the /.odiac. Other furniture, of quaint and straiiire fashion. x--med t<> s)i.w cnnclu<ivelv that the pos^-xs ,r j,ir the Deductive science of astrolopy. He had other jiursiiits A small funiace. the coals of which were ipnited. occupied one cor ner of the chamber, near which stood a table r-.vered with retorts and receivers, cylinder* and paupinp-pl.i^ev. .-uul all the other paraphernalia which iiuaJlv >)-lonp to the analytic worker in chemistry. The old man. and the ynwip pirl described in 872 SOUTHWARD HO ! the previous scene, were. at tii>t, the only occupants of the apartment. Bat a few moments ( lapsed, however, when an inner door was thrown open, and a third party appeared, closely enveloped in a cloak of sable. This he threw aside, and 1 dis covered him to be the same person who had been the chief coun sellor of the king, and whom I supposed to be his favorite. At his entrance the damsel disappeared. The stranger then, some what abruptly, began in the following manner: " Why.O why did yon not choose me for your champion T* "And why, my lord, expose you to a conflict with one of the bravest warriors in all the realm ?" " He is brave, but I fear him not ; besides, he who fights against guilt hath a strength of arm which supplies all deficien cies. But it. is not too late. I may still supply your place." " Forgive me, dear lord, but I have made my election." " Alas, old man, why are you thus obstinate ? He will slay you at the first encounter." " And if he does, what matter ! I have but a brief space to live, according to the common allotment. He hath more, which were well employed devoted to repentance. It were terrible, indeed, that he should be hurried before the awful tribunal of Heaven with all the blackness in his soul, with all his sins unpurged, upon his conscience." " Why, this is veriest madness. Think you what will follow your submission and defeat? He will pursue his conspiracy. Others will do what you have refused. He will drag other and bitter spirits into his scheme. He will bring murder into our palaces, and desolation into our cities. Know yon not the man as I know him ? Shall he be suffered to escape, when the hand of God has clearly shown you that his purposes are to be overthrown, and his crime to be punished through your agrncy." " And it shall be so, my dear lord. Tt is not my purpose to submit. The traitor shall be met in battle." "But by thyself? Why not a champion * I am ready." " Greatly indeed do I thank and honor thee, my lord ; but it can not be." " Methinks there is some touch of insanity about tl old man, in spite of all thy wisdom. Thou canst not hope to con tend, in sooth, against this powerful warrior. He will hurl thee THK c.\ in. \Ni ill:. : <,i: LNDBIRB. 373 to tlie earth with the first thrust of his heavy lance ; or smite thee down to death with a single hlw <>f battle axe or dagger." " Hear me, my lord, and have no tear. Thou knowep.t not the terrihle powers vhich I possess, nor shonld any know, but that this iiecoMtv compels me to euijdoy then). I will slay my enemy and thine. He can not harm live. He will perish help les,l\- . ., his weapon shall he twiee lifted to affront me." " Thou meanest not to employ sorcery ?" "Be, a-ured. my lord, I shall use a carnal agent only. The instrument which 1 shall take with me to h.ittle, though of ter rible and destructive power, shall be as fully blessed of Heaven as any in your mortal armory." " Be it so ! I am glad that thou art so confident- and yt; let me entreat th-e to trust thy battle to my hands." "No, my dear lord, no! To thee there would be danger to mo, none. I thank thee for thy goodness, and will name thee in my prayers to Heaven." \\V need not pursue their dialogue, which was greatly pro longed, and included much other matter which did not concern tin- event before ns. When the nobleman took his departure, the damsel reappeared. The "1,1 man t:.,k her ii. his embrace, and while the tears glistened upon his snowy beard, lie thus addressed her : "Hut tor thee tor thee, chiefly daughter of the beloved and sainted child in heaven, I had spared myself this trial. This wivtched man shonld live wert thou not present, making it needful that I sh<uild still prolong to the last possible mo ment, the remnant of my days. Were 1 to pi-rish. where wert thou? Wliat would be tin- safety "f the s\\ret one and the olatel The insect would desrend upon the bud, and it woidd lose scent and freshne. Tin- worm would fasten upon the flower, and a poison prtMta than death would prey upon its . No! my poor Lueilla, I must live for thee. though I live not for myself. 1 must shed the Id 1 of mine enemy, and spare minr own. that thou mayest not be desolate." 374 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER VIII. WHILE the tears of the two were yet mingling, the scene un derwent a change corresponding with my anxiety for the df> ment. A vast area opened hefore me, surrounded by the seats and scaffolding as if for a tournay, and the space was filling fast with spectators. I will not attempt to describe the splendor of the scene. Lords and ladies, in their most gorgeous attire, oc cupied the high places ; princes were conspicuous ; the people were assembled in thousands. At the sound of trumpets the king made his appearance. A grand burst of music announced that he was on his throne. Among the knights and nobles by whom he was attended, I readily distinguished " the favorite." He was in armor, but it was of an exceedingly simple pattern, and seemed designed for service rather than display. He looked grave and apprehensive, and his eyes wore frequently turned upon the barriers, as if in anxious waiting for the champions. The accused was the first to appear. He was soon followed, however, by the accuser, and both made their way through the crown to the foot of the throne. As the old man approached, the favorite drew nigh, and addressed him in subdued, but earn est accents. " It is not yet too late ! Call upon me as thy champion. The king dare not refuse thee, and as I live, I will avenge mine own and thy wrongs together." " It can not be, my lord," was the reply, with a sad shake of the head. " Besides," he continued. " I have no wrongs to avenge. I seek for safety only. It is only as my life is pledgee 1 equally to the living and the dead, that I care to struggle for it, and to save." The face of the favorite was clouded with chagrin. He led the way in silence to the foot of the throne, followed by the venerable man. There, the latter made obeisance, and encoun tered the hostile and fierce glance of his enemy, whom he re garded only with looks of sorrow and commiseration. A breath less silence pervaded the vast assembly as they beheld the white locks, the simple majesty of his face and air, and the cos tume singular for such an occasion which he wore. This did THE roMBATANi-. 375 nut in any degree differ from tliat in wliicli he had always ap- pea-red habited before. It consisted of a loose, flowing robe of the pure-t white, nto.t likr. l.ut m..r. than tin- prie<tly CMSork. His opponent, in complete steel, shining like the sun with helmetrd head and gauntleted hand, afTor<led to the spec tators a most astonishing difference between the combatants. The wonder increased with their speculations. The surprise extended itself to the king, uh proffered, as Saul had done to I, the proper armor of a warrior to the defenceless man. Hut this he steadily refused. The king, himself, condescended to remonstrate. "This is sheer madne>s, old man. Wonldst than run upon thy death with uncovered head ami bosom . " "Oh! sire, I tear not death and feel that I am not now tc die. Vet \\.-uld I still implore that I may be spared this trial. ( )nc(; more I lay myself at the foot of the throne, to supplicate its mercy." "For thyself!" cried his enemy, with a scornful taunt. 1 ! myself and for thee !" was the firm reply, "that I may -j-an-d the pang of sending thee before the Eternal Judge, with all thv unatoned crimes upon thy head." The voice and words of the venerable speaker, deep an emn, thrilled, with a sensible effect, throughout the assembly. Whence should he derive this confidence ? From heaven or from hell. The conclusion to which they came, more than ever confirmed their belief in his reputed sorceries ; and his words inspired a deep and .silent terror aiii .n- the crowd. Hut tb- cused, strong in his skill, courage, and panoply of steel, if not in the justice of hi.s cause, mocked scornfully, and defied the doom which was threatened. Some of his friends, however, shared strongly in the apprehensions of the vulgar. "He hath no visible armor." was their cry; " with what would he defend himself. How know we that he hath not magic arts, and devices of hell, with which he secretly arm* him-elf I" "Thou hast weapons visible weapons, as I hear" re marked the king. "They are at hand, sire they are heir." " Thou hast dealt in no forbidden practice /" 376 SOUTHWARD HO ! " None, sire, as I stand uncovered in the sight of heaven. The reverend father in God, to whom thou didst give in charge this inquiry, is here, and will answer to your majestv. He hath heard and seen the secret of my strength that strength which I know and declare is powerful to destroy my foe. He knows it to be a secret of mortal wisdom only, as patiently wrought out by human art and labor, as were the sword and axe of him who now seeks my destruction. I have warned him already of the fearful power which they impart. I would still have him live, unharmed by me." " Peace, insolent !" cried the accused. " I am here, your majesty, to fight, not to prate! to chastise, not to hearken to the speeches of this pagan sorcerer. Let his power be what he esteems it : I trust to my good sword and to the favor of the Mother of God ; and I doubt not of this good steel, which hath been crowned with a threefold conquest, on the plains of the Saracen. I entreat that your majesty will give command for the combat." CHAPTER IX. THE eye of the venerable accuser, regarded the face of the .speaker with a sad and touching solemnity ; but at this moment, the little girl who had before accompanied him, was conducted into the foreground by the archbishop. She bore in her hand a sarhacane seemingly of brass, long and narrow like a wand, and crowned, at the extremity, by a small globe or bulb of the same material. The length of this instrument was fully six feet or more. The old man took it into his hands, and having unscrewed a part of the bull* which seemed a mere sheathing of brass, he discovered beneath it another globe, similar, in shape and si/.e, to that which had been removed ; but the inner hnlli w;is man ufactured of glass, of a whiteness equally crystalline and beauti ful. He then took from beneath his mbes a little box of ebony, which he unlocked, and from which lie produced a headpiece, the face of which, instead of being hard steel or iron, was of gla>s also, very thin, and <jnite transparent, through which every muscle and motion of the features might he seen with the great est distinctness. To the thoughtless vulgar, such a shield seemed only a mockeuy of that more solid furniture of metal THE rOMHAT. which, in tlu^ -horoughlv encased tin wamor for battle inference, accordingly, was very general, tlmt if by any i ility, the ttCpMf raeeeefod in tin- combat, ho would he in debted solely to supernatural agency for his good fortune. His wan.l of brass, with its crystal bulb hi* glassy vi/or and hel met were only regarded as designed to divert the scrutiny from the more secret agency which he employed. "I am ready," said the accuser. "Hast thou prayed !" demanded his enemy, in a mocking fashion. " If thou hast not, get thee to thy knee- quickly, and renounce the devil whom thou servest. Verily, hut little time is left tin "I have prayed, and confessed to the II. dy Father. Do thou likewise, and make thyself hnnilde and contrite. Kepent thee for, of a truth, my lord, if the king forbid not this com bat, thou art doomed this day to to judgment." The heart of the accused was hardened within him. He re plied with a hiss of defiance and contempt to this last appeal ; nt the same moment he declared himself in readiness also. Th-y wen- then withdrawn from the presence fur a brief space, and were severally approached by their friends and attendants The archbishop, and the kind s favorite went aside with the accuser, and when the latter returned to the arena, iu order to the combat, the archni-hop led away with him the little jjirl, upon whom, at parting, the old man bestowed many I ircompanied by ma ny tears. The spectators were all very much moved by this ten- dernes. and now hejran t> regard him a- -acri- fi c ,. doomed to }> separated for ever, and U a violent death, from the object of his affections. And when the opponents Stood, at length, confronting each other with none to go be : awaiting only the word for the combat n r,itr,in T ; when thov regarded the strong soldier-like frame, and the war like hearing of the accused heheld the ft*M with \\hich he Strode the lists, and displayed l. : B ; -- and contracted this image of dire ne e--ity and war. with the feeble, though erect form of his venerable accuser. habited in vestmenH like a priest or woman with the simple unmeaning wand within his grasp, and the frail mask of brittle crystal upon his face a loud murmur of regret and commiseration prevailed among the 878 SOUTHWARD HO ! multitude. But this murmur was soon quieted by the cry of the master of the tournay " Laisscz allcr !" Then followed a painful silence. " Now, sorcerer," cried the knight, raising his glittering sword and advancing deliberately and with the confident manner of the executioner. The aged accuser simply presented the bul bous extremity of his wand, and before the accused could smite, tin- frail glass was shivered against the bars of his enemy s mouth-piece. At this moment the knight was seen slightly to recoil ; but it was for a moment only, in the next instant he dart ed forward, and with a fierce cry, seemed about to strike. The old man, in the meantime, had suffered his wand to fall upon the ground. He made no further effort offered no show of fear or flight, but with arms folded, seemed in resignation to await the death-stroke of his enemy. But while the weapon of the man of war was in air, and seemingly about to descend, he was seen to pause, while his form suddenly became rigid. A quirk and awful shudder seemed t<> ]a^> through his \\hole, frame. Thus, for a second, he stood paralyzed, and then a thin, mist-like vapor, which, might be called smoke, was seen to creep out from various parts of his frame, followed by a thin but oily liquor, that now appeared oo/ing through all the crevices of his armor. His arm dropped nervelessly by his side ; the sword fell from the inca pable grasp of his gauntleted hands, and in an inconceivable fraction of time, he himself, with all his hulk, sunk down upon the earth falling, not at length, prostrate, either backward or forward, but in a heap, even upon the spot which he had oc cupied when standing; and as if every bone had suddenly been withdrawn which had sustained them, the several part* of his armor became detached, and rolled away his helmet, his gorget, his cuiras, his greaves, his gauntlets disclosing beneath a dark, discolored mass a mere jellied substance, in which bones and muscles were already decomposed and resolved into .something less than flesh. Above this heap might be seen a Mill bright and shining eye, which, for a single second, seemed to retain consciousness and life, as if the soul of the immortal being ba< J lingered in this beautiful and perfect orb, reluctant to depait. But in a moment it, too, had disappeared all the brightness THE CRY OF THK MULTITUDE. 379 swallowed up an 1 stifled in the little cloud ! vapor which now trembled, heaving up from the mass which l>nt a moment before had been a breathing, a burning, an exulting spirit. A cold horror ovei-sj.read the tiehl, followed l>y a husky and convulsive crv. a- from a drowning multitude. The people ga/ed upon each other, and upon the awful, heap in unspeakable terror. It \s,t- annihilation which had taken place before them. Dead was the silence that prevailed for several minutes; a vacant consternation freezing up the very souls of the spectator*. But the reaction ss-A., tremendous. " Seixe upon the BOrOSrorl Tear him in pieces! was the cry frcm a thousand voices. This was followed hy a wild rush, like that of an incoming sea struggling to o\-erwhelm the headlands. The barriers were broken down, the cries swelle 1 into a \ery tempest, and the mammoth multitude rolled onward, with souls on tire, eyes glaring \\ith tiger fury, and hands outstretched, clutching spasmodic-alls at their victim. Their course had but one centre, where the old man calmly stood. There he kept his immovable station, calm, firm, subdued, but stately. Uo\r will he avert his fate how stay this ocean of souls, resolute t> overwhelm him . I trembled 1 gasped with doubt and appre- heiision. Hut 1 was spared the further contemplation of horrors which I could no longer bear to witne**. \,\ the verv intensity of the interest which my imagination had conceived in the sub ject. There is a point beyond which the mortal nature can not endure. I had reached that point, and was relieved, lauaken- ed, ami started into living consciousness, my face covered with clammy dews, my hair upright and \\et. my whole iVame agita ted with the terror.* which were due wholly to the imagination. It would be easy, prrhap*. to ace. mm for such a dream. ;t*- hiiming, as we did at the outset, that the mental tacultie.* ne\ei know abeyance that the thought never sleeps. Any specula tion, in regard to the transition periods in Kn^lish history, would give the requisite material. lYom a sur\ev of the powei* f physical manhood to t-hose rival and superior powers which fol low from the birth of art and science, the step is natural eii"U-h ; and the imagination might well drlight itself IN putting them in contrast and opposition. Hut \\ e have n<i spar.- left tor further discussion CHAPTER XVII. HOW THK BILIOUS ORATOR ESSAYED " A GOOD deal has been said in respect to the monotony 01 the prospect while passing through the North-Carolina country. In respect to such influences as are derived from the moral world, and by which places are lighted up by a brilliancy not their own, the same thing may be said of most of the ordinary stage and railway routes everywhere in our country. Roads are usually drawn through the most accessible regions. The lands commonly surrendered for this purpose are generally the most inferior, and the man of taste rarely establishes a fine man sion upon the common highway. In the South, this is particu larly the case. The finer dwellings of the planter are to be approached through long and sinuous avenues, that open only a green arch upon the roadside, and show you nothing to convey any tolerable idea of the beauty, taste and comfort which are buried in noble woods away from vulgar curiosity. The land scape, in the eye of the hurrying traveller, needs to possess but a single element variety. Let it be broken into great inequal ities steep rocks, and deep dells and valleys, overhanging precipices, and thundering waterfalls and the voyager, who is only the pendant to a locomotive for the nonce, is quite satisfied. Beauty of detail is, of course, quite imperceptible to his vision. In the old countries of Kurope, the site is illustrated by tower and temple, picturesque ruin and votive tablet. The handbook which you carry distinguishes the spot with some strange or startling history. In our world of woods, we lack these ad juncts. If we had the handbook, we should doubtlessly dis cover much to interest us in the very scenes by which we hurry with contempt. Dull and uninteresting as the railroad route appears through North and South Carolina, were you familiar with the facts in each locality could you couple each with it* LOCAL CHRONICLES. 381 local history or tradition the fancy would instantly quicken, and the mind would not only take a lively interest in the through which you pass, but would, by a naturally-assimilative process, begin to explore for its underlying beaut ie " What a jity that handbooks for the South are not provided t>\ sMine patriotic author !" "They \\ill be furnished, no doubt, when the tide of travel set* in this direction, and you will then be surprised ;it the dis coveries which shall be made. He who goes over these com mon routes lias no idea of the wondrous scenic beauties which lie in wait to delight him, hidden from sight only by the road side umbrage. With a considerable knowledge of the history of the country in all these states, 1 am able to identify scenes of interest as I pass; and 1 find, at every step, in mv course along these regions which seem so barren to the stranger, fruit ful interest* and moving influences, which exercise equally the and the imagination the imagination through the memory. There is si-un-ely a mile in the passage over the common roads, in South Carolina, which I do not thus find sug- gestive of events and persons, legends and anecdotes, which elevate the aspect of the baldest trn< -is. each with a befitting moral. To him who can recall these events ami traditions, the BCCne becomes invested with a soft and rosy light the sterile sands put on features which sublime them to the thought, and the gloomy wastes of pine and swamp forest r..mmend them selves to sympathies which lie much deeper than any which we can reach through the medium of the external senses. No doubt this is the .same in all the wild itafttl "t the South, to him who is of the mtinnr born. Then- will lie a thousand local matters, of coloiii/.ation, early adventure. pecuT and endurances the long records of history and tradition. fV-un the first coining of the colonists which, if known t<- the way farer, would make him forgetful of the monotonous features of his progress." 14 It is a great pity that for these we have no guide-books no monuments along the way.side no Old Mortality (.. show US where ihe stone lies half buried, and, with his ( h>, I to deepen all its features to our eyes. Some of these days. n ,i doubt, we shall ha\e i.ire chroniclers sj.- M-^-ing up, who shall 382 SOUTHWARD HO ! reveal to our successors these things these objects, as well of mind as of sight which we hourly hurry by unseeing." " Of this I have no sort of question. The development is in progress. The mines of the South have been struck. The vein is revealed. The quarry is discovered, and in due season it will be worked. The very impatience with which wo com plain that the thing is not done, is in some degree a guaranty for the performance. We must wait upon Providence. The great error of our people, as a whole, is that they live too fast. and endeavor at too much. If suffered to go ahead, according *x> the motive impulse in their veins, our posterity would have neither necessity nor field for achievement. I am for leaving something to be done by our children. To him who remembers the South North Carolina, for example but twenty, nay, ten years ago, her social and mental progress is absolutely wonderful." " Hear that, young Turpentine, and be consoled at all my flings at the old North state." " Ah, he knows it better than either you or me." " But, without looking to the social progress of North Caro lina, and regarding her as a region only for the cxplorntinn of the picturesque and adventure-seeking traveller the artist, the man of taste, the lover of fine manly sports, the good old North state is one of the most attractive in all the confederacy. Her vast ranges of mountain render her especially attractive to all these classes." " Yet, how little promise of this is there along the Atlantic shore !" " Even here, to the painter of detail, to the contemplative and musing taste and nature, there are thousands of scenes of great interest and beauty. To find these,, however, you need the eye that sees; and the man whose eyes have been properly couched by art may spend months and vear> along the Atlantic coast, and discover new provinces of beauty with the ramble of each succeeding day. Nature, in her arrangement of the scenery of the South, differing from the rule of the arti-t, has thrown her most imposing forms and a-prct-. into the background. Her mountains and majestic altar-places arc nowhere visible along the sea; and the superficial traveller is prepared to doubt the F\M;V I:K<,I> 383 existence of ;u,v such throughout our land. Their absence on the Atlantic would not. perhaps, he M greatly felt, it IIUMI wore not always mo>t easily taken by tin- bald outline, tin- mere sur face, the simply salient and externally iniji -::i_ . There is much in the -cenerv along our coa>t which, closely examined, woulil, hy its exquisite delicacy and nice variety of detail, quite Mich attract the mere explorer a> the artist. One of the peculiarities of tliis region, as distinguished fr<>m the northern the presence of the numerous beautiful islets, that IftQg to guard our shores and cities from the wave. Roving in l.oat or steamer along these, islets, or among them, they appeal to A moral instinct, the exercise ..f which puts a thousand genial fancies into activity. They rise up suddenly around you, like gems from out the >ea ; fairy abodes at lea>t ; sometime^ irreen in shruh, and vine, and tree, to the very lips of ocean; and again, spread out, a sandv plain, glittering with myriads of dia mond sparks, garlanded witli myriads of fantastic shells, and .ing, tor all the world, particularly when seen hy the moonlight to have heen devised and ch-.-eii M favorite places for the sports of Oberon and Titania, of Puck and Little John, the capricious Loline and the tricksy Anatilln. Southward as you go, they spread away, diamonds or emeralds, till they con- duct you to the great waters of the Mississippi. They grow in in heauty as you advance northwardly. But they still constitute a reinaikahle feature of our whole COMtj and to him who spreads sail among them at moonlight, especially in the more southwardly points, they r.-mpj-l the thought nf all the heings recognise. 1 hv the old svstein of pncumatnl"i:y. The rs of Cape Hatteras might well make it to he supj..- region of mischief, upheaved from the sea, hy races ..f uii-eiitlcr l.eings than such as harh..r in th.-se little sand-dune-, uhich lie so pmilingly in the moonlight, with the sea moving l.-t \\een them in such placid currents. At Hatferas, we may supposes, the ma licious elves, the grim Hrounies, tlie Mffftff K idiahit emon trihes that lie waiting, in malignant watch t r the uncon scious bark slyly slipping heneath the wave, sei/ing without M upon the prow of the vessel, and drawing her into the insidious current^, and upon the sands of the treachei on- The fancy that peoples the inn-uvnt islet-, \\hir 1 ! \\reck no ves- 384 SOUTHWARD HO ! sel> with the good people, may with equ.il propriety refer the dangerous capes and headlands to such hostile tribes of demons as haunt the wilds of Scotland, the Harz mountains and Black forests of the German, and the stormy shores of the Scandinavian." "Not an unreasonable notion. But was not Hatterask the old Indian name of the cape and the sea about it, as given by the ancient chroniclers?" " Yes : they varied, however ; sounds imperfectly caught from the Indian tongue were imperfectly rendered in the various tongues of Dutchman, Spaniard, Frenchman, and Englishman. We must content ourselves with making them euphonious, and leave their absolute propriety in doubt." " And a pretty sort of euphony we should have of it, if we leave the matter to American discretion." " This need occasion no concern. The poets settle this for succeeding time, when our generations have no longer the power to pervert the ears of the future. The necessity of verse compels the gradual growth of harmony in every lan guage. The oral authority lasts no longer than it can compel the echo. The poet, always resisted while he lives, leaves a voice behind him that survives all others. Let him make his record, and be satisfied to leave it to the decision of posterity. There is no speech of the future that rises in conflict with his own." " Are the historical and traditional materiel of North Carolina of attractive character ?" " None more so. The very regions of country which are so barren in the eyes of the stranger, pursuing the railway routes along the Atlantic coast, would alone afford materials for a thousand works of fiction. I have identified, along this very route, the progress of more than one curious history. Take an example : " Our first serious war with the redmen of the South, broke out in 1712. The savages of the old North State took up Hie tomahawk and scalping knife in that year, with terrible effect. Numerous tribes were h-ajrin-d ti^-tln-r tor (lie extermination of the whites of tin- colony of New Berne. This colony was of Swiss, from the Canton of Berne in Switzerland, and Germans LE.Uil i: Df THE I JiDMKN. .>f the Palafii ty came out to America under tlie patron- 1 , I iv tlie liaron De (.Jraffcn- n i .t, who was create. 1 a laii I i irra\ e. lie, with J.-.uis Mitchell. a leading man among the Swiss, received a -rant of ten thousand t lami on either of the river> Neuse and ( . ., ,,r their tributary branches, at the rate nf ten pound* sterling for y tliOflMlkl acres, and a quit rent nf live shilling?.. The number of Germans is unknown; but tlie S\\iss weie fifteen hundred. I liey reaclieii tin- continence nf the N< -UM- and Trent in I II 10, and laid off the limits of the colony in that neighborhood. e conditions upon which the-e p ( -,,ple came to America, specious and encouraging. Kach of them received, in V. (and, an outfit in clothes and niMiicy, of from live to ten pounds Sterling; ami two hundred ami fifty acres wen- allotted to each family, which was to bo ii\e yi-ars exempt from rent or taxation. At the end of that time, they were to pay at the rate of half per cent, Carolina currency. They \\nv credited one year with provisions, and seven year.-, with the materiel for a certain farm ing establishment. This included cows and calx- and . lambs, &c. Tools and implem- ! ;i,d and building. \\e:e furnished without any charge bv the pmprii i a j r pi-.. pie, driven from their native abodes, the p Jug enough ; and the treatment which they d\<-r\ liberal. I ndeed, the colony very soon to put "ii the mo-t pn-sperous appearance was llourishing in fact, growing daily in numbers and atlluence. Hut the In.iian, as the pii . began to h.i.k <>n the whites with j-al tu > v. ,)e;il.usy, it probably \va not. In brief tin- -ted !!> which t! ; fr the fust time, and which I indilVerently gnanled. " In the fall "t L711, Certain td 1 t- combine their l r tht- purpose of massacre and plunder. The Tuscaro- ras uu lert"<>k t. cut the thmats of th- .pmi the 1> nnd between that river and Pamlic, otherw iM- Tar river. The Cotheckneys and Corees arranged t<> do the sain. henovi.lent Ollice for the settl- ; Mat- -kettos and Matchapangos had the duty assigned them of scalping the whites in the neighborhood of Hath. 17 38G SOUTHWARD HO! " The work was done with little reservation at the designated period. But a few days before the massacre, the Indians suc ceeded in taking captive the Baron De Graffenreidt and J)hn Lawson, the surveyor-funeral of the province, whose book of travels, a highly-interesting narrative, constitutes one of the best of our Indian authorities of the South, and should be in every good American library. "These distinguished persons, totally unsuspicious of danger, were engaged in an exploring expedition up the Neuse. Their vessel was a mere Jt/^-oi/f, a cypress canoe of native manufacture : and they were accompanied only by a negro, who paddled the canoe, right and left. They landed at evening with the view of encamping, when they were suddenly surrounded by more than sixty Indians. They were made prisoners and marched off to a village some distance up the river a march that occupied the whole night. Here the tribe and their neighbors met in solemn consultation on the fate of their prisoners. The baron was an intruder, but Lawson was an inrtn1er. As it was at t>r his sur veys that they found their lands appropriated, they assumed him to be the source of the evil of which they complained. Both the captives underwent a severe preliminary beating, the better to j re pa re them for what was to follow. They were then deliber ately doomed to the fire torture, carried to the field of sacrifice, kept there in durance vile, and in the most gloomy apprehensions far a day and night, when the number of the savages having greatly increased to behold the spectacle, the preparations were immediately begun for carrying the terrible judgment into effect. The orgies and phrensied brutalities of the Indians may be imagined. The hour for execution came. The parties wero bound to the stake ; but at. this moment the baron pleaded his nubility, appealing to the chiefs for protection, for that he too was a chief. 11 St:angc to say, the appeal was entertained. Tliry concluded to spare his life: but no entreaty could save Lawson and the negro. They were subjected to the fiery ordeal, and perished by .1 terrible and lingering death, protracted to their utmost capa city to endure, with all the horrid ingenuity of savage art. Then followed the general massacre, which spread consternation I:AT OF IHI: I:I:I>MI:X. 387 throughout the province. More than one hundred and sixty tis were hutchered in a night." "Certainly, the romancer could work up such a history with good eiVect. What a terriide scene, in these, awful forests, with thou -lift hegrimed and painted savages, howling terribly, iancing fiercely about them. Did the afiair end liere ?" "How c..:ddit? It is th v <tf civilization that it must conquer. At the iirst tidings ot the affair, the assemhlv of South !ina, then in session at Charleston, called out her militia, and appropriated eighty thousand dollars to the relief of the si>- ter province. Six hundred militiamen, under ( ..I. P>arnwell, im mediately took the field. An auxiliary force of friendly Indian-, I . UMsting of twu hundred and eighteen ( herd^ es. -e\ eiity-nine i Us. f.>rty-,ne Catauhas, twenty-eight Yemas>ei-s all com manded l.y n-fiitr otlicers \\erejoined tothe force under liani- well - the Indians Iteing chietlv u.-ed a< scoui> and hunters. Wild, tangled, gloomy, was the wilderness which they had to traverse a region utterly savage, inhahited l>v hear and pan ther, or by trihes of men quite as ferocious and untameahle. The governor of North Carolina called out the militia of North Carolina, hut seemingly in vain. His proclamation was little heed* Barn well crossed the country, in spite of all impedimeh came up with the Indians, who were in great upon the here they had erected a strong fort of l.,gs, at a point bome thirtv miles helou the spot where the railroad crosses the . The hattle that followed resulted in the utter defeat of the Indians, and the annihilation of some of their nil M. More than three hundred of the redmen were- slain we have no report of the wounded and one hundred were made piisoiieis. The tie had taken place without their fortre . ti.r Indians having boldly heroine th- tttS, The fugitixcs found shelter in the fort, which, after much loss and great sullenng, they hiuren- ..d sued for peace; u Inch \\ a- granted them l.y their conqueror. Harnwell was censurecl for heing too iinlulgr: vamjui.she.l ; hut \\hat cmihl he exact from the savages I Thev had nothing tarther to concede than suhmission could make no farther sacrifice hut in their lives. :ress thus captured was called after the conqueror, and you may still : 888 SOUTHWARD HO ! out its ruins. Would these have no interest in the eyes of tl.e traveller who is familiar with the history . " Now, if I say that all this region is marked in like interest ing manner, by wild, savage, bloody, strange, and wonderful events, you will be no longer doubtful of the attraction with which an ordinary handbook, such as in Europe distinguishes every crumbling fabric or fortress with a human interest, would invest this seemingly ban-en country. There are true histories throughout all these old states of the south, not inferior to those of JAnvhatan and Pocahoiitas, and that remarkable old Roman red man of Virginia, the mighty Opechancanough." " It is curious," said Selina Burroughs, " that our own people are quite as ignorant of these local histories as anybody else." The remark stirred the bile in the bosom of our Alabama orator, who was never more ready to lift the tomahawk than when oppor tunity offered to indulge in a fling at the Yankees, and poui out his sarcasms at the expense of those of the South, who were adverse to decisive or hostile measures. " Nothing curious about it, Miss Burroughs. We are a poor, mouthing, meanspirited people after all, with long tongues and soft brains, and no resolution. Our ignorance in respect to our own history and own resources, and our own rights, is sufficiently con clusive, against our peipetuallv vaunted patriotism. Our constant travel at the "North among a people who are fur ever assailing us, is enough to shame and discredit all our boasting." "But there is a great change going on in this respect, sir." " Yes, indeed ! 1 can acknowledge tins, though the acknowl edgment does not a whit lessen the necessity of denouncing the practice which is still too much continued. We must continue to denounce until the reform is complete. It is a great consola tion, full of hope and promise, that it is at last begun." Here the, orator dashed oil into an essay, somewhat in the vein of his anniversary oration, which, as it contains sundry startling things, and striking sarcasms, our reporter has thought it proper to preserve. In fact, there is a wholesome word for North and South, in the verv energetic expression of this man s feelings. He is the true type and representative of a large por tion of the southern people, speaking the bitterness which they have been taught to nourish, their jealous resentments, and tho THE HILIOI- K- A VIST. 389 spirit with ^l.ich t! Izfl upc.n any opportunity of obtaining redress ami remedy tor the evils anl injuries of wliicli they com- plain. I.ct North and South consider, and be wisr in season. The usual caprice in the destiny of nations precipitates catastro phes which men may lament but never repair : and one of the ni<>>t dangerous of the errors which prevail among the people of the North, is their obstinate faith in the integrity of the Union. It is a faith against which all histories, in all periods, bear the most unvarying testimony testimony which we should be au thorized to disregard and reject, only when we shall be able to . . e oiirsel\v> that we have stronger claims, by reason of our er virtues, upon the protecting care of God, than any of the i neratiiuis by which we have been preceded. But, to the essay of our orator, which, though extempore, was deliv- as rapidly as an oration memorixed ; not as if read simply, but with the freedom of one who declaims passionately, in hot blood, and with the bold impetuous action of a fiery soul, in \\hich tlie long-fettered torrents have at length broken all their barrier-, and are dashing headlong, in foam and fury, over the still resisting hut incapable rock. "Yes, soft-heads ! soft-head.-.! That is th> word soft-hea Hut there is hope, even fnr a soft-head !" "We should only be indulging in one of the commonest of all trui-m.-. were we to protest that there is no such tiling as unmixed evil in the world ; and all the philosophy may he compassed in , nut-shell, which chuckles over the ill w : nd that blows nobody good. It will suffice if we in>i>t that our bitter is, frequently, the wholesome iiM-dieine whose benefit is in the future; and what we regard as the mishap of the day, and lament accord;: nes to ,,ur irreat *urpri<e. the parent of a n.-re^ity that leads to most pleasant and profitable results. To bring our max ims to bear upon our pre-ent topi,-, we have but to remark, that the cholera, which <\ the cities of the North last summer, and the abolition mania, which is destined to root them out, and ra /e them utterly from the face of the earth, if not season ably arrested. have proved, in highly serviceable, it not saving influences, for the p.-. pie of the South. How many th .u-and of our wandering idlers, our absentees who peri odically crave a wearisome pilgrimage to northern regions, in 390 SOUTHWARD HO ! stead of finding greater good in a profitable investment of thought and curiosity at home who wander away in mere listlessness and return wearied and unrefreshed were denied their usual inane indulgences by the dread of pestilence. And how many other thousands, capable of appreciating the charms of nature, and the delights of a glorious landscape, were, in like manner, compelled to forego the same progress, by the patriotic sentiment which revolts at the thought of spending time and money among a people whose daily labor seems to be addressed to the neighborly desire of defaming our character and destroying our institutions. " The result of these hostile influences has been highly favor able to the development of the resources of the soil. We have, in the South, a race of soft-heads, a tribe that corresponds admirably with the dough-faces of Yankee-land. These are people born and wedded to a sort of provincial servility that finds nothing grateful but the foreign. They prefer the stranger to the native, if for no other reason than because they are re luctant to admit the existence of any persons, in their own pre cincts, who might come in conflict with their own importance. In like manner, and for a similar reason, they refuse to give faith to their own possessions of scenery and climate. Their dignity requires foreign travel for its proper maintenance. It is distance only, in their eyes, that can possibly lend enchantment to the view. They are unwilling to admit the charms of a region which might be readily explored by humbler persons; and they turn up their lordly noses at any reference to the claim> ! mountain, valley, or waterfall, in their own section, if for no other reason than because they may also be seen by vulgar people. To despise the native and domestic, seems to them, in their in flated folly, the only true way to show that they have tastes in finitely superior to those of the common herdlings. t such jKMple,it was absolutely necessary that they slxuihl 1 abroad in summer. The habit required it, and the seli- ni, even if ti .. did not. Jt is true that thev \\eie wearied with the monotonous routine. It is true that they wen- tired of the scenery so often witnessed; tired of the ilatue northern pastimes, and outraged constantly by the bad manners, *nd the unqualified monstrosity of the bores whom they con stantly encountered, from the moment that they got beyond the . HAN<,K- IN -iiciKTY. 391 Ikie of Mason and Dixon. All tin- social training of a polished ll HH>, fl 1 l.y the red. hy which that was distinguished which they mot ahroad the free, familiar , ! moneyed vulgarity. or the ins.-lent Q8- snnij .{ at the lucation. A thousand oiYru-ive traits in the .] world which they sought, added to the utter deficiency of all 1 in the associations which they periodically made, comhined to lessen or destroy every tiling like a positive attrac- :n the regions to which they wandered ; hnt. in spite of all, they \\ent. JIahit was too intlexihle f..r lettM Of taste ; and, i ly, the fear that the world iniirht not get on so well Bl . unless they appeared as u-ual at the (.j.rnin^ <f t in Uroadwuv, and tmind theniMd\ r es, for a w<-ek at lea>t t-ach year, at Newport and Saratoga, si-cnu-il to ni;fke it a duty that they -hould, ;-t hr^e iieciiniary sacrifice, Mihniit to a dreary j-nanc- e\cry Miniiner. " Hut flu- clioh-ra came in conflict with the hahit. It. unsettled the routine which was only endurahle in the ahsence of thought and . i ted unpleasant associations to those who, perhaps, would sutler under any s >rt of excitement, the w ; v. ell as the pernicious; ami the idea of eatinir chenies and cream, at the peril of utter revolution in the ahdominal domain, had the etVect of startling into thought and speculation ;ane int.dh-ct which, hitherto, had taken no share in regula- :he hahits of the wanderer. When, at the same time, it was found that the pestilence confined its ravages to the h. that either the climate of the South was tOt : or ti, of it.s pM.ple too j. roper, to \ ieid it the requisite field for operation, ami that Charleston. Savannah and other eitir.s in the low latitudes, were not within the reach of its ter- thru it was that patriotism had leave to .surest, for the l:i-t time, the heauties ami attractions of home, and to make the "f them. IJer argument found >ucc"r. a- \\ e have h! from other influences. ( )ur Soft heads no longer f., M nd that unlimited del- id servile acknowledgment, which the societies they visited had uniformly .shown, in return for their patronage. Society at the North was- in revolution. Old things \\ere rl><>ut t" iy; all things were to heo-me n^\ I r-p- 392 SOUTHWARD HO ! erty was to undergo general distribution in equal shares. Every man, it was argued, had a natural right to a farmstead; and a poultry-yard ; as every woman, not wholly past bearing, had a right to a husband. The old Patroons of Albany were not per mitted to rent, but must sell their lands, at prices prescribed by the buyer, or the tenant. Debtors liquidated their bonds in the Llood of their creditors. The law of divorce gave every sort of liberty to wife and husband. The wife, if she did not avail herself of the extreme privilegea accorded to her by this benev olent enactment, was, at all events, allowed to keep her own purse, and to spend her monev, however viciously, without ac counting to her lord. If he was lord, she was lady. She was not simply his master, but her own ; and a precious household they made of it between them. Churches multiplied, mostly, at the very moment when a restless and powerful party avowedly hostile to all religion was denouncing and striving to abolish the Sabbath itself, as immoral, and in conflict with the privileges of labor and the citizen. " In this universal disorder in laws and morals this confusion of society, worse confounded every day in its general aspects so wonderfully like those which, in France, preceded, and prop erly paved the way for, a purging reign of terror all the usual amenities and courtesies were fairly at an end, even in those places, hotels and haunts of summer festivity, in which decency and policy, if not charity and good-will to men, requires that everything should be foreborne, of manner or remark, that might be offensive to any sensibilities. But the cloud and blindness which everywhere overspread society, was a madness too sweep ing to forbear any subject, in which envy, malice, conceit, and a peevish discontent, could find exercise at the expense of one s neighbor. In destroying, at home, the securities of religion, the domestic peace of families, the inviolability of the laws, the guar antees of the creditor nay, taking his life, as that of an inso lent, when he presumed to urge his bond these reckless incen diaries (like the French, exactly) must carry their beautiful sys tem to the hearts of other communities. Tl.ey are by no means selfish. They must share their admirable blessings with others nay, force them, even against their desires, to partake of their drunken mixtures. No situation, accordingly is sacred from HOW THK IM><;> BARK. 393 their invasion. No refuge is left fa unembarrassed by tlieir piv They rage in all places, fireside, street, ex change. Imtcl, and, not so much seeking to reform and teach, and annoy, they studiously thrust npon you, at y turn, the picture of the miserable fanatic, whose vanity prompted him to fire a temple- only that he might be seen in its Idaze. "Our Soft-heads, who liave heen husily engaged, for the last thirty years, in feeding these fanatics, by draining the prof its from tlieir own soil, are, at length, beginning to feel some what nnconifortahle, sitting cheek-by-jowl, at Saratoga, and other places of vulgar resort, and hearing themselves described rs and wretches by the very people whose thieving an- rhe negro with whom to swindle our forefathers. jin to suspect that their pride is not wholly unimpaired, when they hearken quietly to such savory communications. A lurking doubt whether they are not the persons meant, all the while, begins to stir uneasily within them ; and in a half-drowsy state. and thought, they a-k tl. - the jUrstion, whether it were not much more to their credit to re solve, henceforward, neither to taste. nr touch, nor commune with a people, who, in nine wantonness and insolence, are ma king .so free with all the securities of their country, its reputa tion, and its property ! " TK.- S..ft-head. it i.s true, is not without grateful a^sura; from one class of his neighbors, thai his assailants I fanatics who deserve IM sort of consideration ; that, though T Hlnnrlte, and Sweetheart, bark at him furiously, yet he. I Mck, and his brother Tom, ami his C..UMII. Harry, all tavern-keepers, living in the broad route of southern travel, are : is are the true, sturdv 1 utcher s dogs, who will keep the en: proper fear and at a proper distance. Hut, after a win! head a-ks him>elf having asked the question frui Tom, Hick, and Harry \\hy do the-e cur-, whirh aie said to be s- li.-sj. u-.i! h- \\hy do they c -ntinue this barking? : vhv, when the barking becomes biting why do not these i.> butcher s dogs u>e their teeth for the protection -f their friends? Why are Tray. Hlanche, and S : wortlileM )u]>pies u> they are why me they in full m of the 394 SOUTHWARD HO ! roast ? The fanatics of abolition are said to be few ; but why do they shape the laws, dictate the policy, control the whole ac tion of society ? Soft-head gets no answer to all this ; and now naturally begins to suspect that all parties either think en tirely with the offenders, or possess too little courage, honesty, or proper sympathy with the south, ever to be relied upon as allies. In fact, our soft-head discovers that, whether guilty or otherwise, the party denounced as so weak and worthless, wields, in reality, the entire power, and represents wholly the principles and feelings of the north. The thing is not to be gainsayed. Your merchant, having large dealings with the soft-heads, makes little of it ; your hotel-keeper, entertaining large squad rons of soft-heads, for a consideration, every summer, gravely insists that it is nothing but the buzz of a bee in a tar- barrel ; your Yankee editor, crossing the line of Mason and Dixon a northern man with southern principles! who teaches the soft-head southron/ from hard-bead northern school- books he is potent in the asseveration that there is no sort of danger that it is the cry of wolf, only, made by the cunning boys, who wish to see the fun of the false chase ; and that, in his hands, as grand conservator of the peace, everything that s worth saving is in a place of eminent security. Your thorough slave of party, whig or democrat, who hopes for a secretaryship, or a vice-presidentship, or a foreign mission or who, with com mendable modesty, resigns himself to a postmastersliij), or a tide-waitership all these come in to the assistance of our soft heads, and take monstrous pains to reassure them and restore their equanimity ! Governed by self, rather than by nation or section, they cry peace all when there is no pence! When there can not be peace, so long as the south is in the minority, and so long as the spirit and temper of the north are uiiversally hostile, to our most vital and most cherished insti tutions. Until you reconcile this inequality, and exorcise this evil spirit, that now rages rampant through the Northern States allied with all sorts of fanatical passions and principles Agrarianism, Communism, Fourierism, Wrightism, Millerism, Mormoniam, etc., you may cry peace and union till you split your lungs, but you will neither make peace nor secure uniou. " Well, our soft-head* begim to discover this, lie has been SOFT-HEAD A PERSON OF SOFT HEART. 395 weak and lazy listless and indifferent vain, and an idler; weary, and a wanderer; but lie still has latent sympathies that remind him of his homo, and he is not blind to the warnings which tell him that he has a property which is threatened, and may possibly he destroyed, II. nibs his eyes, and shakos him- rdiiiirly. He lupins to bestir himself. It is hijrh time. II. i^ DO l..nr- r in the condition to say with the i. A little more sleep a little more folding of the arms to slumber. Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, 1 the full-monthcd abolition curs, are at his bods, and, with their incessant harking, they nobody to sleep. Soft-head soon finds that they are, not satisfied to hark simply. Thoy are anxious to use their teeth npn him as well as their tongues. His wife s maid, Sally, isuadrd to leave his bonds, for a condition of unexampled human felicity, which is promised her in the neighborhood of the Five r..int<: and his man, Charle>, walks oft with two 1... white brother-. OOfi show him how much move moral it is come a burglar than t> remain a slave. Soft-head very oon hear- of b.-th in their new I topia. Sally writes to him froi: r Hhu kwell s Island, ami Charley from > They relate a mo>t Imrriil narrative of their condition ; their tollies, their crimes, the sufferings and abuses they have un- .it the bands of their s\ mpathmng brethren, wh..-.- .h- joct l;as b.-en, not the good of the wretched slave. 1 ut the injury and annoyance of the soft-head owner. They declare their . t.nire. and entreat his , | . I ! . \ b. .: that he will re- tliem from prison, and make them once more humbly happy in the condition \\hich -tly suited t their intellect and iimrals. The 1,,-ai t of ^ fr-ln-ail i- touched. In this rr^i.-n he, is ijniie as ti nib>r as: in IP S cranium. He obtains their ii I bail, j>.:; a w.uhl of trouble ami in helpin . liL ht. Hut, will the aboli tionists suffer this triumph ? Will they let th< ,-npe them at the last ? Oh no! The} dart i i mob at their heels, and rend Charley Mid S;dly away once more this time by violence the poor darkies all the while htni^lin againet the cruel fate of freedom, for which they are so totally unfit, and declaring, with tears in their ryes, how infinitely they p being slaves to a geiitlemnu, than bretbreu of such a gang of 396 blackguards. Soft-head, himself, barely escapes by the skin of his teeth. lie is compelled to cast off the indolence which he has hitherto fondly conceived to form a part of his dipiity, and, with all haste, to throw the Potomac between him and the pursuing curs of abolition. " Growling over the popular sentiment at the North, which thus dogs their footsteps and disturbs their equanimity, or Crum bling at the sudden invasion of cholera, which makes them trem ble for their bowels, it is probable that more than twenty thou sand Southrons forebore, last summer, their usual route of travel. M;i son and Dixon s line, that season, constituted the ultima (huh, to which they looked with shiverings only. Thus * barred and banned, almost hopeless of enjoyment, but compelled to seek for it where they were, and to find their summer routes and rec reations in long-neglected precincts, it was perfectly delightful to behold the sudden glory which possessed them, as they opened their eyes, for the first time in their lives, upon the charming scenery, the pure retreats, the sweet quiet, and the surprising resources which welcomed them at home ! Why had they not seen these things before ? How was it that such glorious mountain ranges, such fertile and lovely valleys, such mighty ami beautiful cascades, such broad, hard and ocean- girdled beaches and inlets, had been so completely hidden from their eyes 1 By what fatuity was it that they had been so blinded, to the waste of millions of expenditure, in the ungrate ful regions in which they had so long been satisfied to find re treats, which afforded them so little of pleasure or content? Poor, sneaking, drivelling, conceited, slavish provincialism never received such a lesson of unmixed benefit before ; and patriot ism never a happier stimulus and motive to future enjoyment as well as independence. " It is a too melancholy truth, and one that we would fain deny it we dan-d. that, in sundry essentials, the Southern people have. long stood in nearly the same relation to the Northern states of this eonfeilcracv, that the whole of the colonies, in 1?7.">. oc cupied to (Jreat Britain. A people wholly devoted to gra/ing and agriculture are necessarily wanting in large marts, which alone give the natural impulse to trade and manufactures. A people engaged in staple culture are necessarily scatter* 1 r, - ITIY OF ART TO S.U motely over the surface of the earth. N-.\v, tin- activity of the common intellect depends chielly UJM.II the mu^h ami inre;mt attrition of the people. Wantin-: in this attrition, the best inindR sink into ptppte, that finally becomes .slu^gishnesr-. A- a nat ural consequence, therefore, of the exclusive occupation of agri culture in the Smith, the profits of this culture, and the -j ur population, the Southern people 1,-t r it t> the \oi them M;pl.lv all their wants. To them wo looked for 1 and opinion and they thus substantially ruled us. through the languor which wr OWfMJ to our wealth, and the deficient sclf-es- te.-m naturally due to the infre<juencv of our btrujrgle in the :aon marts i.f natin>. The Yankees furnished all our man ufactures., of \\h,:tever kind, and adroitly contrived to make it appear to u- that they .ily mir ! enefactoi s. at the veiy monit Ut when they were s;ipp .njr "in suK-t;mce. de^rndin^ our minds, and ^ro\vin^ rich upon our raw u.aserial, and hv the la bor of our slaves. Any nation that defers thus wholly to another IB so dat.-d. ;ind finally suluiued. T. perfect, or sefure, the p..\\er> of any {tropic, it re<juire> that they shall leave in- pr. \ince of enterprise or industry ne^lerted, which is available to their lab.u-, and not inc-onipatihle with their soil and climate,. And tin-re is an intimate, sympathy betwfen the labors of a people, and their higher morals and more ambitious senti- mei.t. 1 :e all so far kindred, that the, o: lily prej .vay fr the other. The im-diMmc arts thrive as well a the fine arts, in re-i>ns which prove friendly to the tor; and Henvenuto ( , ;> a goldsmith and cannoneer than a 1 .ld and admirable Fculptors of his a^re. To secure a hirh rank in ns well a-; iy. it i* ! that a pe,ple vhonhl do something r than provide a ra\\ material. It i< re.juired of them to | the genius al-o, which shall w>rk the material up into f fabrics e(jually beautiful and \aluahle. This duty 1. neglected by the South ; abandoned to her enemies ; and, iu the train of this neglect and > If-abandonim nt, a thousand | folio v. : >-. 1 ! is a sla vish deference to the will, the wit, the wisih>m, the art and inge nuity of the people to whom we yield our manufacture* ; innking it the moat difficult thing in the world, even when our own po- 898 pie achieve, to obtain for them the simplest justice, even among themselves. We surrendered ourselves wholly into the hands of our Yankee brethren most loving kinsmen that they are and were quite content, in asserting the rank of genth-mcn, to forfeit the higher rank of men. We were sunk into a certain imbecility read from their books, thought from their standards, shrunk from and submitted to their criticism and (No ! wo have not yet quite readied that point Walker still holding his ground in the South against Webster), almost began to adopt their brogne ! They dictated to our tastes and were alone al lowed to furnish the proper regions for their exercise. Above all, theirs was all the scenery; and the tour to Saratoga, West Point, Newport, Niagara, almost every season, was a sort of pilgrimage, as necessary to the eternal happiness of our race of soft-heads, as ever was that made, once in a life, to Mecca, by the devout worshipper in the faith of Islam ! " But, owing to causes, already indicated, the change has come over the spirit of that dream which constituted too much the life of too large a portion of our wealthy gentry ; and the last summer, as we said before, left them at liberty to look about their own homes, and appreciate their own resources. The dis coveries were marvellous ; the developments as surprising as those which followed the friction of the magic lamp in the hands of Aladdin. Encountered, on the opposite side of Mason and Dixon s Line, by the loathsome presence of Asiatic cholera and African abolition, they averted their eyes from these equally of fensive aspects, and found a prospect, when looking backward upon the South, at once calculated to relieve, their annovai and compensate admirably for all their privations. The tide of travel was fairly turned ; and, through the length and breadth of the land, in the several States of Virginia, the two Carolinas, Georgia, and even Florida, nothing was to he seen but the chariots and the horsemen, the barge and the car, hearing to new and lately discovered retreats of health and freshness, the hun gering wanderers after pleasure and excitement. For such an event, the country was almost totally unprepared. A few ancient places of resort excepted, the numerous points of assemblage had scarcely ever been indicated on the maps. The means for them were rude and hastily provided, The r<>n<U \ SOCIAL ATTRITION. rough, and, with the vehicles employed to traverse them, admi- rahly adapted to give wholesome exercise to rheumatic joints and -terns. The crazie.st carriages were hastily put in requisition, to run upon the wildest highways. Paths, only ju>t "lit in the woods, conducted you to habitations scarcely wild, of frames covered with clapboards, ^after-looking log tenements, unplastered chambers, and little uncouth cabins, eight bv nvelvt win-re pride, in the lap of quiet, at all events, if not of comfort, might learn upon what a .small amount of cap ital a man may realize large results in health and independence. It was the strangest spectacle, in Georgia and South Carolina, to see the thousands thus in motion along the highways, and thus rioting in rustic pleasuivs. Such ears and carriages, as bore the tro.. ping adventurers, never figured in fa.^hionable use before, might sec the railway trains, long and massive frames of timber, set on wheels, with unplaned benches, an interminable range, crowded with the living multitudes, wedged aflectionately together, like herring.s in boxes sorted, if not salted n:a>ses without covering, speeding through sun by day, and rain by night, to the appointed places of retreat ; and, strange to say, in the best of all possible humors with theniseh e.s and all man kind. A certain grateful determination to make the most of the of their situation, in acknowledgment of the substantial good, in he.-slthy excitement, and moral compensation, which tb d at home, npcrafed to make cheerful all the aspects of tin- .nd to nfford a pleasing animation to the strangest combinations of society. 11. tered, to the :non benefit, circles and cliques that had never before 1 subjected to attrition. The reserved gentleman of the lower country, nice, staid, proper and particular, was pleased to re* a freshening stimulus from the frank, free, eager and salient manners of the gentleman of the interior. 1 - . r-rcfmrd ladies of the city were enlivened by the informal, hearty, h and laughing tempei- of the bin.ynnt beauties of the mountain and forest country. These .shared equally in the benefits of association. The : gion were th;r i.il and buoyant, the i: pbisticated impulse of the other; while the lutter, insensibly borrowed, in return, something of the elaborate grace, and tho 400 quiet dignity, which constitute the chief attractions of the former. The result 1ms compassed something more than was anticipated by the several parties. Seeking only to waste a summer prate- fully, to find health and gentle excitements, the simple object of the whole, they yet found more precious benefits in the un wonted communion. Prejudices were worn away in the grate ful attrition ; new lights were brought to bear upon the social aspects of differing regions ; thought was stimulated to fresh researches ; and the general resources of the country, moral as well as physical, underwent a development, as grateful and en couraging as they were strange and wonderful to all the parties. " The desagrcinms of these extemporaneous progresses were not limited to bad roads and clumsy or crazy vehicles, rude dwel lings, and the absence of the usual comforts upon which the gentry of the low country of the South, trained in English schools, are apt to insist with, perhaps, a little too much tenacity. We are compelled to make one admission, in respect to our in terior, which we do in peat grief of heart and much vexation of spirit. If the school muster is abroad, the cook is not! Our cf/isitti 1 is not well ordered in the forest country. The Physiolo gic, dc Gout has never there been made a text-book, in the schools of culinary philosophy. We doubt if a single copy of this grave authority can be found in all the mountain ranges of the Apalachian. They have the grace and the gravy ; but these are not made to mingle as they should. The nil which weds the vinegar and the oil, in happiest harmonies, so that neither is Buffered to prevail in the taste, has never, in this region, com manded that careful Ktlidy, or indeed consideration, which their union properly demands. The rank of the cuisinicr is not prop erly recognised. The weight and importance of a grain of salt in the adjustment (shall we ^;iy ro mpro mi sc ?) of a salade, is, we grieve to say, not justly understood in our forest watering-places; and, skilful enough at a julep or a sherry-colder, they betray but prentice ban s when a steak, or a sauce, is the subject of preparation. Mon-ieur (iui/ot, speaking in properly-dignified language of the common sentiment of France, insists that she is the most perfect representative of the civilization of Christendom. Of course, lie ha>e h-r claims to this position entirely on the virtues of her CIHHI e. The nmral of Hie nation comes from tho DKKAMS OK DIN.VKH. 1 -1 kitchen. The good digestion which should wait on appetite must be impossible where the cfit-f ill- r ///>///< falls short of the philosopher as well as the man of science. NOW, of all that philosophy, which prepares the food with a due regard, not only to the meats and vegetables themseh es, the graces and the ies, hut to the temperaments of the consumers, we are sorry to confess that we have but little in our vast interior. i mountain cooks think they have done everything when they have murdered a fillet of veal or a hannch of venison. dden tliein in lard or butter, baked or boiled them to a condition which admirably resembles the pnlpy masses of cotton rag, when macerated I m- paper manufacrire, and wonder- you mince gingerly of a dish which he himself will devour with the savage appetite of a Cumanche ! Yon have -een a royal side of venison brought in during the morning, and laid ont upon the u shambles; yon have set your heart upon the dinner ..f that day. Fancy reminds you of the relish with which, at the 1 harles, in New-Orleans, or the Tnlaski, in Savannah, or the Charleston Hotel, von have dismissed the exquisitely dressed loin, or hannch, done to a turn ; the red just tinging the gravy, the meat just offering such plea- -tanee to the knife as leaves the intricate fibres still closely united, though shedding their juices with the eagernes> of the peach, pressed between the lips in the verv hour of its maturity; or you see a fine mutton brought in, (.f he wild iiavor of the hills; and \^\\ :i;ine, with the eye of the epicure, the voluminous fat, fold upon fold, lapping itself lovingly about the loins. loin, -ddle, or shoulder. :t>eif to % our anticipation as the probable Mibject < : ay discussion. You lay yourself out 1 r the argument, ,:ally recur to the . ;;s dinner which you enjoyed with the reverend father, who preuides 80 equally well at tb.e Church of the St. Savori.and at his .\vn ex- cellent hotel in the Rr.e des Iluitre-. YOU remember all the panv. admirable j-; ue of them, of tl.- and the graces of a pi-.jier feast. The reverend father, bin belongs to that excellent s, ],,,! of which the Kngli>h clergy still show you so many irrateful living examples, men whose "ilities are tp.t yieldeil to the barren empire of mind merely, but who liriug thought and philosophy e(|nally to bear upon the 402 MTTHWAHD HO! humble and too frequently mortified flesh. With the spectacle of the venerable host, presiding so gracefully and so amiably the napkin tucked beneath his chin, and falling over the ample domain in which certain philosophers, with much show of reason, have found the mortal abiding place of the soul you associate the happy action with which, slightly flourishing the bright steel before he smites, he then passes the scimitar-like edge into tho rosy round before him. It is no rude or hurried act. He feels the responsibility of the duty. He has properly studied the rela tions of the parts. He kno\vs just where to insinuate the blade; and the mild dignity with which the act is performed, reminds you of what you have seen in pictures, or read in books, of the sacrifices of the high priests and magi, at Grecian or Egyptian altars. What silence waits upon the stroke! and, as the warm blood gushes forth, and the rubied edges of the wound lie bare before your eyes, every bosom feels relieved ! The augury has been a fortunate one, and the feast begins under auspices that drive all doubts of what to-morrow may bring forth, entirely from the thought. " With such recollections kindling the imagination, our extem pore hotels of the Apalachian regions will doom you to frequent disappointment. You see yourself surrounded by masses that may be boiled or roasted polypi for what you know. But where s the mutton and the venison 1 "You call upon the landlord a gaunt-looking tyke of the forest, who seems better fitted to hunt the game than take charge of its toilet. He is serving a score at once; with one hand heap ing beef and bacon, with the other collards nnd cucumbers, into conflicting plates ; and you fall back speechless, with the sudden dispersion of a thousand fancies of delight, as he tells you that the mutton, or the venison, which has been the subject of your revery all the morning, lies before you in the undistinguishablc mass that has distressed you with notions of the polypus ami sea-blubber, or some other unknown monstrosities of the deep or forest. But the subject is one quite too distressing for dilation. We have painful memories, and must forbear. But, we solemn ly say to our Apalachian landlord : " Brother, this thing must be amended. You have no right to sport thus with the hopes, the health, the happiness of yoiu A LOVE STORY. guests. You have no right, in this wny, to mortify your neigh- bors flesh. Have, you no sense of the evil which v<m are doing no bowels of sympathy for those of other people ? Is it pride, or indolence, or mere blindness and ignorance, which thus ren ders you rec kh-ss of what is due to humanity and MMietjr, and all that fine philosophy which the Roman epicure found essential iicile to becoming sensibilities the mere brutish necessities of the animal economy ? You must import and educate your cooks. You must appreciate justly the morals of the kitchen. You must study with diligence, night and morning, the profound pages of the Physiologic de Goat; you must forswear those streams of lard, those cruel abuses of the flesh, those hard bak of meats otherwise tender; those salt and savage soddening.s "f venison, other t ; those mountains of long collards, in adequately ; boiled and those indigestible masses of dough, whether in the form of pies, or tarts, or biscuit, which need a yesty levity before they can possibly assimilate with the human m We have nfren thought, se.-ing these lieavv pa-- upon your tables, that, if they could only command a voice, r would perpetually cry out to the needy and devourini: gm><t. in the language of the ghosts to Richard the Hunchback Let ^eavy .in thy .-..ul to-morrow. " Here was a pause. Our orator had fairly talked himself out. "11 : speakiiiL. n the artlessly-expn inquiry ft Hum-: (iood heavens, my dear little creature, you do not mean to say that you h.r keeping all the while !" II- laugh ! "Oh! no. Iff, 1 merely wished to Mii -gi-st that tl:- due t.) us from some quarter, and if you are in VMC . -ir. I do UOt see who can bet;. .,n than Mmr "Voice! I never was in brtt.-i ill my life! You shall have a story and, ir. tribute to yourself, it shall be a love-story." "Oh ! thank you a lov, " A love story, and of the red man." Oh ! that will be curious 6QOV " It shall be as malicinu- and i.: t :i.etio. and sad and humor nnd sedate, and fantastical, as KuUclwe himself could have desired." 404 SOUTHWARD HO ! And the group composed itself around, and the bilious raco** tour told the following legend : LEGEND OF MISSOURI: OR, THE CAPTIVE OF THE PAWNEE. " A token of the spirit land The fleeting gift of fairy hand: A wither d loaf, a flower whose stem Once broke, we liken unto them ; Thus fleet and fading, ripe ere noon, And vanishing like midnight moon ; A rainbow gleum, that now appear*, And melts, even as we gaze, to tears." INTRODUCTION. THERE are certain races who are employed evidently as the pioneers for a superior people who seem to have no mission of performance, only one of preparation, and who simply keep the earth, a sort of rude possession, of which they make no use, yeilding it, by an inevitable necessity, to the conquering people, so soon as they appear. Our red men seem to have be longed to this category. Their modes of life were inconsistent with length of tenure ; and, even had the white man never ap peared, their duration must have still been short. They would have preyed upon one another, tribe against tribe, in compliance with neres-ity, until all were destroyed ; and there is nothing to be deplored in this spectacle ! Either they had no further uses, or they never, of themselves, developed them ; and a people that destroy only, and never create or build, are not designed, anywhere, to cumber God s earth long ! This is the substantial condition upon which all human securities depend. We arc to advance. We are to build, create, endow; thus showing that we are made in the likeness of the Creator. Those who destroy only, bv laws of strict moral justice, must perish, without having been said to live ! And yet, surveying this spectacle thro the medium of the picturesque, one naturally broods with sympathy over the fato of this people. There IB a solitary grandeur in their fortunes. THE r.FMt S I.ud. 40o and the intense melancholy which they oxhihit, which compel* us, in spite of philosophy, to regret the ; under which thev perish. Their valor, their natural eloquence, their pas sionate sense of freedom, the sad nohleness of their aspects, tlie subtlety of their genius. these forhid that we should regard tin-in with indifference ; and we watch their prolonged battle for and place, with that feeling f admiration with which we behold the "great man struggling uith the storms of fate." The conflict het\\eeii rival races, one representing the highest civilization, tlie other the. totally opposite nature of the savage, is always one of exquisite interest; and not an acre of our N country hut exhibits scenes of struggle het ween these rivals, tvhich, properly delineated, would ravi>h from the canvass, and Oirill all i frOOQ the stage. The thousand progresses, in ill directions, of the white pioneer; the thousand trials of strength, and skill, and spirit, between him and the red hunter; make of the face of the country one vast theatre, scene after .dliug the great event, until all closes in the grand de- which exhibits the dying agonies of the with the. conquering civilization striding triumphantly over his neck. ition will help us in process of time to . romance in the survey of these events, and the red man is destin ed to a longer life in art than he ever knew in reality. Y< t -siiall iho prmu* of tin- ]>\ In .lavs of p.. I. -lit ..IMJ; \n rnm^, Reveal th<> trv of tl:> \N \m#t> nntivr poniud now li 8 Huinh. Yes, Fancy, by Tnulilimi ,i tiurt- tin- ?tr. amli-t to iu bod. And wi-Il cnrh anxiou* puth -xj ,.i-ll!\ t! "l i-i d The t . ill" mount, tho doll, Shnll -;i. h bfCOOM ;i rhrni,-l . Th swift Inmgir.uti ia borno, T.. l.oijtbts of faith und -i>jlt "upreme, Shnll giith r all ; -.mrn, ATI. I uliajM th- ih ti:: i fr-un th- iln-nm." The sketch which follows might as well be true of a thousand hist i the one which : It is one which the painter might crown with all the glorie ne \slrrh futuie invcntioii i .. in -" perm:\m-nt sung am! - 406 SOUTHWARD HO ! generations, to whom the memory of the red man will be nothing but a dream, doubtful in all its changes, and casting doubts upo the sober history. CHAPTER I. THE Pawnees and the Omahas were neighboring but hostile nations. Their wars were perpetual, and this was due to their propinquity. It was the necessity of their nature and modes of life. They hunted in the same forest ranges. They were con tending claimants for the same land and game. The successes of the one in the chase, were so many wrongs done to the rights of the other ; and every buck or bear that fell into the hands of either party, was a positive loss of property to the other. That they should hate, and fight, whenever they met, was just as certain as that they should eat of the venison when the game was taken. Every conflict increased the mutual hostility of the parties. Successes emboldened the repetition of assault ; defeat stimulated the desire I m- revenue. Every scalp which provoked triumph in the conqueror, demanded a bloody revenge at the hands of the vanquished ; and thus they brooded over bloody fan cies when they did not meet, aii l met only to reali/e their Moody dreams. It was soon evident to them>elves, if it was not known to other nations, that the war was one of annihilation that there could be no cessation of strife between them, until one of the parties should tear the last scalp from the brows of his hate ful enemy. Such a conviction, pressing equally upon the minds of both people, forced upon them the exercise of all their arts, their Mih- tk ly, their skill in circumventing their opponents, their ,^r and unsparing ferocity when they obtained any advantages. It prompted their devotions, also, to an intensity, which rendered both races complete subjects of the most terrible superstitions. Their priests naturally fed these superstitions, until war, which is the usual passion of the red man, became their fanaticism. Wild, mystical, horrid, were their midnight orgies and sacrifices ; and, when they were not in battle when a breathing spell frm conflict had given thorn a temporary respite, in which to rebuild and repair their burned and broken lodges, and store away the provisions which trere to serve them in new trials of strength, MI:I.\V IDLY <>r THI: i;n> M \.v. then religion claimed all their hearts, au.l fed their souls upon the one frenzied appetite which it thus m.ide the decree of prov idence. Ti.e red man s Moloch has always been supreme among liis gods, and lie now absorbed wholly the devotions equally of Pawnee and Omaha. And thus, from generation to generation, had the fierce niadn. -s been transmilted. Their oldest tradr fail.- Alien the hatred did not exist between the two na tions; and the boy of the Pawnee, and him of the Omaha, for hundreds of moons had still heen taught the same passion at the altar; and his nightly dream, until he could take the field a> a man, \\ as one in which he found himself bestriding an enemy, and tearing his ivrking scalp from his f.nvlu-ad. And till- tlie wav, is the common history of all these Indian tribes. They AVI-H- thus ju-rpetually in conilict with their neighbors, dc.stiiu il to slaughter or he .slain. What wonder the sad solemnity on their fae;->, the national gloom nvrr their villages, their pa>si.nis which hide darklv, as woh es in the mountain caverns, concealing, in the cold aspect, their .silent wretchedness; their horrid r. under the stolid, though only seeming, indifference in every -.M! \\. is dealing with them everyuhere, after his tiMial fa.shioii. They were themsidx cs the .sacrifii es upon hi* Moody altars, and he nursed their fren/.ie- only for >rlf-de- struc: (ilooiny. item, -age, was the spirit thus prevailing over the minds of both people, at the time of which we speak. The >eason was approaching, when, their summer crops laid by, v again to take the field, in the twofold charact- warriors and hunters. The union of the two, in the ca.se of !e living mostly by the chase, is natural and apparent gh. The forests where they v.ught their prey equally harbored their enemies, and fur both they made the same prep- The peiiod of these - within modern t! The coast.s of tlh lantic ha\c been pi.pulnu>ly settled by the white race. The re 1 men have gradually yield- Jieir jiioiieers. The i Norman is pushing hi> \\ ay rapi.llv into the iore.sts int.i the pathle>s bolitudes int" -sul len mountain | nd dense and glooinv thickets. Hy has possessed hiiiisc-lf everywhere of some foothold, and cunvuited every foothold into a fastness. The borderers wero alrach 408 SOUTHWARD HO ! known to both Pawnee and Omaha. But, while these raged against each other, they took little heed of that approaching power under which both were to succumb. Its coming inspired no fear, while the hate for each other remained undiminished. The autumn campaign was about to open, and the Pawnees and the Omahas were soon busy in their preparations for it. Before setting out upon the war-path, many things had to be done mystic, wild, solemn by which to propitiate their gods, and consecrate their sacrifices. The youth of each nation, who had never yet taken the field, were each conveyed to the " Silent Lodges," where, for a certain time, under trials of hun ger, thirst, and exposure, they were to go through a soil of sacred probation, (luring which their visions were to become auguries, and to shadow forth the duties and the events of their future career. This probation over, they took their part in solemn feast and council, in order to decide upon the most plausible plans of action, and to obtain the sanction and direc tion of the Great Spirit, as ascertained by their priests. You already possess some general idea of the horrid and unseemly rites which were held proper to these occasions. We are all, more or less familiar with that barbarous mummery, in which, on such occasions, most savages indulge ; blindly, and to us insanely, but having their own motives, and the greatest con fidence in the efficacy of their rites. These proceedings lasted days and nights, and nothing was omitted, of their usual per formances, which could excite the enthusiasm of the people, while strengthening their faith in their gods, their priesthood, and their destiny. In the deepest recesses of wood the incanta tions were carried on. Half naked, with bodies blackened and painted, the priests officiated before flaming altars of wood and brush. On these they piled native offerings. The fat of the bear and buffalo sent up reeking steams to the nostrils of their savage gods, mingled with gentler essences, aromatic scents, extracted from bruised or burning shrubs of strong odorous prop erties. The atmosphere became impregnated with their fume*, and the audience the worshippers, rather grew intoxicated as they inhaled. The prie>ts \\.-re already intoxicated, drink ing decoctions of acrid, bitter, fiery roots uf the forests, the qualities of which they thoroughly kne\v. Filled with their Tin: ATCUKY. exciting fires, they danced, they sang, they ran, ami sent up, meanwhile, the most horrid howls to their demon. Killed with a sacred fury, they rushed hither and thither, smiting them- ngly with sliarji Hints, which covered their hr and arms with hlood. Thus rnaildened, tliey divined, and the nation hung tre.mbling, a> with a single heart, upon the awful ations from their lips. The .-erne is one for the most vivid and intense of the melodramas. Talk of your Druid sacrifices, ;: opera-. They aiv not. for the picturesque and terrilde, to 1 e -p^ken of in the same hour with those of our aboriginal tribes. In the case of hoth nations, as might be. expected, the priests divined and pic licted general success. They took care, how- . as is usually the case with the prophets of the Mipei stitious, ak in language Mitliciently vague to allow of its application to any sort of 8TfBtoj or they rested solely upon safe predic tions which commonly bring about their own verification. They did not, however, content themselves with prophesying the events of the war. They consulted as well the course of the action to be pursued the plans to be adopted the leaders n ; and this, too. in Mich manner as to leave, no loopholes for evasion. Thus they encouraged their favorites, rebuked and kept down leaders whom they feared, and kept the nation subject wholly to their own exclusive despotism. The ropon-e ^specially made by the Pawnee priesthood, when consulting their gods with reference to the approaching campaign, announced the victorv to rest with that nation which should fu>t succeed in making a captive. This captive was doomed to the torture bv lire. Such a response as this, how- ouel and l.ai^ar us it may seem, was yet of a highly m-r- ciful tendency. ( aleulated really to ameliorate the horrors of war, and to promote the >afrtv of human life. The effect upon the I awuees a people eager and impetuous was to rest rain their appetite for battle. Their great policy was to e>< unne of any sort, while employing all their sub tlety f.-r the po-M SMon of a n; 1 this the rior- addre>^ed t liem^- K rv w-th wonderful unanimity, but to the grievous sacrifice of their vhief appetites, all of which indi cated the fiercer conflict as their true delight. 410 SOUTHWARD HO ! CHAPTER II . THE Omahas, on the other hand, had their favorite auguries also, and the response from their pods was not dissimilar to that which had been given to the Pawnees. It said that the nation should infallibly succeed in the campaign, icJiirh should receive the fir si Mow. But nothing was said of captivity. Similar, but in conflict, were the predictions. In both cases, as in battles usually, everything was made to depend upon the first blow. While, therefore, the policy of the Pawnees was to escape from everything like conflict, that of the Oinalias was to provoke, action and hurry into danger. Their warriors assembled, ac cordingly, at all points, and issued from their lodges and towns, taking the trail for the enemy s country. This they soon pen etrated. But the Pawnees uere very wary. They stood only on the defensive, and wholly avoided action ; retreated before equal numbers, and simply contented themselves with keeping out of danger, while keeping the Omahas for ever vigilant. Their caution, which was a very unwonted virtue, provoked the Omahas to desperation. Their effrontery was prodigious. They exposed themselves to the shaft on all occasions, rushing be neath the fastnesses of the Pawnees, striking their naked breast ?, and defying their enemies to shoot. But the latter lay prnlit. quietly, if not calmly, looking on, and apparently satisfied to keep their towns and camps in safety. They neither invited attack nor awaited it, and resolutely avoided giving what the Omahas solicited that first blow ! It is true that the young Pawnee braves felt sorely the necessity to which they were required to submit. Bitterly, in their hearts, they cursed the decree which kept them inactive ; forced to submit to taunts, reproaches, and invectives, from a people whom they loathed, and affected to despise. It vin< scarcely possible to restrain the young Pawnee bloods under such severe trials of their temper; but the voice of the priesthood was paramount ; and, blindly believing that safety lay only in their predictions, they were persuaded to suspend the thirst of blood, and to substitute subtlety for valor. To circumvent the enemy to make the captive, not to slay, not even to wound : this was the great duty and the eager desire with tho warriors of the Pawnee. AWK-KIONK. 411 But this v \gy matter. Tin 1 ( hnahas longed for the fliet. They desired t In 1 smitten. They would struggle to IV the stmke. They would force the captors to .strike the blmv, which was to defeat the one prophecy an-! satisfy tlie con ditions of the other. They were not to he onsnareil. They exposed themselves but seldom singly, and they were al arined for hattle. Turn where the Pawnees would set what snares they might employ what arts, still they found them- t and lulled by their now strangely insolent and assail ing enemies. But the. Pawnee warriors had some long heads among them, and they cogitated earnestly, and planned with equal delibera tion and method. Among the>e was a fellow of great renown, with the unenphonic name of Kionk, or as he was someti called. Av Kionk. He wt* tfl shrewd and sensible as lie was biave and active, and was full of energy and spirit, being just about thirty years of age. HI- w;i- what we might call a splen did looking savage a sort of Mark Antony among the red men fond of good living a rather merry companion for an In dian, but in battle a genuine Birserker becoming drunk and delirious with a Hunnish rapture at the sight or taste of blood. Such was the chief Kionk. He had his devices, and after a se cret conference with the head men of the nation he suddenly disappeared with a small but select party of warriors, to put them into execution. What was this famous project about which so much mystery was thrown? So secretly did Kionk and his followers depart, that nobody dreamed of their absence, even i they were far away; and so wide \\as the circuit which they took that they paed unseen and unsuspected, meeting not one of the cloud of spies whom the Omaha- had >et to watch along the line ing them from their em-n :< B, The t.l.jrrt ft Kionk u;is the captive, unhurt, unwounded, \\ ved for the tiery torture, w< , ,.-, of and secure them t 1 Within the whoh- wMe r.-ui.ires of a country which almost perpetual spring, the Omaha vill.vjrr occupied one of the sweetest and most beautiful .situations that could anywhere be seen. Their principal settlement was upon a small island, era- bosomed in a broad and glassy lake, which en ?> * : es into the 41- SOUTHWARD HO ! river Platte. The Pawnees had long lo.-ke 1 with eager and lustful eyes upon this lovely abiding place. It seemed to real ize to their imaginations the dream of the Indian heavens. It was so cool, so solitary, and, though an island, so shady with noble groves. There the banks seemed to wear the green of a perpetual summer. Never were there such flowers as bloomed for them by the wayside ; and the singing birds loved the re gion, and dwelt there, cherished choristers, throughout the year. There were other luxuries in that little island home of the Oma- has which were even more precious and wooing in the sight of the hungry Pawnees. The fish inhabiting the lake were in abundance, and of surpassing fatness and flavor. No wonder that the Loups hated a people in the exclusive possession of such a delicious home ! The great scheme of Kionk was to effect a descent upon the island, and carry off one at least of the inhabitants. This, it was assumed, it was quite easy to do, provided the utmost cau tion was observed, and that nothing happened to render the Ornahas suspicious of their object. Kionk reasoned rightly, when he urged upon the chiefs that, while invading their ene my s country, the Omahas would never dream of any foray into their own ! Their chief strength was well known to be in the field, hovering all about the Pawnee settlements. It was argued that the secluded situation of the village its remoteness from the scene of active operations and its natural securities would, in all probability, render the Omahas over-confident of its safety ; that they had probably left few men upon the island, and those mostly the infirm and timid. These would offer but a weak de fence ; but as assault was not the object, only surprise, even this was not apprehended. Kionk, as we have seen, succeeded in persuading the chiefs in council, and departed with his chosen band, making a successful circuit, which enabled him to pass the scouts of the Omahas, his progress entirely unsuspected. JH AFTER III. MEANWHILE, the Omahas labored in vain to provoke their enemies to action. Never did warriors show themselves so solici tous of being beaten struck at least and never did Christian THE CHIKK KNEMOYA. warriors shw themselves more reluctant to bestow the much desired chastisement. This sort of strategy could not lust for ever. Our Omahas began to be very impatient, and t the ; i and its prophecies, in their heart of hearts. Jt is true that they were not kept idle, hut constantly watchful and husv ; true, also, that they kept their hands in for war, by prac tising a verv slaughterous campaign against bear. bufValo, and buck. But this did not satisfy the national appetite for the Mood of their hated rivals. And they groaned witli impatience at the difficulty of complying with the conditions of the war. which the prophets had prescribed, in consequence of the most unnatural forhearanre displayed by the Pawrn Among the young warriors of the Omahas who sum-red from this impatience, tin-re was one, a gallant youth, little more than ril to manhood, who had already made himself famous by his excellence in all the qualities of warrior and hunter. A more daring or accomplished fellow than Knemoya. the nation did not possess. Though <|iiite young still, he had been tried in frequent battles, and had acquired such a reputation for equal spirit, skill, and understanding, that he took a foremost rank among his people, whether in action, or in the preliminary de liberations of the council. But Enemoya, though brave and _ e in war, had yet his weaknesses, lie was not insensible to the tender passion. There was a young woman of his tribe, known by the pretty poetical name of Missouri; "" 1 the tir>t symptoms which Knemoya had that this young woman was of any importance in his ryrs-. consisted in his sudden di^roverv of the great beauties of this name. The Indian warrior, like Rich ard I. eon, and the knights mo>t famous i IVoveih something of a .Iinigleur. At all events, every chief of the red men sings his \\ar lOBg, his battle hymn, his song of rejoicing, and his death chant. Of the quality of these songs, as works of art, we ha 1 - yllable t> say. They were probably not any better than those of Co-ur de Leon and his brother J knights of Florence, PerllApt, metrical harmony cmisid. they were not halt In making songs for the fair Mis souri. Knemoya did by no means set up 1-r a p. -el ; and that - "iig has l -cen pre>ervecl at all, is due to the tact that it has been found to answer the purposes of other lovers among the 414 .SOUTHWARD HO! red knights of the Omaha. It has even found circulation among the Pawnees, and, by the last advices from that tribe, it is said that this people actually claim the original verses for one of their own warriors a claim which we need scarcely assure you is totally unfounded. Perhaps, however, it matters very little with whom the authorship properly lies. It is certain that Enemoya, stealing behind the lovely Missouri, while she plryed with her sister s children in a stately grove on the borders of the beautiful lake, chanted the following ditty in her ear. We make a close translation from the original, putting it, however, into good English rhymes, in the hope that it may be adopted by Russell, or some other popular singer, and become the sub stitute for the poor, flat, puny, mean-spirited love songs, which are at present so discreditable to the manhood of the Anglo- Saxon race. We are constrained to add that Enemoya, though he had a good voice, and could scream with any eagle, w\s yet rather monotonous in singing his ditty. LOVE SONG OF ENEMOYA, ONK OK THK GREAT WAR CHIKKS OF TH OMAHA3. I. FAWN of the forest isle, but see The gifts that I have brought for thee, To please thy heart and win thine eyes, Here ure the loveliest beads, as bright As flowers by duy, and stars by night, All colored with the prettiest dyes! Oh 1 take them, girl of Omaha ! II. Tnke them, with other gifts as dear, Which thou wilt make more lui-jht to wear: Thi* robe of calico but view From pal"laeed trader liou^lit, who swore The world ne er saw the like iirt nre, &> softly red, so preen, so blue ")h ! take it, girl of Omaha ! III. This shawl of scorlet, see to fold About thy neck, when day arc cold LU >i nil-: OMAHA. {low soft, and warm, :nul ni.-V ! A (Io7.cn boavei skins, three bear, A core, and more, of fox and deer, It rust ; ii s\\inpiii juice ! Yet, take it, girl of Omaha ! IV. And nrre are other gifts this bowl, Of tin a nn -t;il, by my soul, Most precious nml most i These little hells, hut hear them ting Ting, tinl -, ti.it;! -. i ir-1 on \\ing HeYr itung so sweet inul clear l)h ! take i!u-m girl of Omuhu ! V. Tuke thorn, and me ! For I m the man To make you blest, if mortal cun I m six feet high and strong As bull of nil the bijfi uloes; I m good for any thousand foes, As I am good for song. So, take me, girl of Omaha! VI. Take me if you are wise ; and know My lodge is rendy ; such a show Of skins, ami meat, is there ! I ve thirty venison hams and more, Kive buffalo humps me in my *: And twice as many bear ! ,uis, sweet girl of Omaha! VII. Take me . and know before we part, No other shall post-tens thy heart; I ll take his >,-., lp h" N _-.:.. <>", By any bi.t - son, \Nis--, And take me. nil This will be called rather a rough style of wooing, in our eoftly s.-ntiiiu-ntal society, but, among the red men. the chant of Eiieinoya, on this occasion, was deemed the rfec- 110 SOUTHWARD HO ! tion of a love song. It dealt frankly with the maiden. It told her all that she ought to know, and warned her of what sho had to expect, whether she took him or not The. lover never thought, of the damsel s fortune ; but he freely tendered every thing that he himself possessed. It was herself only that he wanted. He was no fortune-hunter. He was a msji, and he talked to her like a man. " See what provision I have made for you. Look into my lodge. See the piles of meat in yonder corner. They are humps of the buffalo. These alone will last us two all the winter. But look up at the thirty venison hams, and the quarters of the bear now smoking, hanging from the rafters. There s a sight to give a young woman an appe tite. They are all your own, my beauty. You perceive that there s much more than enough, and in green pea season we can give any number of suppers. Lift yon blanket. That is our sleeping apartment. See the piles of bear skins: they shall form our couch. Look at the tin ware that most precious of all the metals of the white man yet I have appropriated all these to culinary purposes. As for jewels and ornaments, the beads, of which I have given you a sample, are here in abun dance. These are all your treasures, and you will do wisely to accept. Now, my beauty, I don t want to coerce your tastes, or to bias your judgment in making a free choice; but I must say that you shall never marry anybody but myself. I m the very man for yon ; able to fight your battles and bring you plentiful supplies ; and feeling that I am the only proper man for you, I shall scalp the first rival that looks .on you with impertinent eyes of passion ; nay, scalp you too, if you are so absurd as to look on him with eyes of requital. I m the only proper person for you, I tell you." We need scarcely say that this performance made Enemoya as famous as a poet, as he, had been as a warrior and hunter. It is now universally considered the chef d asuvrc of the Omahas. As a matter of course, it proved irresistible, with the. fair Mis souri. It had an unctuous property about it, which commended the lover to all her tastes. She suffered him to put his arms about her, to <_ r ive her the kiss of betrothal, which, among the Omaha women, is called the "kiss of consolation," an I the re sult was, an arrangement for the bridal, with the close 01 the l.V LMING, -1 17 nt campaign, and the ..{.ruin-- .,f tin- sprim: that is, taking for granted tliat Enemoya docs not happen, by any chance, tc leave his own scalp along the war-path. But neither party thought of this contingency, or they made very light of it. The courtship occurred that very autumn, and just as the warriors were preparing for the winter campaign. It was during the "windy month" (October), and they were to wait till May. And Knemoya was to lie absent all the winter! It was quite a trial even for a Birserker Omaha ! rilAPTKK IV. Hi- new relations with the damsel Missouri, and the i:; bility of forcing the Pawnee Loups to make the assault, rendered Knemoya very impatient of the war. Day by day he became more and more restless more and more dissatisfied more and more troubled by the ^nmgrst lunging to steal away, and take, if only a look, ;it the dusky but beautiful damsel, hv the lake side, and among the thickets. He had picked up certain spoils among the villages of the Pawnees for the <;> P the Omaha prophets did not denounce the spoiling of the Egyptians ; only the .slaying of them and, now that he was a betrothed 1". emoya was quite as avid after spoils as ever feudal chieftain in the palmy days of chivalry. And why should he ) ia\\ otV from the camp, and carry home his treasures and his trophir< * What was then- to he done . The Pawnees would not iight --would not strike, at all events and eluded all efforts ring them to blows, and dodged admirably every sort of dai)-> Ht could do no more than he had done, and the bnsilieat Of the war having subsided into a question of mere \ lance and patience, he felt that this coiild l.c carried "ii quite AS well by ordinary warriors as by the 1 it fit for hunting, why should he fatigue himself in this Had ) M > not already shown to Missouri the rafters ,.f his cabin reeking of the i MYOT I Thus thinking, lie daily grew more and i convinced of the propii turning home. His medita 1 in6uenced his dreams and these fdled him with tioul b-. An IndiaSi is a great dreamer, and has ,ith in the quality of dreams. The prac 1 418 SOUTHWARD HO ! his priests and prophets. The orientals were never such famous interpreters in the days of " the Elders." Being a poet also, Km inoya shared in the dreaming endowment of the priesthood. r,b sleep was wholly occupied with dreams. In all of these, r- i-souri was a conspicuous feature. Now lie saw her in flight; i w in tears, and trembling; anon he beheld her fettered ; ,vi 1 ;..;rj;i she seemed to float away from his embrace, a bleeding s;octre, melting away finally into thin air. Jn most of these dreams, he beheld always, as one of the persons of the drama, a warrior in the hateful guise of a Pawnee. How should a Pawnee dare to hover, even in a dream, about the person of Missouri, the betrothed of a great chief of the Omahas ? What had he to do there ? and why did the spectre of one unknown, whom indeed he only saw dimly, and always with face averted, and looking toward Missouri why did he presume to thrust himself between his visions and the object so precious and ever present to his dreams ? The heart of the young warrior became uneasy, as he could conjecture no reasonable solution of his difficulty, unless, indeed, one of which he dared not think. Was Missouri the captive of the Pawnee ? He recoiled at the notion he laughed, but rather hollowly, and with great effort and became more uneasy than ever. His waking dreams, shaped by those that came to him in sleep, became still more troublesome, a;id he re solved to depart secretly for the dear islet in the little lake, if only to disarm his doubts, and get rid of his vexatious fancies. An opportunity soon enabled him to do so. A large party of the Omahas had resolved upon a long hunt, and they applied to Enemoya to join them. The sport in no way promised to inter fere with the quasi warfare which was carried on; and, finding it impossible to bring the Pawnees to the striking point, the Omahas contented themselves with the warfare upon the (juad- rupeds of the forest. Enemoya joined the hunt, but soon dis appeared from the party. They did not miss him till nightfall, and in the meantime he had sped, fast and far, pushing back ward along the paths leading to the little island, and the dusky damsel whom he loved. But the young warrior was late, though no laggard. II is enemy had been before him. That subtle and enterprising Kionk had led his party with surprising address, and had succeeded in THK I AWNKi: SPY. 419 fetchi ig such a compass .-is brought him entirely without the alizntnt-nt of spies and scouts, which the Omahas hail stretched across the country, ami, without impediment Of interruption, had made his way successfully to the horders of the little lake in which the blessed island seemed to he brooding upon its own bosom in a dream of peace. Nothing could look more calm, more inoffensive, more winning. One would think that, to be hold it only, would disarm the hostile passions of the enem\ . There lay the quiet groves beyond. There rose the soft white curling smokes from the little cabin; and see beneath the t where the, young dam-els and the children are skipping gayly about, as little conscious of care as danger. The prospect did not disarm the Pawnee chief. On the con trary, it rather strengthened his resolve, and stimulated his <nterpri.se. " If u e obtain this captive." he thought to himself, " we conquer these rascally Omahas ; and then we take pi>^eMn of this beautiful island, this line lake always full of the s\\- fish, and these broad green meadows, where I can keep a score of horses without sending them out to grass." And the eye of .k already > dected a particular site for his own future tl -ment, and by no means stinted himself in the number of his self-allotted acres. Hut he did not, while thus thinking of his own pnjects of plunder, become neglectful of the duties which he had undertaken. He looked about him, the better to prose- his objects. We need not to be told that this inquiry was ! with as much caution as energy. Everybody nndcr- ! s that the red men kept themselves \\ell c"Vered in the woods, so that none of the innocent children and the thou^htle-s girls, sporting along the 1 ank> <i the i>h-t. on the ..j.jio-itr shore, couhl get the .slightest ^liinp-e of their persons or their pp. : The marauders Mole up the stream, for the lake \\as- simply formed by the expansion of a river, which the islet divided in the middle. The Pawnees kept under cover till they a , -ight of the i.sb-t. At length th. <-d upon the \ of ti Here they f..und a can.e. with which they p: from sb :; it to the current to take them down to the islet, and using their paddles simply to shape their c-an-e, so ns to touch the point aimed at only \\heie its shrubs and willows would alVord concealment. The wl.. le aiVair was well man; 420 SOUTHWARD HO ! and was quite successful. The Pawnee warriors found them selves, for the first time, on the blessed island of the Omahas The reptile was in the garden. He crawled, and crept, or sneaked, crouching or gliding from cover to cover, from thicket to thicket, and stealing from side to side, wherever he thought it most probable that he should happen upon the victim he sought. More than once Kionk might have caught up a child, a nice little girl of seven or eight, or a stout chunk of a boy of similar age ; but he had his doubts if such juveniles were con templated by the oracle. He must do his work thoroughly, and having gone thus far in his enterprise, peril nothing upon a miserable doubt. CHAPTER V. LITTLE did the beautiful damsel Missouri fancy, as she sat singing that evening by the shore of the quiet lake, while the infant child of her sister, Tanewahakila, was rocking in a case of wicker work from the boughs of an outspreading tree, that danger hung about her footsteps. She sung, in the gladness of a young warm heart, scarcely knowing what she sang, and musing, in delicious reveries, upon the spring season, which it is so pleasant to think of when one is lonely in cold weather, and which was to bring back Enemoya to her arms, a triumphant warrior. Alas ! what a happy dream the Fates are about to mock with their cruel performances. What a lovely picture of peace and felicity is about to be blackened with the thunderbolt and storm ! AVliile Missouri sang, or mused, lost in her sweet reveries, the hand of the fierce Pawnee chief, Kionk, was laid upon her shoul der. Before she could turn to see who was the rude assailant, his shawl had been wound about her mouth, shutting in her cries. In another moment she was lifted in his powerful arms and borne into the thickets. The infant was left swinging in his basket rocker from the tree! The lightfooted Enoinoya, meanwhile, sped with all the im petuous diligence of a lover toward the precious little islet, so full of treasure for his heart. Pursuing a direct course, he was not long in consummating his journey, anil at the close of a fine OF KNKMOYA. 4-1 day in November we find him once more on the borders of the little lake, ami looking across to the happy haven which ho sought. He pause. 1 t ,,r an infant only to take from the bough from which it depended the. clear yellow gourd, Mich as was y where placed conveniently for the wayfarer, and scooped up a sweet draught from the Howing waters. Then he sought out A little canoe, one of many which lav along the shore, and paddled out into the lake, making his way toward the well- remembered headlands, where Missouri was wont to play with the children of her sister, Tanewahakila, the wife of his cousin, the grim warrior of Ouanawega-poree. It somewhat surprised Knemoya that he seemed to be unseen by the villagers, of whom he himself beheld none ; and it was with a feeling of inquietude that he looked vainly to the headlands he was approaching for some signs of Missouri herself. But, when he reached the island, and his little boat shot up along the silvery beach, he began to tremble with a strange fear at the deep and utter silence which prevailed everywhere. He pushed rapidly for the lodge of Ta newahakila, but it was silent and untenanted. The fire had gone out upon the hearth. He was confounded, and hurried off to the village. Here he found the women and children gathered within the picketed enclosure, and, from a score of tongues, he soon learned the disaster. Missouri had disappeared. She had been seen borne upon strong Pawnee shoulders to the boat at the upper end of the island, and, before the. alarm could be given, ii.nl been carried safely to the opposite side N,,t knowing how many of the subtle Pawn. , about, the old an.. .t warriors of the village had all set oil on the route said to be taken by the enemy. As yet, there was n report nf the n-Miir. Hut what report, or what result, could be anticipated unless that of disappointment from a pursuit vigorous foes, undertaken by the superannuated/ PoOT ] moya listened with the saddest feeling of hopdMIMM and deso lation. "One stupid moment motionless he stood ;" then, having heard all which the Women had to tell, he darted nil in pn: resolved to perish .r re-cue his dusky beauty from the talons of her cruel ravishers ! While Knemoya was thus, witl all his soul and strength, urging the pursuit, Kionk, with hit captive and his companions, 422 SOUTHWARD HO ! was equally earnest in pressing his retreat. But, to make this safe, he was compelled to make it circuitous. He had to fetch a wide compass, as before, to escape the scouts and war parties of the Omahas. Though indefatigable, therefore, in the prose cution of his journey, Kionk made little direct headway. But he was in no hurry. He could afford to lose time now that he had his captive. It was only required that he should keep his trophy. To do this needed every precaution. He knew that he would be pursued He gave sufficient credit to his enemies to assume that they would not give slumber to their eyelids, nor rest to their feet, in the effort to rescue his prey, and to revenge the indignity which they had suffered. He also took for grant e<l that they would bring to the work an ingenuity and skill, a sagacity and intelligence, very nearly if not equal to his own. He must be heedful, therefore, to obliterate all traces of his progress ; to wind about and double upon his own tracks ; to take to the streams and water-courses whenever this was possi ble, and to baffle by superior arts those of his pursuers. That there would be much energy in the pursuit, whatever might be its sagacity, he did not apprehend ; for he knew that the guardians of the village were mostly superannuated, and a cold scent is usually fatal to enterprise. He knew that they would fight, perhaps as well as ever, upon their own ground, and in defence ; but for a war of invasion, or one which involved the necessity of prompt decision and rapid action, old men are nearly useless. He was therefore cool, taking his leisure, but playing fox-work admirably, and omitting no precaution. He contrived to throw out the veterans after a brief interval, and to shake himself free of their attentions. But he did not dream of that fierce wolf-dog upon the scent the young, strong, and audaciously-brave chief, Enemoya. CHAPTER VI. IT was not long before Kionk began to take a curious interest in the looks and behavior <>f his captive. Very sad and wretched, indeed, was our dusky damsel ; but she was very patient withal, and bore up firmly against fatigue, and never once complained, and seemed to show herself perfectly insensi ( .\rioi; AND CAPTIVE. blc to danger. She had been cht*en as the \vife of a great warrior, and she \v sho\v that she possessed a worthy of so proud a de*tiny. Kionk beheld her patience and endurance with a grim sort ,ctin. Such a woman, he thought, dc-crves t<> have a famous hu*band : she will do honor in the fire torture. And yet, again, he inured upon the grievous }>ity of hiirning up so much fine flesh and blood ; such a fine figure, Mich a pretty lace ; a creature of so many graces and heau- and one who would hear such noble-looking men-children, gladdening a warlike father s heart. Kionk began to think how much better it would be if he could pick up another cap tive, and save Missouri from the fire-torture. She would make biich ft commendable \\ife. But Kionk had a wife already; for that matter, it must be confessed that he had three, and did not enjoy any great reputation as an indulgent husband. But great chiefs li;.ve peculiar privileges, and a chief like Kionk might as safely repudiate his wives as any of the Napoleons, or any of the Guelphs of Km ope. Positively, the thought began to grow upo.i the mighty Kionk, of the beauties and virtues and excellent domestic nature of Missouri. More than once he caught himself muttering: "What a pity such a fine ii_ should be scorched and blackened by the fire !" He watched her pitifully as he mused. When they paused for food and . he attended kindlily to her wants. He brought her the food himsell ; he chose the ground where she slept, and threw his buflfalo robe over her, and watched at her head during the brief hours at midnight which I "rded to re.st. When, long before dawn, the party was again in motion, he himself gave her the signal to rise, , IT) .l helped her up. He was curiously attentive, for s > rough a Ml pf Bir*erkir. Could Knemoya have witne these attentions! Could he have seen what thought* passing through the brain of Kionk what feelings were work ing in hi* heart! But his jealous and apprehensive spirit con jectured all. What li.\erbut apprehended the worst of dangers from a charming rival ? While such were the relations between the captor and the captive, Knemoya puiMied the *earch \vith as much rapidity as consisted with the necessity of keeping on the track of the fugitives. He encountered the party of exhausted veterans at 4124 SOUTH WARD HO . the spot where they were thrown out of the chase ; and, while they returned sorrowfully to the little islet, no longer safe and happy, he contrived to catch up the traces which they had lost, and once more resumed the pursuit with now hopes and spirit. Under any circumstances, the free step, the hold heart, the keen eye, and prompt sagacity, of Enemoya would have made him fearful as a pursuer ; but now, with jealous fire and a fierce anger working terribly in his soul, all his powers of mind and body seemed to acquire greater vigor than ever. Passion and despair gave him wings, and he seemed to carry eyes in his wings. Nothing escaped his glance. He soon per suaded himself that he gained upon his enemy. There are traces which the keen vision of the hunter will detect, even though another hunter shall toil to baffle him ; and, in spite of the care and precautions of Kionk, he could not wholly succeed in obscuring the tracks which his party unavoidably made. Besides, anticipating pursuit, though certainly not that of her lover, Missouri had quietly done all that she might, in leaving clues of her progress behind her. She was not allowed to break the shrubs as she passed, nor to peal the green wands, nor to linger by the way. Where she slept at night the care ful hands of her captors stirred the leaves, and smoothed out all pressure from the surface. But the captors were not always watchful, and Missouri noted their lapses very needfully. As Enemoya hurries forward over a little sandy ridge, what is it that sparkles in the path 1 It is one of the bright blue heads which lie himself has wound about the neck of the dusky maiden. His hopes rekindle and multiply in his breast. Anon he sees another, and another, dropped always on the clear track, and where it may imprison the glistening rays of the sun. Now he hurries forward, exulting in the certainty of his clues. Toward sunset he happens upon the clearly-defined track of a man s moccasin. The foot is large and distinct. There are other like tracks, set down without any reserve or seeming apprehension. Enemoya at once concludes that the Pawnee party, deeming themselves secure, no longer continue their precautions. This encourages him still further. He will now catch them napping. Again he darts forward, following tin* obvious tracks hefure him. But night came down, and he omld nly travel under the THK CAM! OF THK PA1.K-FACE8. l--~> guidance of a star, eho>cn, as pointing in the seemingly given direction. Thus, for an hour or more after night, he followed on through the dim forest. Suddenly, a* lie rounds a \\ course, which lie can not wade, lie i* .startled by the blaze, of a camp-tire. " Such a fire," quoth Enemoya to himself, " was never made hy Pawnee warrior. He would never he the fool so to advertise hi* sleeping place to his enemies." The prospect which would have cheered the white man, disap pointed our chief of Omaha, lie now knew that lie had 1 milled, and had turned aside from the true path indicated hv the beads of Missouri, t> follow upon one which had heen evidently made by quite another party. Hut, though mortified with him- at this bltmdermg, and in allowing himself to reason from a false assumption his pride as hunter and warrior being equally wounded he cautiously approached the tire, around which the outlines of a group of persons, dimly seen hy the hlaze, were crouching. They proved to he a party of white men, and were busily engaged in the discns.sioii of a supper of broiled venison and smoking hoecake. The intercourse of Kncmova with the white trailers, had, as we have already seen, been rather con siderable, and the larger profits had not certainly lain with the red man. The chief had learned suine little of the Kn-li>h tongue in this intereoiir-e, h<>\\rver. and he suddenlv ti ammig the .-trailers, introducing himself with a softly mur mured: " Huddye do, hrudder ; 1 berry dad to see you in Couir ( Mir pi.-neers were fellows of "the true -ri(." to employ then own verbal currency, as big-limbed, muscular, hardy, and dare devil scamps, as 61 from " Roaring ri\- r. I : 0] taken by snrpri-e, but were on their h-^s in the twinkling of nn each brandishing his rifle, rlub-fa>hi>n, and feeling tint his knife was convenient to his grasp. Thev were on the looking for a new route; had drawn up stake-, i settled neighborhood, having three neighbors in asqua: and plant them .\.led region. The gen?!* --ured them. light . :ds bruddeix all. The ( hnah a in a friend to the p 420 SOUTH W AIM) HO! And he extended his hand which they promptly shook, all round, and then frankly bade him sit and share of their provis- i"iis. Enemoya $ heart was not in the feast, nor yet with his new companions He would iniu-li ratlin- never have encounter ed them, but still kept on the track of the true enemy, as pointed out by the occasionally dropped head of the poor Missouri. Many were the secret imprecations which he muttered against the big feet of the pale-faces, which had diverted him from the true course. Weary, almost to exhaustion, he was for the moment utterly desponding. The last feather breaks the camel s back. Now Enemoya s spine was still, in sooth, unshaken, but the con viction that he had lost ground which he might never be able to recover, made him succumb, as the hardiest man is apt to do, for a time, under the constantly accumulated pressure of mis fortunes. He did as the Kentuckians bade him, and sat down with them to the supper, but not to eat. The white men noted his despondency, and, little by little, they wound out of the war rior tiie whole history of his afl airs the present war between Pawnee and Omaha the predictions upon which the result was to depend the secret foray of the Pawnees, and their capture of the dusky beauty whom he was to carry to his lodge in the spring. He narrated also the details of his pursuit thus far, and confessed in what manner he had been misled, never dreaming of the, moccasin track of a white man in the country of the red, at such a moment. " Well, now, yours is a mighty hard Ciise for a young fellow; I must say it though I m rather an old one myself," was the remark of one of the elders of the white party a grisly giant, some forty-five years of age, vet probably with a more certain vii:<>r than be bad at thirty-iive. "It s not so bad to lose one s wife, afier he s got a little usen to her; but win-re it s only at the beginning of a man s married life, and where it s nothing but the. happiness of the thing that he s c-nisiderin , to have the gal caught up, ami carried away by ;;n iuimy, makes a sore place in a person s feelings. It s like hav!: upper snapped U P by a hungry wolf, jot before lie s tasted the let ilest morsel, and when lie s a-wiping his mouth to eat. I confess, 1 feels uneasy at your perdicament. Now, what do you sav ef we. lends you a band to help yon git back the ral." I" \ IJ Mw FARMS" \\-nn THE xjr,\rm:-. 127 Enemoya WAS cheered by the prospect, and expressed his gratitude. " Well, that s pretty well said for a rod-skin. We are, the boys to help you, my lad, for there ain t one of us that can t double up an Ingin in mighty short order. With these pretty little critters here," touching one ..f the ritles, " we can see to a mighty great distance, and can stretch the longest leg< YOU ever did see after an iniiny. And we re good at scouting, and can take a track, and sarcumvent the heathen jist as well as we can Kircumvent the b ar and huffalo. Ami we / // sarve you, ef we can make tarms upon it." ilnemoya was willing to admit the prowess of the white men ; but he didn t altogether comprehend the latter part of what was tsaid about the k tarm>." 44 Oh ! don t make out that you re m gn-en as all that comes to. You ve been trading witli our people, and ought to know what we mean by tnrms. But, ef you don t, it s only to make it d ar to you by using some easier words. Tarms is conditions that i-, the pay, the hire, the salary what you re to give in for helping to git the gal hack, sound in wind and limb, and other sarc .im-tancfs. X< cine, no pay no gal, no tarm>." Kneni .ya was not long in comprehending the suggestion. Ho felt the importance of snch an alliance, and well knew that the. proffered assistance was highly valuable. It filled him with new hope and murage. Hr was accordingly as liberal as the ine iu his gratitude and promises, lie had deer, and bear, and buffalo skins, which were all at the service of his alli they were successful in the chase. Ay, a;., all them s mighty good things; but the gal s worth a great deal more. \ ",\ . y..ii jist now spoke of this bring vour C"unti\. Ill we chosr, txM-uld hr mightv ea-\- to di-pute that incut ; for \\ hat mai .e it ni-u-e your country than mine > It s all (lod .s country, and (iod grants no jr emptions to auv but a Chri- jde. The 1. e.-,:h .-n s |0< tt die out, any how. some day. Hut I r ute with a man \\hen lu- s in a pad troul - 11 lea\e that argyment t.\-er f..r am-ther time. \V,- ll take the >kin>. but you ll throw in some rifle- -hot- of land \\ith em. won t you, <: back your gal . " Be fu.:h. .:, I tinallv 428 SOUTHWARD HO ! agreed that our pioneers, if successful in recovering Missouri, should have as much territory of Omaha, wherever they were pleased to locate, as they could shoot round in a day. He did not calculate the number of acres that could be thus covered by a score of long Kentucky rifles. The bargain was concluded. And here we may observe that such leagues were quite frequent from the earliest periods of our history, between the red men and the white pioneers. The latter most commonly took sides with the tribe with which they hunted, harbored, or trafficked. The trappers and traders were always ready to lead in the wars between the tribes, and their presence usually determined the contest. They were in fact so many bold, hardy, fighting men, and Avere always active in the old French war, in subsidizing the Indians for their respective nations, against French or En glish, as it happened. Let them fight as they pleased, however, the red men were losers in the end. The rifle shots invariably resulted in the absorption of their acres. But the bargain was concluded, and the supper. The squatters leaped to their feet, girded themselves up for travel, reprimed their rifles, and set off, under the guidance of Enemoya now refreshed by rest, and a new stimulus to hope to recover the trail of the fugitive Pawnees, which he had lost. CHAPTER VII. WHILE Enemoya was thus strengthening himself for the pur suit, passions of a strange and exciting character were slowly kindling in the camp of the Pawnees. The growing sympathy which Kionk showed for the beautiful captive, became intelligi ble to his comrades a little sooner than to himself. They had no such feelings, and they were a little resentful of his, accord ingly. Besides, one of his companions was a brother to one of his many wives, and was particularly watchful of those peculiar weaknesses of his kinsman, which were sufficiently notorious among his people. Like Mark Antony, to whom we have already compared him, Kionk had too tender a heart he was 11 admirer of the sex, and would cheerfully lose the world Riiy day for any dusky Cleopatra. He snfVered his companions I tlie roirivvi. which Missouri had made ill his affections. TROI RLK IN (AMP. by gravely proposing to them, as they rested in camp, the ver\ hour that Enoinoya was making liis bargain with tlio white men, to " seek for another captive." II, was not (jnito sure that a woman sacrifice was contemplated by the gods, or would be ac ceptable to them. He very much doubted it himself. Indeed, how should it be so. It was the war- god to whom the victim was to be offered, and what should the victim be but a warrior. They had seen the defenceless condition of the islet. It would surely he easy to cast the snare about the feet of some one of the veterans, and carry him on", as they had carried oil Mi-iuri." rother-in-law answered with a sneer: " Is my brother prepared, when he hath taken the old war rior, to leave the damsel behind him . ? " was a pii/xier, by which Kionk began to see that he was su-pected. But he was a bold fellow, who did not care much to oiler apologies or excuses. He an-v/ered with equal prompt: and determination : "No. indeed; the captive woman is comely, and \\ould be the mother of many braves to a chief among the Pawi.< "As if the Pawnees bad no women of their own." wa> the : and his sentiment- \\ere dearly th.e of the larger number of his companions. Kionk, bold a> be VTA8, not prepared to take the bull by the horns at that moment. He saw that public opinion t him. and he must wait 6V( And this forbearance became much more essential, when hi- brother-in-law deliberately ur^ed upon the party "to sir uri to the lire torture where they then were, and thus ren der the matter certain. They would tin: an UK umbranee ; would be better able to turn upon their uld then strike and scalp with impunitv, an- . re\. :: themsel\e> teai fully lor all the taunts of their impudent a<-ail- . made safe by the oracle, to \\ hich thev had found il painful to submit. The requisitions of the oracle onc ("mjdied with, they would be free to u-e tbeir scalping-knives on e side." It required all the logic and eloquence ..f Kionk to silence this terrible suggestion, ono which better taught him to under stand the extent of his newly awakened passion for his beauti ful and dnnprrous rnptive. His nrerument proved conch 430 SOUTHWARD HC ! with all but his savage biother-in-law. He urged that the sac rifice could only take place under the immediate sanction and sight of the high-priest. But before the decision of his com panions could be made, the party had nearly come to blows. In the midst of the discussion between Kionk and his kinsman, and when both were nearly roused to madness, the latter sprang suddenly upon Missouri who had tremblingly listened to the whole dispute seized her by her long black hair, whirled her furiously around, and actually lifted his knife to strike, before any" of them could interpose. Then it was that the whole lion nature of Kionk was in arms, and tearing her away fpun the brutal as sailant, lie hurled him to the earth, and, but for his companions, would have brained him with his hatchet on the spot. But he warned him with terrible eye, as ho sullered him to rise, that if lie but laid his finger on the damsel again, lie would hew him to pieces. The kinsman rose, silent, sullen, unsubdued, and secretly swearing in his soul to have his revenge vet. These events de lay el the party. It was long that night before they slept. It was late after daylight, next day before the journey was resumed. This gave new opportunities to the pursuers. It was not difficult to retrace the steps of the white men, which Enemoya had so unwisely followed, until he reached the point where he had turned aside from the true object of pursuit. To this the squatters themselves, who were as good at scouting, any day, as the red men, very easily conducted. This brought them to a late hour in the night, and here our whites proceeded to make their camp, though, this time, without venturing to make a fire. The Omaha chief would have hurried on, but his companions very coolly and doggedly refused. He soon saw the wisdom of curbing his impatience, not only because of the. inflexibility of his allies, but because, as they showed him, his impatience would only cause him again to lose the trail, which it was not possible to pursue by night. With the dawn, however, the whites were on the alert, and one of them soon appeared with a bead in his hand, the certain indication of the daim route and providence. Knenmya readily conjectured the gen- oral direction which would be taken by the Pawnees, and an -ional bead, glistening upon the sandy spots, sufficed every now and then to oncourncre the pursuers. At this period, the \V.M 431 r knowledge of tlir country pOMCMed by Knemoya, ena bled him, by striking an oblique course for the head of a creek, which tin- Pawnees would he compelled to CTOtt, to -rain con siderably upon thiMii. ignorant as they were of this shorter v,,iit-. T -MUM was fortunate ; and, never once dreaming ofth< whirl, had delayed the the la<t ni-ht.the ( Jmaha chief with his allies came unexpectedly upon them ahont midday, where, squat beside a brooklet, they were taking a brief rest and a little ivfrexhment. This pause had become 68- peeially neeemary for Miouri, who. with incessant travel, and the terror of the scene >f the previous niirht, had succumbed, and actually fainted that nioniinir ah-n^ the route. Kionk was compelled to carry her, at various stage*, in his arms which be did with the irreate-t tenderness till the moment when the. party >t"pped for nooning beside the little brooklet, where Eu- cmoya and his white allies came upon them. The I awnees \\ere overtaken, but not taken by surprise. They did not certainly expert to be overtaken, but they had ted in none of their vigilance, and their scout reported the enemy before the latter had discovered the quarry. The Paw- -in": upon the ground, scattered around a small cir cuit, Missouri in the centre of the -n.up, n-tin- against a tre,-. Her lon^- hair was dishevtdled, and lay heavily upon the leaves; her foeC ai sad and anxious, weary and without hope; M A\oful wa^ the si-ht that the impulx-s of Knemoya. as he beheld her, u r t for a moment the better of his prudence, and he ptM out of t 1 . ^houtin^ bis war cry, an I 1 undin_ with uplifted tomahawk. It was with no scrupul entle band that the cider of the white men caught him in his sinewy ]>. and drew him back into the thick* With the visual whittle of their scout, the Pawnee warriors Vrfefo upon their Ir^ s. each covering himself with a t and a doxen arr.ws \vere rapidly shot into th.- ITOO ! nliere our squatters bad taken harbor. But they \\t-re as quick and M pr.-.. ;;,,.,! in p Ofl lcrfl l\te 1 ad 1 .n^hed at (bis demonstration. In numbers t!.. small pair; their enemie-. and could b whelmed them probably by i .Men nish from .pp.site quarter-: hut they were warned : Mst v|,cb and.; t\ ! ; 1 : ii ll : -i-kv 4 ML! i ii\VAi;i) no! maiden, who was seized l>y the hair by one of the captors as soon as Enemoya had shown himself, while a knife lifted over her bo som threatened her with instant death at the first demonstration of attack. Never had Enemoya before found himself in a situ ation in which he was so little capable of resolving what should be done. But the squatters who accompanied him were persons of as much shrewdness and experience as daring. While they felt that confidence and boldness were prime qualities of the warrior, they also well knew that rashness and precipitance would be fatal to their object. They held counsel among them selves, never consulting the red chief, though he stood up and listened. The Anglo-Norman lias profound faith in parliaments. "We must argyfy the case with these red devils," was the con clusion to which they came. They had profound faith in their ability for " argyment." The result of their deliberations was to send forth one of their number, accompanied by Enemoya, bearing a white handkerchief at the end of his rifle, and a long pipe in his left hand both signs of truce and amnesty the calumet that of the. red men, the ilag that of the white. The object was to ascertain upon what terms the maiden would be, given up. Of course they did not know what issues hung upon her fate, or what was her destiny, or that she was the subject of an awful oracle. < HAPTKR VIII AT the appearance of the flag and the Omaha chief, Kimk. followed by three others, emerged fmm his place of shelter. They advanced to meet the flag without apprehension, though both parties kept their weapons ready, and their eyes bright. Treachery is a warlike virtue among the savages, and our squat ters well understood the necessity of covering an enemy, each with his rifle, while their e< inra.les were engaged in conference. How shall we report this conference? It would be impossible to follow step by step the details, as developed in the broken English of the one party, and the half savage Pawnee of the other. But the high contracting parties contrived, after a fashion, to make theniRolvefl separately understood. Our squat ter embasBador had little hesitation in coming as promptly to the TH: . \. : as possible. We sum up much in little, when \\ c report the following : Taint a manly \\.iy of carrying on the war, catching n poor young woman. What s the sperrit of a man to lay hands upon a girl, onless for love ami alVection ! And now von ve got her, what s the use of her to you . You have plenty of gals in your ..wu nation. What do yon want with this Omaha?" The Pawnee aekn<>v, lr 1-v ! that hi> people were by no means wanting in specimens of the tender gender. They had enough, II ven knows, even if all their chief> were ,,f the Kionk temper. "Well, then, let s have the gal. We ll buy her from you at a lair rally ation. What do you say now to halt a ih.xen toma hawks, a dozen knife-, two little bells, a pound of fishhooks, four pounds of 1 >ea. !>. and a good overcoat, hamis. .me enough for a king." The goods were all displayed. Kionk acknowledged that the offer was a liberal one. But and here he revealed the true difficulty the captive-girl was the subject of an oracle. The fate of Pawnees or Omahas depended upon her life. She the fiery torture. In her ashes lay the future triumph of hi* pc..ph- over the accui.M-d tribe of the Omaha ! There could be no trade; no price could buy the captive; no p..wer save her liie ; h- would forego his hold upon her only with lifej and in a f.-\\ d.iv> she should undergo the torture by fire. Such was the final answer. , :nal!y burned myself, ef I stand l.v and see her burned ; M> look tO it, red-skin ! I m a human, after all; and .-.n\\ talk like hla/.es before you take her , 1 reached thi- ..d Kionk ha i made to comprehend the hYrcrly-rxprrrd declaration of the tfttive xjiiatter. when Missouri, arousing from 1.- Sneuioya. . . metl t. restore in stantly her >tien-tli and eneigies. With a single hound, and a wild pa-i..nate ny. she daited -uddenly away from th- who sto,,d over her, and wh. ..-uhat relaxed his vigilance in the. curiosity which he frit with regard to the conference. She flew, rather than ran. over the space which la\ . and moya sprang f.-rward l recttve her. Hut before thev c.uKl niri t, a blow from the fist of one of the savages felled her to the earth. J:M SOUTHWARD HO ! In a moment the work of (leath had begun. The hatchet of Enemoya cleft the skull of the brutal assailant. Then rose his war-cry then came the fierce shout of Kionk ami the rest. Every arrow was drawn to its head. Every rifle-bead rested with dead aim upon the tree which gave shelter to an enemy. The charge d affaires of the squatters, quick as lightning, tore the white kerchief from his rifle, and dodged into cover; while Enemoya, no longer capable of restraint, dashed forward to gather up the beautiful damsel from the ground where she still lay, stunned by the blow of the Indian. But he was not per mitted to reach his object. It was now Kionk s turn. He threw himself into the path of the young chief of the Omahas, and to gether grappling they came together to the earth. It was the death grapple for one or both. In their hearts they felt mutually the instinct of a deadly personal hatred, apart from that which belonged to their national hostilities. Closely did they cling ; sinuously, like serpents, did they wind about each other on the earth, rapidly rolling over, fiercely striving, without a word spo ken on either part. But one weapon could either now use, and that was the scalp-knife which each bore in his belt. But to get at this was not easy, since neither dared forego his grasp, lest he should give his opponent the advantage. Meanwhile the rest were not idle. The Pawnees, highly ex cited by the death of one of their number, and seeing but two enemies before them never dreaming that there were no less than six Kentuckians in ambush darted, with terrible yells, into the foreground. Two of them, in an instant, bit the dust; and the rest recoiled from the unanticipated danger. The Ken tuckians now made a rush in order to extricate Knemoya, and to brain Kionk; and the aspect of affairs was hopeful in tin- last degree ; when, at this very moment, one of the Pawnees darted out. of cover. He was the brother-in-law of Kionk -thr sullen chief whom he had overthrown, and whose black passions medi tated the most hateful of revenges. Before the squatters could reach the scene of action, the murderous m>nstrr, whose purple was wholly unexpected, threw himself upon the crouching Mis souri, and with a single blow buried his hatchet in her brain. \Yiili a howl of mixed sroni and exultation he had shrouded b!iiiself in the woods, and ;>nionjr his conn a.!es. a moment after THK HLKIHTKP WAIJKIOR. The wretched Enemoya beheld the horrid stroke, but, grap pling witli his own assailant lie had not thn power to interfere. In strivii | Q himself for this purpose, he gave his enemy the advantage. In a moment both were on their feet, and Kionk already brandished his scalp-knife in his grasp. But the < -,s am in a blind horror. He had seen the whiz/ing tomahawk descen d, crushing into the head of the dusky beauty whom he so much loved. He saw no more ; and the uplift jd knife of Kionk was already about to sheathe itself in his bosom, when a rifle Imllet from one of the squatters sent him reeling to the earth in the last agonies of death. AVhen Enemoya sunk ;e the poor damsel, her eyes were already glazed. Shf knew him not. She looked on him no more. lie took the scalp of Kionk, but it gave him no consolation. He fought like a demon he slew many enemies, took many scalps, but never I whit the happier. His hope was blighted he loved the du.sky beauty of the blessed islet, much more tenderly than wo, should Mippo.se iVoni the manner of his wooing : and hene\er recovered from her loss. He moved among his people like a .shadow, and they called him the ghost only of the great warrior. The campaign that season was indecisive between the rival nations of the I awnee and Omaha. Neither had .succeeded in complying with the requisitions of the oracle. The Pawnees had forfeited their hope in failing to bring their captive to the torture of tire. TheOmahas had been equally unfortunate in being compelled to strike the first blow. The first life taken in the \v;,r W9M that oft!.. : who smotr Missouri with his fist, ami whom Knemova immediately >b -w. Hut the campaign of the ensuing winter \\ent against the < hnahas. They had lo>t the soul .f I : who ceased to exhibit anyenteij tin, ugh be fought terribly when the hour came for conflict. .Meanwhile, our squatters fn.rn Kentucky were joined by oth.-is fiom that daring region. Their rifles helped tin- ( )niabas I..UL: time; but the latter were finally d. : Tlie remnant be nation we.. ; they knew turn. The ble.-d inland was almost the only territory remain ing in rl < . this thriv suddenly a} new claimant. "The-e are plea-aut place-, boys," said the head man of the SOUTHWARD HO ! squatters, looking at the lovely region around ; " it seems to me to be good if we drive stakes and build our cabins here here by this quiet lake, among these beautiful meadows. What say you, shall it be here ? I don t want to go further, till it comes to be crowded." " But this is the abiding place of my people, my brother ; here is the wigwam of Enemoya, yonder was the dwelling which I built for the wife of my bosom, the beautiful Missouri." " Look you, Inimowya," answered the white chief, " the argy- ment of territory, after all, lies at the eend of my rifle. As I told you once afore, when we first met, I could dispute with you that pr emption title, but I wouldn t ; and I won t now ; considering that you ve had a bad time of it. But what s the use of your talking, when you see the country s got to be ours. Why, you know we kin shoot round it every day" again touching his rifle. "But that s not the argyment I want to use with you. Your brown gal, who was a beauty for an Ingin, I m willing to allow, is a sperrit now in the other world. What sort of heaven they find for the red-skins, is unbeknowing to me ; but I reckon she s living thar. Thar s no living for her hyar, you see, so what s the use of the cabin you built. But that s not to say I wants to drive you out. By no possible means. I like you all the boys like you. For a red-skin you re a gentleman, and a- you hev no nation now, and hardly any tribe of your own, why squat down with us, by any man s fireside you choose, and ef you choose, you kin only set down and look on, and see how we ll take the shine out of these Pawnee cock-a-doodles. You kin share with us, and do as we do, with all the right nateral to a free white man ; but as for your getting this island from us now that we re, all ready to plant stakes, it s a matter onpnssihle to I.e. arjryfied except with the tongue of the rifle. Thar s no speech that ever was invented that shall make us pull up stakes now." And the rifle butt came down heavily upon the earth, ns the chief of the squatters declared himself. Enemoya regarded him with a grave indifference, and said calmly : " Be it so : the island is young ; the country ! Why should you not have it ? I need it not ! neither I nor Missouri ! I thank you for what you say. But though your cabin door is wide for my rominp:, I do not see Mit. :iri beside the hearth." ONLY FOR THE AXING. 187 " Oh ! for tlmt matter, as you are quite a gentleman l r a ml- skin, there s many a pretty white gal that would hev you for the axinj:." " No ! I shall follow my people to the black prairies, and wait for the voice of that bird of the Spirit, that shall summon me to the happy valley where Missouri walks." "Well, as you choose, Inimowya; but let s to supper now and you ll sleep under my bush to-night." The rhirt .silently consented. But at the dawn he was no where to he seen, nor have the hunters ever heard of him since. Meanwhile the country of the Omaha, which includes the lake and the beautiful islet, has become the possession of the pale faces, but they call it still after the dusky damsel of Omaha, the lovely and loving Missouri. CHAPTER XVIII. "WHAT rOiNallTUTKS A STATE?" " WE are now within the atmosphere of your southern Hotspur," said our Gothamite. " Come, sir," addressing our cynical orator from Alabama, " come, sir, and let us have your portrait of the South-Carolinian. You have dealt freely with Vir ginia and Nortli Carolina, showing us their more salient features, which are rarely the most comely for boast ; let us see if you can not depict their southern brother with as free and dashing a pencil." The Alabamian smiled, and looked to Miss Burroughs, as ho replied : " I dare not ; in this instance there is a lady in the case." " Oh ! most unlooked-for and most unseasonable gallantry !" exclaimed the lady. " Do you forget, Sir Orator, those wicked and scandalous ballads, to the grievous disparagement of the sex, which you not only sang to us of your own motion, a vol unteer performance, but which you sang with such unction and effect, as if the execution were a sort of labor of love, which yo^ would not escape, even if you might ?" " Ah ! forgive the offence. It was in evil mood that I sang, and not because of any love for the subject." " He s been kicked, I reckon, by some lady only t othei day," said tin- Texan, roughly, "and the shins of his affectioni arc still sore with the bruises." " The shins of his affections ! That is surely new. Wha admirable cropping, in the way of metaphor and figure, migh* oar y<mng ballad-mongers find in the fields of Texas! Wei! I will submit to the imputation of the recent kicking, as an ac knowledgment of the merits of that phrase. The shins of th< affections! We shall next hear something touching, the te SCRUPLES OP THE ORATOR. 439 derness of the corns <>n tin* big too of tlic heart. AVhen .shall there he a Texan j " 1. 01 i >avc you. ire*Tt got ,1 matters of more than fifty-five already. W^fVe gO( R Texan Hemans. and a Texan Tcmn nay. we ve got three Tninys ins, and more than thirteen By- rons. Oh ! we are not so badly off for poets as you think. In (ialveston there s a poet who weighs more than two hundred and eighty pounds, and he has sighed ont love poetry enough to fill the sails of a California clipper. It s the opinion of some of our people that we owe most of our worthies to his love poems. Latteily, he s gone into the elegiac; and since Tennyson s Tn Memoriam, he has done nothing but write In MiMiioriams. He has mourned the loss of more dear friends since the date of that publication, than he ever knew people. In fact, not to be irrev erent, speaking of poetry, there s hardly a pi-r.-oii in all T that would lend him a picayune, though it should save his soul from tin gall"- " Save his soul from the gallows ! A new idea of the punish ments employed in Tophet. Fancy the soul of a poet weighing two hundred and eighty pounds hung up to dry in the devil s clothes garden !" "But all this talk," interrupted the son of Gotham, " must not itVered to deprive us of our portrait of the South-( 1 arolinian." " You u t no such portrait from me, answered the Alaha- mian, abruptly. "And whv not? interrupteil the North-Carolinian. " V"ii had no scruples in dealing with the Old Dominion and the old North State." " \ . rv true : but then- an- I ,uld bar, ph-> wlini \s e com.- i.. S -uth Caiolina. I know the fault< and the foibles >f that little state as well ftfl aii\ - pei--on in thi^ ero\\-d, and I am as well abb-, I reckon, to describe them. But I will not. In the lir.-t place. I look to that same state to set us right I feel that she will be the first to dare and brave t! < M hen H I will in no \ however s:i:. ! . i Of My anythiiiL- t" weaken her ! dis paraging her feat i.. :oiiirhs this to you I owe my mother to S -nth Carolina, and the cradle which has 440 SOUTHWARD HO ! rocked a mother should be an ark of the covenant to a loving son." Our Alabamian, by showing himself sentimental for a single moment, had once more put himself within the pale of the vul gar humanity. It was very clear that we should get nothing further out of him on the one .subject. Our North-Carolinian endeavored to supply the desired portrait, but the limning was contradictory in fact, the moral portrait of South Carolina is one of many difficulties, which it requires a rare and various knowledge, and no small skill of the artist to manage and over come : and gradually, the embarrassments of the subject were felt, as the discussion of her traits proceeded, and the subject was finally abandoned ns one totally unmanageable. Of course much was said of her luxury, her pride and arrogance, her pre sumption in leading, the vanity of her boasts, her short-comings in a thousand respects; all of which provoked keen retort, par ticularly from our secessionists the Alabamian scarcely seem ing to heed the controversy, and taking no part in it till its close, when he said briefly : " One word, gentlemen. South Carolina is the only state in the Union which grants no divorce. If there were nothing else, in the. catalogue of her virtues to show the character of her virtues, this would suffice. It says two things. It declares for the steadiness and constancy of both sexes, and for the virtues that render such a measure unnecessary. Her morals prevent, instead of pampering, the caprices of the affections " "Yes, but there are some crimes! It would be monstrous to keep parties fettered, one of whom is a criminal " I understand you ! They do not keep together. In Caro lina, in all such cases, the criminal dies disappears, at all events, and the social world never mentions again the name of the offender." "Very Roman, certainly." The Alabamian did not heed the sneer, but proceeded " South Carolina is the only state in which there is anything like loyalty to the past remaining. She preserves her venera tion. The state is protected from the people.* "How is that . Is not the state the people." "No! very far from it. Tin- -tate N a thin." of thou^iimU -f THK >TATF. 1 H it and future, constituting a moral which ; I ved from the capricftfl "f tin- people. People chan-e daily, and in their .laily change, fllh d with novel hopes and ex pectati>ns, and i ,, },y r would easily forego a thousand ahsdute Bfl which no people at any one time sufficiently values In truth, it is only when we treml.le at the onward and reckless coui>e of a majority, that \\ e are awakened to the fact that there are some things which they have no rijrlit to nerifice. It is then that we see that the p - and ac cumulations of the past are not an inheritance, hut a trust ; and we who occupy only a moment of time, in the general prr< L of the aires, are taught hy this fact that we have no al>s-lute rights over p,, -sessions which helonir to generations yet untold in the future, and hut partially recorded in the past, To puard the state from the people, we resort to a thousand devices such nstitutions. hills of rights, & c ., none of which is satisfactory :e sufficient reason that the snhject is one of singular suhtilty v/hlch i-si-a]>es practical definition. Tt is. however, within our and these work in a thousand ways, and in spite of us for its preservation. When these fail us. the j"tie, and peOpl soon follow. They are then without (Jod or country. The French revolution was an iiMaiM-r of the sacrifice of the, state that vaprue and vast idea, irmwinir " "t of the irradnal ac quisitions of thousands of years of a common fortune in the fam ily, or race hy a mere generation just pa -hi- off k at the summary in France to-day. Where i< the 1H . the e.piality. the repuhlicanism, which were all their \Yhat is left them of ^acre,l tradition, of ].a and acquisition, of moral security which must p recede if it Id maintain physical of all that WHS deemed certain in the characteristics of the rttfe The jruardian M-cnrities and virtues of ft people li,- in that social ideal which is embodied in the no tion of the state as a thini: permanent. rontra.listin<:uMM d from a mere generation r government things which C"iit<-mplate only pa- HI and continual fluctuations, and are re- (juired to contrihute in pa-s;i:u r only a certain portion of capital to that jrrand stock which has I,,M-II already put away ( within the securities otil.e ideal state. The vdian ideal, and the conservative check upon the caj time. l^ SOUTHWARD HO ! The state represents the eternity of a race its whole duration whether long or short. Cut the sinews of the state, in obedience to the caprices of a generation, and they must perish. All this is v.M-y obscure, I know, and it can not well be otherwise, with such a subject, and in a mere casual conversation. It must ne cessarily elude all common demonstrative analysis, particularly as it lies based on great but mysterious secrets, in the general plan of Providence, which it is scarcely permitted to us to explore. The subject belongs to the spiritual nature in high degree and is not to be measured by the common rules of argument. It constitutes a study for the metaphysician who is at the same time, a religious man. It is one of those problems which the rulers of a people have need carefully to study, as it is upon the due knowledge and appreciation of the state, that every peo ple s future must depend. Nations perish really because of their simple failure to recognise this distinction between state and people : and it is thus that a capricious generation, perpetually bent on change, restless and impatient because of its atrocious vanity, still wrecks all the ideal morals of their ancestors, and all the hopes, born of those ideals, which would conduct their posterity to power." " I confess this transcendentalism is quite too much for me. I do not see the meaning yet of your distinction. It appears to me only a dreamy sophism." " Precisely, and if you will show me the man to whom a met aphysical suUilty is for the first time presented, who is prepared on the instant not only to argue it but to judge it, I shall be Avilling to attach some importance to your present cavalier dis missal of the topic. Your process seems to be that of one of our western members of Congress, who, some years ago, began his speech with, I don t know nothing, Mr. Speaker, of the sub ject hyar before us, but I intend to go on argyfying it ontil 1 gits all the necessary knowledge. But even he, bold and brave and candid as he was, never ventured to decide. He only proposed to use argyment as a means of getting his edica- tion. " 41 Why, you are perfectly savage." "No; searching only. To resume our subject for a moment There is a passage from one of our southern poets, who THF. IW Al. STATi:. 11- . ha> rndeavred t express something of tliis idea of the statr* a- it appi-ar> t<> my own mind. Like all others, who have ken and written on the point, tho suhtilty still eludes him ; hut enough is said to ^ive the clues into the hands of the metaphy sician ; and no .-tli-r person, hy the way, has any right to pass upon it." " Let s have tin 1 passage." The Alabamiau delivered it, from memory, to the following effect : "THE STATE. "Tho mural >f tin- nu-e N in tin- v "flu* secret perm for preut development, Through countless generations: all the hope*, Tin- aim.-, the great ambition, the jiroinl works, Virtues, performance, high de,ius and deeds, With countless pure nnd JTC iu,,s sentiment*, . d in <i.mr f.-\v Lriivr souls, tliat, still apart From the rude hunger of the multitude, Li^ lit tiros, huilt altars, inline out tlie (iod That makes the pro ml ideal: which, unknown, C iii-ini..i-ii.uly, tin- thonghtloM tribea ronreive In a blind worship ; which is still content To follow Duty through the bonds of terror, Ami learn its b--t obedience through its fear*. A state s the pmwth Of t M, : -ind yi-art, With nil it pnn.d rommiinity of tl.oupht*, Affections, faith, ami enlimontii, a* well At its material trBUOn i. ! :. - are naught, If that llie fiiith, the virtues, ami the will, He lacking to th- men. Th. :u:irdi:in state K. , .. di M ; ure not your*, Or mine; nor do they n t within the charge Of the in-T" feeders at til lib, Of nil the myriads, keeping price \\ith us, but links, I i cunr-banHi d, many-ftbred -tm-k, Uranchinp and sprendini. " idi, With every tiny tome chm iml aim, Hub-, province ami di II !ii!"- r Each with a moment purpose, tn ; Some passion or mere fancy ome caprice Whi h. a- even evil works Ml Must, in its Him. contribnti- lo the truth*. 444 SOUTHWARD HO ! That are still garnered safely in the state. Our march makes little in the grand design Save as a natural incident that grows, Inevitably, out of natural progress, Leaving its moral in its very loss. Our change must work no changes i/i tln staie, Which still maintains the original ideal germ, Sacred within its keeping, as the Romans, The sacred shields that fell to them from Heaven As in all nations there are fabled treasures, Shrined awfully apart, to which men look, For safety, when the temple rocks in fire, And the walled city totters in the storm. March as we may and govern as we may, Change with what sad or wild caprice we may, The indisputable majesty which makes The sovereignty which harbors in each race, Knows never change of attribute, till ends The mission, which the endowment still declares! The orator paused. " Is that all ? Why, we are no nigher to the solution of the problem than before." " I suppose not. Poetry, the profoundest of all human stud ies, itself requires the abstract mind and the contemplative mood ; and the necessity for these is the greater when it deals ill metaphysics and politics. Perhaps, if you weigh well this passage, you will gradually see the light through the cloud and curtain. Precious things rarely lie upon the surface. In pro portion to the glory is the necessity of obscuration. God showed himself to the Jews only through clouds and fire. They could see him only through some material medium. It was the poet prophet only who could discover his awful features through less terrible agencies." " You are getting more and more obscure. Now, pray tell us, what have all your metaphysics to do with South Carolina V " Nothing, that 1 can show you, unless you can take the first step with me which, as yet, you can not. It may be enough to say of South Carolina, that it is a sufficient merit of hers, in my eyes, that her revolutionary spirit (so called) has been the iv, ult of her loyalty; that it was to check revolution that she intci jiosrd the state veto, and threw down her gauntlet to fed- i-rnl usurpation. You all feel and see, now, that she was right. 80UTB CABOUHA. -1 !"> You are all in n "f five trade and a prosperous prog the result of her course, which leav.-s the condition of the cmm- trv unexampled in history for its growth and prosperity. II- : conservatism, not her resolution, prompted her action ; and she still adheir- to her conservative tendencies, while all other states are rocking with the conflict of revolutionary ideas. She still preserves lier veneration. There are still many classes u ithin her limits, who maintain the morals of her dawn who seek to preserve sacred that capital of ideal in the state which, kept alwnvs in view as a guiding light, renders progress a safe and natural development, and not an inane and insane coursing in a circle where we for ever come in conflict with one another. Hi-re you find, still of force, the manners and customs, the senti ments and traditions, that she held to be great and glorious i^hty years ago; and which have enahled her, though one of the small in the contV. It-racy, to contribute a large pro portion of its greatest warriors, its noblest and wisest sages, its purest and mor-t venerated men. You can not bully her out of her propriety, for she has unshaken courage; you can not buy her with any bribe, for she has always shown herself scornful of cupidity. She maintains still the haughty sentiments of a race of gentlemen who never descended to meanness. She lias a thousand foibles faults nay, follies perhaps, but she ha* some virtues which power can not crush out of her, or money buy : and she will be the state, let me tell you, who will save all that is worth saving in t: ieracy, even when the con- perishes." "Why, old Blast," interposed the Texan, "yon mu-t ho thinking that you re mi the stump. Yon do put your horns into the bowels of the argument , just as if you knew when- you Was a-going all the time. Lord, how - . II > Q would laugh u was to tell Jinn of such prophecies as that." n Houston! Sir. don t -p-ak f " lll(> "f iV;;l111 " He l N ond the reach ..f prophecy, which is never addn to any but living smils " \V.-11, I must s.ty that s a settler for Sam. Hut he ll take the change out of vou, I reckon, when In- comes to be piv-ident. You ll never ^vt a lon-i^ii appointment from him, I m a-think- ing; and I reckon Sam s chance for the pi , si lency is about as good as that of any man going." 44G SOUTHWARD HO ! We put in here, several of us, to arrest tlio partisan tendency of the discussion, which evidently began to >//<" some of the parties ; and our excellent captain came to our assistance, with his jest and smile, his quip and crank, which have alwavs proved so effective in curing the maladie du mer among his passengers " I m president here, gentlemen," said he, " and I hold it to be good law to declare that it is high treason to discuss the suc cession. As there is some talk of appointments, T Leg to say, that if any of you wish office, the governorship of Bull s is vacant." And he pointed us to the island of that name which made the rim of the horizon for us on the north. " There is an island, gentlemen, upon which a man might be a sovereign. Solitude in perfection, game in abundance, fine fish of all sorts, oysters to beguile even an alderman to fleshlv and fishy inclination such a realm as would satisfy Alexander Selkirk, and make Robinson Crusoe dance with delight. I have often thought of Bull s as an island upon which a man might be at peace with all the world, and with fortune and himself in particular." " A sort of heaven on earth." " And sea. It has fine harborage, too. The coast survey has made it a harbor of refuge, and we are soon to have a light house upon it." " The pirates knew it as a place of refuge a hundred years ago and more. Here Robert Kidd, as he sailed, and that more monstrous ruffian Blackboard, and a hundred other fierce out laws of the same practice, found their place of refuge and red- licking. Nor here, alone : all the range of islands which run along the coast, between which and the main there are nu merous islets of great beauty and interest, are distinguished by traditions of wild and sometimes terrible attraction. Many of these, have been marked as spots conspicuous in history, and all of them possess their legends and chronicles, which only need to be hunted up and put on record, to render all of them classical and interesting, apart from their natural attrac tions. The whole of this region was the. favorite resort of the pirates, and at periods long anterior to the Revolution, those periods when, as the phrase ran through the marine NT of Groat Britain, there was no j ".-tec beyond the line 1 In these snug harbors an<l safe retreats tin 1 mousing robber found bis CO : B he lay close until bo beheld, from afar. the. white sails of the fair trailer. Then he darted forth like tlie .shark, a little black speck u|i..n the waters, and tore bis victim with angrv and remorseless jaws, and dyed the blue waters in his blood. To these islets he hurried hark to divide and to bide his spoil ; and dark and terrible are the thousand stories which, could they -peak, they might narrate of the wild orgies of the cruel bands by which they were infested of the bloody sacri- \vhich they witnessed and of the fate of the victims guilty of the inexpiable oilence of possessing treasures which their neighbors coveted. Young eagles must be fed, and the eagles of the sea are proverbially the most voracious of all the eagle tribe. These were merciless. They havered about the mouth of Charleston for long periods, and it was in vain that Britain kept watch with her frigates and guanla costas for the proter- "f her trade. Her wealth, as a colony, was at that time superior to m.st of the colonies, and demanded powerful protec tion. But so swift of foot. BO keen of sight, so fierce of appetite, were these marauding wretches, that they too commonly evaded pursuit, and not only succeeded in capturing the outward-hound Is continually, but sometimes laid the infant city, it-elf, under contribution. "Our friend from North Carolina lias bestowed upon n- a ig narrative of the Ship of Fire. The tradition is well known in portions of South Cap-linn; and to this day ,111 families are pointed out as the descendants of cruel mariners who so meivilely slaughtered that little colony of Cerman palatines. ( hir trad ut out the progcn these piv -till under the. avenging danger of the fates. Thev are marked by continuous ffl The favorite SOD -lies, from .-oiii" terrible accident, in the moment of his very highest promise; the favorite daughter withers away in con sumption or some nameless di-e tf .she nears that bloomy -i when the mother thinks to place within her hair the bridal flower. The neighh..r- shake their heads and l-.,,k know ingly when the h.-lt <! iddenly upon tho^ . and no surprise. It must be so, they 448 SOUTHWARD IIO ! must have their prey. The blood of that massacre must be washed out in blood. All these families, the descendants of the murderers, must die out, till not one man-child shall .survive. Their ill-gotten wealth does them no good. Their fruits turn to ashes on their lips. The sword, suspended by a single hair, hangs for ever over their heads, and the bolt strikes them down from the bosom of an unclouded sky. So well has tradition retained these memories, that people will even give you the names of the families, still living, over which this terribly uner ring destiny impends. I have had one or more domestic chron icles of this soil put into my possession within five years. Of course, the doomed victims have no sort of knowledge either of the fates reserved for them, or of the familiarity of their neigh bors with the unwritten tradition. Old people point them out to their children ; they repeat the story to their sons, and their fingers point always to the illustrative catastrophe. Every stroke of Providence is keenly observed and dwelt upon which touches them; and it may be safely affirmed that the tradition will survive them all, and point to the grave of the last supposed victim of a crime committed two hundred years ago or more." " How very terrible !" " These several islands which we approach after Bull s, De- wee s, Caper s, Long, and Sullivan, and the islets which lie within, between them and the main, are all thus fruitful in ancient pirate legends. One of these occurs to me at this moment ; and, ab I believe I am the next person chronicled on your list for a story, I may as well pursue the vein upon which we have struck, as it were, by chance." " 0, let us have it, by all means. I confess to a passion for such stories, which even the reading of the Book of the Bucca neers has not totally overcome." THE STORY OF BLACKBEARD. I . "THE narrative," said our xicontiur, "which I am about to ^ive you, was related to me by one of our oldest inhabitants, a )lantcr who is still living at the advanced period of eighty years BLACKBEARD. 449 and who ranks not loss venerably from worth than age. He heard it from those who claimed to have known personally Borne of the parties to the history, and who fully believed the truth of the story which they told. The period of the narrative was, perhaps, a quarter of a century before the Revolution. You are all aware that from 1670 to 1750, using round num bers, the buccaneer-, leagued of all nations, no longer confining themselves to the Spanish galleons which were always held to be fair prey to the r.riti>li rniisers, made the commerce of Britain her-olf finally their prey, and literally haunted with daily ter rors the coasts of Virginia and the two Carolinas, as well as the West Indies, making spoil of their rich and but little pro tected productions. Their cre\vs. composed of the scum of all nations British, French, Dutch, Portuguese, and Spaniards discriminated in behalf of none ; and so loose were British and American morals at that period (have they very much improved since?) that the people of the provinces themselves their ver\ governors were greatly inclined to countenance they : - nch corruption of freebooters) in all those cases of piracy \\here they themselves were not the immediate sufferers. v drove a profitable trade with the marauders, who were walking the ptnttl of the Atlantic cities with the most perfect impunity. Captain Kidd. for a long time, was the great masterspirit of the.se wretche-. Hi- -ucee->or in audacity, insolence, and crime, was the infamous Blackboard, the nom du guerre by which lie preferred that the world should read his character. His proper name. Kdward Teach, was, ii, it-elf, innocent enough. " Blackboard particularly affected the coasts of Carolina. The waters over which we now go were the favorite fields of his performance. Harbored am.mg tbe-e island* Hull -, De- wee s, Caper s, Sullivan. St-ewre. and other- he lay in close watch for the white sails of commerce. He explored all i bays and harbors, and knew their current- and bearing- well. from the cape of Hatteras to that of Florida reef. He had command of a complete squadron, including vessels of nearly all sixes His flag was hoisted upon a forty-gun ship, the crew of which consisted of more than a hundred men. His captains were Vane, Bonnet, Warloy, and others, inferior to himself only 450 SOUTHWARD HO ! in hardihood and skill. Somewhere about 1713, a proclamation had been issued by the king in council, promising a pardon to all the pirates who should surrender themselves in twelve months. Blackbeard was one of those who, cither through a cunning policy, meant to delude the powers which he feared ho should not so readily escape, or under a sudden uneasiness of conscience, presented himself before Governor Eden, of North Carolina, pleadei the king s pardon, and received the governor s certificate. Eden, by the way, was one of those governors of whom history speaks, as having received the bribes of the pirates, and kept up a criminal but profitable connection with Blackbeard in particular. " Blackbeard, the better to prove his resolve to demean him self for the future with Christian propriety, married his thirteenth wife, a young girl of Pamplico. But he could not long forbear his riotous habits, or forego his passion for adventures upon the sea. He was soon again on board a smart cruiser, and reaping the fields of ocean with the sword. He sailed upon a cruise, carrying his new wife with him, and shortly returned with a valuable prize, a French ship laden with sugar and cocoa, which he had no difficulty in persuading the court of admiralty he had found at sea, abandoned by her crew. She was adjudged as a lawful prize to her unlawful captors. Here our narrative begins. Thus far, our facts are strictly historical except, per haps, in regard to the fact stated, that his new wife, the girl of Pamplico, accompanied him on this cruise. But the fact, omit ted by history, is supplied by tradition, which asserts that the girl herself figured somewhat in the incidents connected with the capture of the French prize. " Blackbeard steered south when he left the river of Cape Fear. The season was mild, late spring the seas smooth the winds fresh and favorable. Soon they espied the French brigantine laying her course, due east from the tropical islands. "As he beheld his new prey, the savage chief who, in taking the oath and receiving the king s pardon from the royal governor, had not denuded himself of a single hair of that enormous forest of beard which literally covered his face, head, and breast, and from which he took his name chucked his new wife under the chin, and swore i terrible oath that the girl should THE YOUN<; MERCHANT. 451 see sights, should drink of tin- wine of tin- Indies, and enjoy their fruits, and be clad in tin- beautiful silks of the Frenchman. "All sail was clapped on for pur>uit. The Frenchman knew hi- danger, at a glance. Not more certainly docs the flying-fish know his enemy the dolphin, or the tunny the hwordtish, or the sailor the shark, than the simple trader the deadly danger of that pirate toe, who combined all the terrible characteristic* of i several marauders of the sea. Fleet was the Frenchman in flight, hut, unhappily, fleeter far was the outlaw in pursuit. Very pre cious was the Frenchman s cargo; one more precious still, among his pa>s iigers, ^ as the fair Creole wife of the young merchant, Louis Chastaign, now, I m- the fir>t time, preparing to visit the birthplace of her husband. They, too, were soon made aware of the danger, and, while the wife watched, and prayed, and trembled, the young husband got his cutlass and his cara bine in readiness, and prepared to do battle to the last in defence of the precious treasure of his heart. " But his resolution was not to be indulged. The captain of the merchantman had no adequate force for resUtance, and he prepared for none. He shook his head when Louis Chastaign spoke of it, and appeared on deck with his weapons. " It will not do, Monsieur Loni>. And shall we yield tamely to these wretches? They an* pirates! "I fear so. But they are two to one. We have no arms. What can a dozen swords and pistols do against a hundred men? " Better die bravely tighting than basely to offer our throats to the knife. " Nay, our hope is that they will content themselves with robbing us of our treasures. "The young merchant turned with a look of agony on his beautiful Creole. He knew what the appetite-, of the pirates were. He feared for the one treasure, over all. and thought nothing of the rest, though the better portion of the ship s cargo was his own. The chase was last. The Frenchman continued to try his heels, but in vain. " He gains rapidly, Monsieur [xxu*. Put away your weap- 452 SOUTHWARD HO ! ons, my friend ; the very show of them may provoke nim to cruelty. " The poor young man was compelled to submit, yet, in put ting his weapons out of sight, he felt as if his treasure was already gone. " Is there really so much danger, Louis V asked the trem bling woman of her husband. He could only shake his head mournfully in reply. Then she kissed the cross which she had in her hand, and hid it away in her bosom, and followed her young lord upon the deck of the vessel. " At that moment, the cannon belched forth its fires from the pursuing pirate ; the iron missiles shot through the rigging of the Frenchman, and with a groan he ordered sail to be taken in ; and prepared for submission to the enemy from whom there was no escape. II. " VERY soon the pirate vessel came alongside of the peaceful trader. Her wild and savage crew were ranged along the bul warks, each armed with cutlass and half a score of pistols con spicuous in belt and bosom. Very terrible was the exhibition which they made of wild beard and brutal aspect. With a tor rent of oaths, Blackboard himself bailed tlie Frenchman, who put on all his politeness in responding to the insolent demands of his assailant. The vessels were lashed together by rap- plings, the pirates streamed on board, and a general search was begun. Meanwhile, the young Creole bride of Louis Chastaign kept at her prayers below. Here she was found, and dragged up to the deck at the command of the pirate-chief. The pa>- sengers, all, and crew, were made to gather on the deck, under the pistols of a score of the marauders, while the rest ransacked the hold and cabin. "The examination lasted not long. Blackboard soon disco\ ered that the cargo was one for which he should have to find ;. market. Its treasures were not readily portable, nor easily con verted into money. The gold and silver, jewels, and precious stones, found in the trunks of the young French merchant though of considerable value, bore no proportion to the value of the cargo, the bulk of which rendered it necessary that the ves- THK <;IRI, OF I AMPUCO. 43 -houM 1..- carried into p,,rt. Thi> necessity implied another. Tin- crew ami p.. :lU st l,e li>j,..s,..l ,,t . As the scheme presented itself to the inin.i ,,t Bla.-kheard U) have the -, condemned l,y the court of admiralty as a lawful pri/o. it needed that ho should hi- prepared to report that she **fl found al.an- doned l.y her proper owners. This revive re<juired that he should MiiVor JIM witiM s M .> to live \vl,,, mi-ht expon th- fnie na ture ,r the trau^ai-ti..,,. H,. l i;l ,l ,, n -innv^\u\ M-rupl.-s, and the decree was s,,,,n j.ron.. uncoil. The unhaj.j.\ , were d.M.nird to walk the jilank. "That U to MJ, all were thu.s .iomned who ^.--uld n .tu>e t.. join the j.irate party. There W9M this terrilde alternative to be alh.we.l them. Acc..nliu^ly. havin-r >een \\hat were the treas- Oiea Of the .shij.. and fully >ati>tied himself ,f what she OOQ- Uiied, l,e reasr.-nde.l t. the .leek, where the unfortunate new I held in durance, pale and tremhlin-. in wailing for their fate. Brief consultation had 1 n needed am.- ,-at.>- chiefs. Blaekl-ear-l had Driven his opinion, i n which the lieuten ants all concurred: and there was no consultation Me* when they n aj.peared mi deck. - I he terrihle chief, rln^-ly followed l,y his new uife. the -ill i amj.liei,. , -,j, ,,f r;i j lt i X) ., j,, .,11 | of a- ^nine. and furioi,. ..perch. His wife was KM a terror in the , . ,,- y.-iin^- French , ; , a n iiahited only in part like a woman. She w,,re a .skirt. " U(l - -"t the pant. a man app eared heneath, and s " i t "f undre-> uniform !Vock--..at covere.l with tVWt ( >t " Men hiittmis. On her .slnmlders were heavv epati- 1<> >: "ii h -r !" ad a .lashin- cap of fur. with a feat I .. .ml a middy s dirk with irlitrerin- ha ihin- I. ut a hea\y mi. ter- ril)Ir i" * the y.Mu,- l- ivm-h hnsl-aud a> in those .f his ^il . To JM dli ; rtrait more r,.\i.Itin^. \\ e must a. Id that lier face was r.-<ldened and Moated uith free use ,,f the wine v up. ail<1 I " t. from the >ame unnatural The red "f tli.- pi: . not he descrihed. It will Mltli that in their costume and e (| uipjnent nothing 1 omitted whicli mi-ht exaggerate to the mind of the captives, the terrible character of the profession they pursued. 454 SOUTHWARD HO ! " The pirate-chief addressed the captain of the Frenchman with words of blood and thunder. The latter answered with words of weakness and submission. The former without scruple declared the only alternative to death which he allowed. "Are you prepared to join us against the world? We are free men of the seas. We are of no nation. We own no laws except those of our own making. Swear to obey our laws, join our crews, sail under the black flag and the bloody head, and take your share with us, of the cargo of your ship ! "A dead silence answered him. " Swear! and the black flag was waved before their faces. " Will my lord pardon us V answered the captain for the rest. Will my lord take what we have and suffer us to go in peace? I only plead that our lives may be spared. " Your lives are our deaths, unless you join with us. You have five minutes for deliberation. Swear, by the black flag, kiss the bloody head, and, on your knees, take the oath, or you walk the plank every mother s son of you. "A dead silence again followed. Meanwhile, the Creole wife, crouching in the rear of her husband, who stood immediately behind the captain, involuntarily took from her bosom the cross of black ebony, and, sinking silently upon her knees, pressed it to her lips, while they parted, in unuttered prayers to Heaven. " The movement did not escape the ruflian. He was now re minded of the woman whom he had sent up from below. In the dim light of the cabin, he had not distinguished her features. A single glance now sufficed to show him their loveliness. " Ha! he exclaimed who have we here? and passing rapidly through the group of captives lie seized her where she knelt. With a shriek she held up the cross. He tore it from her hand, looked at it but an instant, then dashed it to the deck, and crushed it under his feet accompanying the profane act with a horrid oath. The captain of the Frenchman groaiinl aloud. The pirate-chief still held his grasp upon the lady. She struggled to free herself, and cried out: " Save me, husband ! "The appeal was irresistible. Desperate as was the attempt, the yimntf French merchant, drawing forth a pistol concealed in his bosom, levelled it at the head of the pirate and drew the TO THE SHARKS. t .1 ."> trigger. The bullet ..uly ruffled the monstrous whisker nf the ruffian. It had been aimed well. hut. in the moment when the trigger was pulled, the arm of the young 1 merchant had heen struck up by one of the nearest pirates. Baffled in the desperate :. the merchant dashed upon Blackboard with the famishing cry of the panther striving fnr her young ; and strove, with more certain dagger, to mend the failure of his first attempt. But he might as well have cast his slight form against the hulk of a mountain. His blow was thrown upward, the stroke parried, and he himself stricken down with a Mow from the butt of a carbine, which covered his head ;md face instantly with blood. " My hu>band ! oh! my husband! cried the wretched woman, now seeking again to break away from that iron grasp which nevt-r once relaxed its hold upon her. In vain. " Fling the carrion overboard. Sharks are not made to go hungry. "He was remorselessly obeyed ; and, partly stunned, but con scious, Louis Chastaign was lifted in half a dozen stalwart arms, and thrust over into the yawning sea. Then the wife broke auay; but, ere she reached the side of the vessel, she was again in the grasp of the ruffian. She never saw her husband more. His head appeared but a moment upon the surface his hands were thrown upward, then his shriek was heard a single piercing shrink of agony; and when the French captain looked upon the sea, it was colon ,1 with blood, and he could j,,-rc the wliitr sides of the glancing sharks, a do/en of them, as they were tugging, below the surface, at their living victim! III. TMKKK are some scenes which art does not attempt to delineate >me agimies which baffle the powers of imagination. Such was the terrible, though momentary, horror and agony, of the wretched wife of the young merchant. In such cases, Nature hei-i-if Menu to acknowledge the >am mcessitiet with art, acknowledge* her own incapacity to endure, what art lacks the power to delineate ; and intrrp">e- a partial death, to spare to the victim the tortures of a horrid dying. Pauline Chastaign swooned and lay unconscious upon the deck. 456 SOUTHWARD HO! Meanwhile, the miserable captives stood silent, incapable, par alyzed with tlioir own terrors at the dreadful tragedy which had been so suddenly conceived, and so rapidly hurried to its catas trophe. The French captain shrugged his shoulders and pre pared for his own fate. " Yon have seen! said Blackboard addressing him and the rest. Trample on these colors pointing to the flag of the Lily; which had been torn down and thrown upon the deck ; spit upon that cross ! that of poor Pauline ChaMaign, which lay half crushed before them ; and swear on the bloody head obedience to the laws of the Brothers of the Coast ! such was the name which the pirate fraternity bore among them-eh -es ; or you share the fate of that young fool, and find the sharks their supper this very night. Speak! You! addressing the captain of the Frenchman. The days of Rousseau, Voltaire, and Robespierre, had not yet dawned. The Frenchman had not yet prepared to spit on Christ, and substitute himself for God ! Our captain knew his fate, and was prepared for it. He took the broken cross rever ently, and kissed it, then, with a faint smile, he politely bowed to the pirate-chief in these gestures according his only answer. "To the plank with him ! was the command of Blackboard in a voice of thunder. A dozen unscrupulous ruffians sei/ed upon the Frenchman to hurry him to his doom. Then, for the first time, the rest of the crew seemed to awaken to a sense of desperation, as by a common instinct. With a wild cry they rushed upon the pirates, striking right and left with muscular arms, and all the reckless \ iolence of despairing nature! I n- happily, the timid policy of their captain had denied them weap ons. They had nothing upon which to rely but their nwn sinew-; nevertheless, so sudden, so unlooked tor was the as sault, that the pirates hearing the captain, were overborne : he rescued; and, with a cheer, they all together darted again upon the foe, picking up knife or cutlass where they might. Alas the brave effort but short, -ne.l the pang of dying. A Q6W flood of ruffians from the pirate vessel poured in upon them, and fin ished the struggle in a few moments ; but Hlackbeard himself, meanwhile, had been wounded with a knife, and his smart ren dered him less than ever disposed to mercy. Maimed, slain, or NEW PROVOCATIONS. 457 only wounded, the captives were all hurried into the deep ; hut one male being suffered to survive a poor cabin-hoy who, in the last moment. grappled the knees of Hlackbeard, swore alle giance to his authority, and was admitted to mercy! IV. " HIT I>M captive remained living in the hands of the pirates. This was the young wile of the unhappy merchant, poor Pauline Chastaign. She had been taken to the cahin in her swoon, and had been laid, with a certain degree of tendenicss, which had given no satisfaction to the girl of i amplico, upon the couch of that Amazon. It was with a curious interest, whicli still further displeased that person, that Blackboard hung over the uncon scious woman, and scanned the beauties of her face and figure. His second officer and himself conferred upon her fate together, in the hearing of the wife of the latter the thirteenth wi; you will rememlier. The conversation was not of a sort to gratify her. She had no small portion of the green infusion in her system against the indulgence of which lago con: Othello, and the eager appetite, speaking in the eyes i.f Blark- i. \\arned her of her own danger from a superior rival. The lieutenant of the pirate had his pai*ai aKo. He boldly pre ferred his claim as custodian of tlie young widow. " You ! answered the chief. 4 You . "And why not me? was the reply in a tone approaching dofia, The pist.d of Blackboard was at his head in a moment and, with a horrid oath, he ordered the other on deck and to hi- !i. The lieutenant slonly, and with a growl, submitted. When In- had gone, the girl of Pamplico iuterpo-rd with the same ijues- tion which had Leeu uttered l.y the lieutenant. And why not he . Wh\ -h"iihl he not have this tiling ? lii-caust- it does not plea-e me that he -di<>uld. my heailty ! " And why should it not please \ mi . " 1 prefer that the woman should keep my cahin fora whUe. 44 Ha! and what of I " You ! ah ? You may go to his cahin for a while. " What ! You fling me off, do you, for tin s bloodless 20 458 SOUTHWARD HO ! ture ! And such as she is to pass between us 1 That shall never be. Don t think that I am a thing of milk and water, without strength or courage. No ! you shall see that I have blood, and that I can take it too ! I m not afraid of your black looks and thundering oaths. No ! indeed ! You are mine ; and while I am yours, I shall see that no living woman shall pass between us. You would fling me off, and quarrel with your best officer for this rag of a woman, would you. But you shall not ! " With the w r ords, quick as lightning, the unsexed creature shot round the little table that stood between herself and the seemingly insensible wife of the young Frenchman, her dirk flourishing in her grasp directly before the eyes of Blackbeard. She had rounded the table, and occupied a place between him and the threatened victim, before he could possibly conceive her pur pose, and heave up his huge bulk from where he lay, to inter pose for the prevention of the mischief. He roared out a terri ble threat and horrid oath, but the Amazon never heeded a syllable, and the poor captive would have sunk beneath her dagger-stroke, but for the fact that, while the dispute was in progress between Blackbeard, his lieutenant, and the girl from Pamplico, the captive lady was slowly coming to her senses, and understood it all. She saw the movement of her wild assailant, and darting up from where she lay, gave one piercing scream, and rushed up the cabin steps to the deck, closely followed by the Amazon and the pirate-chief. They reached the deck only to behold the white flash of a glancing form as it shot over the side of the vessel, and to hear a single plunge into the gulfing billows of the sea. When they looked over the bulwarks, there was nothing to be seen. The wife of the young merchant had joined him in the deep. " It is just as well ! growled Blackbeard, turning away. It prevents mischief! Ha ! you young devil ! he continued, throw ing his arms about the neck of the she-demon who stood con fronting him, you are a girl after my own heart ; but if I served you rightly, I should pitch you over after her. No more of this. Do you hear ! Another such piece of meddling, and I shall slash this pretty throat with a sharp dagger. Do you hear! " She laughed impudently and returned his caresses, and the deadly vessel went on her midnight course THK 1 IKATE HOARD. 4 . . V. Sn H was the true history of the captured Fronchnrji, whom onr pirate-chief persuaded the court of admiralty to anju<l_ him as a vessel picked up at sea, abandoned by its proper own ers. Blackbeard was soon at sea again. He was even more MtetfAd in the results of his next cruise ; gathering Spanish gold, ingots, and jewels of great value, the treasures equally of east and west. But he carried in no moi > for the juris diction of the courts. He employed the shorter processes of liiing and scuttling. He seldom found any prisoners. He kept none. The sea locked up hi- secret* for a time at least ; and his cruise was a lung one in proportion to its successes. " But news reached him of a suspicions character. He heard rumors of ships-of-war preparing to search for pirates. He waa advised from North Carolina, that his own virtues were, not be yond suspicion, and that, somehow, certain rumors had reached Virginia affecting his securities. It became necessary t hide away the treasures already procured, before again venturing, within the waters of Cape Fear and Ocracooke. He inu.-t lie aspect of his craft, so that she *hould be able to en dure examination as a fair trader, and secure the bloody spoils of previous ventn >1 the grasp of law and civilization. We all know how common wa* the practice among the pi: of establishing hoards in unt ivijuented place*. All these i I ling to tradition, from the capes of Virginia to that of Flor ida conceals some buried treasure. On t ; .n our j>: put into Bull s bay. the avenues to which they well knew. In this region, they Delected a spot, either on Hull s inland, or some ..He of tin- islands immediately contiguous all of which were then uninhabited in which to hide their at midnight, they assembled. The hole was dug in the earth. The pirate* all gathered around it. They bore the glittering piles in ke^rs. boxes, sacks, jar-. They saw them all deposited. Then they clasped hand*, and each swore, severaTy repeating the horrid oath which Hlackhe.-u-d dictated. "There was a pause. The rites were yet unfinished. Th hole remained opened. Something was yet to be done, accord 460 SOUTHWARD HO ! ing to which alone, in the superstitions of the pirates, could the treasure be securely kept. Meanwhile, there had been voices crying to them from the woods. The devil had been adjured by the terrible chief of the crew, and he had answered with aw ful sounds from a neighboring thicket. They could, most of them, believe in a devil, and tremble, where they tacitly re nounced all faith in a God. Of course, this mummery had been devised by the cunning for the especial benefit of the ignorant. They had imprecated a horrid destiny upon their souls, in the event of their fraud or infidelity to their comrades, and the audi ble answers of the fiend declared their oaths to be registered in hell. Such was a part of the scheme by which the pirates bound each other to forbearance, and for the common security of their hidden treasures. "But something more was necessary to the completion of these horrid rites. There was a needed sacrifice which murder always found it necessary to provide t >r superstition. But this portion of the ceremony was, of course, a mystery to all those whom the pirates had lately incorporated among their crews from among the captives they had taken. " And now that we have all secure, brothers of the coast, it still needs that one of us should remain to watch the treasure till our present cruise is over. Food he shall have in abun dance, drink, and shelter. A boat shall be left for him with which to fish, and weapons with which to procure game of the woods and wild fowl along the shore. It must be a willing mind that must undertake this watch. Who volunteers ? Let him speak boldly, like a man. "An eager voice answered 44 I will remain and watch the treasure! 44 It was that of the poor cabin-boy, the sole survivor of the French merchantman. The trembling creature had shuddered with daily and nightly horrors since the hour of his captivity. He eagerly <ei/ed the pre-ent opportunity of escape from an as sociation the terrors of which oppressed hi> s.nil. Blackboard looked at him grimly, and with a dreadful smile. lie saw through the wretched hoy, and readily conjectured all his hopes They were those of all who had ever consented to watch the treasure. But it did not matter to the pirate s object whethei THE HUMAN SACRIFICE. i il tlio vohnteer were honest or not. It was enough that he should volunteer. According to their laws none could ho compelled to take this watch ; and it was one of the secret tests, that of the volunteer, hy which to discover who, of the crew, were in secret disl.val. and likely to prove treacherous. V . ( repeated Blackboard. You, then, willingly choose to remain and keep watch over the treasure? "I do! " Then remain, and see that you watch well ! "And, with the words, lifting the pistol which, all the while, had hern secretly prepared in his grasp, he shot the wretched boy through the head. So sudden \va- the movement, that the miserable victim was scarcely conscious of his danger a single moment, before the bullet was crashing through his brains. He fell into the hole above the treasure, and the earth was shoveled in upon the victim and the spoils he had probably fancied he should be able to bear away. " There see that you keep good watch, good fellow! 44 A wild howl of demoniac joy from the adjacent covert star tled the superstitious of the crew. The >acritice to the fiend in waiting had been graciously accepted; and a tacit pledge was thus given by the demon that, with his aid. the treasure should he kept safely by the vigilant spectre of the victim. vi. 44 Til K horrid orgies which succeeded to this murder, among the pirate^, that night their dance of maniac fren/.y over the . of their victim, and upon the >p..t of earth which concealed their buried depOMte < ihility Of description, as it would be gn-atly offensive ! propriety were we to describe it. They drank, they .lanced, they .sang, they swore, they howled, they fboghl ; and it wa> 1-Mig after dawn ..f the day foil re they proved able t. return to their vessel irhicfc lay at easy anchorage a short distance IV.. in the shore. Before leaving the" inland, they had obsCUTecl with trampling, then with turf ami leaves, all" external sign- of the burial which they had made. The orgies of drunkenness which followed had served still more effectually to oblit.-rate from he memories of most of 462 SOUTHWARD HO ! them the impressions of the locality which they had gathered from the scene. It was with this policy that their more cun ning chiefs had encouraged their bestial debauchery and excess. They, however (the former), had taken the precaution to estab lish certain guide-marks to the spot which nothing could oblit erate. The extended branch of one tree was a pointer to the place ; the blaze of another was made to bear a certain relation also to the spot, and so many paces east from the one, and so many paces west from the other, intersecting with a third line drawn from the position of another bough, or tree, or blaze, and the point of junction of the three was that under which the treasures lay. We are not required here to be more precise in its delineation. " Their work done effectually, as usual, and our pirates all pretty well sobered, they sailed away upon another cruise, the fortunes of which we need not recount. But fhis time they were not long at sea. After awhile they returned to the waters of North Carolina, and gave themselves up to a week of riot in Pamplico. " But, along with the evil deed are born always three other parties the accuser, the witness, and the avenger! It is now difficult to say by what means the later crimes of Blackbeard became known. He had certainly obliterated all his own tracks of blood, almost as soon as he had made them. Still, these tracks had been found and followed, though covered up with earth and sea : as if the accuser and the avenger were endowed with a peculiar faculty, such as, in the case of the hound, ena bles him to detect the odor of blood even through the mould. Blackbeard, with the instinct of guilt, was soon aware that a secret enemy was dogging at his heels. " So it was. " There had suddenly appeared a stranger at Pamplico, who threw himself more than once in the way of Blackboard s laot wife, the Amazon. He was a fine-looking young fellow, of martial carriage, wearing the loose shirt of the Virginian hunter, carrying a rifle, and followed by a dog. He was tall, erect, and very powerfully built. There was a laughing mischief in his eye, a sly, seductive humor upon his tongue, and a general something in his free, dashing, and buoyant manner, which is THK VIRGINIA HUNTER. 463 apt to be rather pleasing to the women. At all events, the stranger found favor in the sight of the girl of Pamplico, and she invited him to her cabin l>ut trithout Blackbeard** knowledge. " The stranger did not hesitate to accept the invitation ; but he took care to visit the woman only when ho knew that the pirate- chief was pre>ent. The girl was a little dashed when he sud denly pushed open the door of the dwelling, and stood in his forest-costume before the parties. With an oath, Blackboard demanded tor what he came. The stranger had his answer ready. He had peltry for sale >everal packs and he wished to barter it for powder and ball. Regarding the pirate only in his shore character, as a fair trader, there was nothing in the visit to occasion surprise. 41 Blackbeard regarded the stranger with eyes of curious admiration. He observed with delight the magnificent propor tions of the hunter. " You are a big fellow, said lie >trong as a horse, no doubt, and as active as a wild cat. " A match, was the reply, for any man of my inc! Ml We ll see that! exclaimed the pirate, Middenly rising and grappling with the stranger in a friendly w re .-tie. The miiM-u- lar and bulky forms of the two rocked to and fro, hrea- breast for awhile, until, by an extra exertion of strength, the hunter laid the outlaw on his back. The latter was nowise raffled. " You don t look the man to do it, said he, but it waa well done. You re a man, every inch of you. Have you ever : upon the sea? That s the field for such a man as you. Com. what say you to a v yage with me? Good pay, good liquor, and fine girls. "Here the pirate winked at his wile, and pointed her out to the stranger. The latter -reined disposed to entertain the project. Blackbeard became earnest. He was anxious to in crease the number of his marines, and he held out liberal prom ises and prospects to our hunter but without suffering him to suppose that his vocation at sea was anything but honest. In those days, the fair traders required ->m. thing of a warlike armament for defence, and usually had it to a certain ei 464 SOUTHWARD HO ! " Our hunter offered only such objections as were easy to overcome ; and the result of the conference was an arrangement between the parties to meet the next day on board of Black- beard s vessel, when they should come to a more definite under standing ; our hunter only insisting upon seeing the sort of world to which he* was to be introduced, and the accommoda tions and the fare designed for him. This understood, they separated for the night the stranger refusing to drink or cat with the pirate, much to the latter s annoyance. How much more would this annoyance have been increased, had he known how tender was the squeeze of the hand which, at parting, the girl of Pamplico had bestowed upon their guest ! " With such a chap as that to lead the boarders, and I shall sweep every deck that ever showed it s teeth, said Blackbeard when the stranger had gone. 141 All s well so far ! quoth the latter, as he passed from hear ing of the cabin. All s well. To-morrow ! to-morrow. "With the morrow the parties again met, and Blackbeard s welcome was singularly cordial. He took the hunter on board his vessel, showed him her appointments, her strength, and di lated upon the profit of the trade he carried on. The stranger looked about him, noted well what he saw, took particular heed of the pirate guns and sailors, their number, their character ; yet pursued his watch so casually as to occasion no suspicion. He was pleased with everything, and only forebore to drink, to eat, or to make any positive engagement, as before. He left all things in a fair way for arrangement ; but it needed that he should bring in his peltry and secure his various hunter effects, in his distant foreign home. 444 We shall meet in seven days! 4< * Be sure of it, answered the other, 4 for in ten I must prepare to be at sea. But, by the way, you haven t in all this time told me your name, or I ve forgot it. 444 Well, when I go to sea, I must get a name. To confess to you a truth, the one I have borne, is rather in bad reputation. 444 Ah ! ha ! I see then why you are here. You ve been using your rifle on meaner brutes than buck and bear. Well ! I don t think the worse of you for that. But give yourself a name that we may swear by. ROBERT MAYNARD. 465 "Or at ! well, as I am to be a sailor, I ll take my name from tlir ship, ( .ill me Mainyanl, for lack of anything better. " So they parted. " Mainyard! Muinyard ! muttered Blackbeard to himself. Wlu-iv have I heard a name like that only a day or two ago! It was t ri in that hlo..dy ho.d.y. Colt-man. There s something about the name that p^haw ! what MI ass I am! as if there should be anything strange to a sailor s ear in such a name. Yet, there is something ! And with a vague memory of he knew not what, run ning in his mind, Hlackheard frit mystified and curious for a good hour alter the departure of the Hunter. Had he not been half drunk and very furious when Colt-man brought his story to his ear-. hi> doubts would have assumed a more definite form, and might have led to other results than followed his oblivion. 11 .Meanwhile the hunter had disappeared. What follows, al most literally drawn from history, may serve to put into your hands the clue which was all tangled in those of the maudlin pirate. v n. " BI.AI KRF. AKI>, as the fair trader, Edward Teach, had provoked the hostility of the planters in and about Pamplico. The stran- hunter had Keen among them before he sought the pirate. 11- had gathered all their evidence, had learned, like them, to distrust the justice of the ruling authorities of N.rth Carolina in their dealings with the pirates, and had ft -ught the >uc- nient of Virginia. ( i<>\ ernor Spotswood had used his influence with the British commodore on the Virginia station to employ a n ade<ju;r r tlie capture of Blarkb. 1 or the eonimand of this entei juise a volunteer hail been found, in the person of "lie /!/,? Ma i/naxl, a Virginian, but a lit nant in the royal na\ y. T.I catrh Hlackbeard was no easy matter; and ?Ia\nard f>und it advisable t make hi::, s.df per sonally acijuainteil with the f.uve if the pirates, his place of har- 1 orage. and to plan. >n the |p( itself, his mode of op.-rations. We have -een tin- pi"gress which he has made, thus far, in the character of the Virginian hunter. "While he thus employed himself two sloops were got in 20 466 SOUTHWARD HO ! readiness with equal secrecy and expedition. Blackboard, as we have seen, was not left unapprized of his danger. But, in his debauch, he had made light of the intelligence, and moreover, it was not thought by those who bore the tidings that the expe dition would have such early despatch. In those days enter prises were undertaken as pilgriiaages, with great deliberation, the adventurer stopping to get himself well shod, to provide himself with a select staff, and, only after protracted meditation and perhaps devotions, to take the field. The enterprise of young Maynard proved an exception to the common practice, and his sloops were ready to go to sea, while he was discussing with Blackboard the preliminaries and the profit of future voy ages which they might take together. " Beginning thus vigorously, Maynard did not relax in his ex ertions. His sloops left James river on the 17th November, 1718. When fairly at sea, he broke the enterprise to his followers, all of whom were picked men. He read to them the proclamation of Governor Spotsu ood, offering a reward of t 100 for the ap prehension of Blackboard, < 15 for every officer, and c 10 for every common sailor made captive with him. The proclamation was received with three hearty cheers, and all parties braced themselves up for the conflict which, it was very well understood, would be anything but child s play. On the 21st of Novem ber, Maynard passed the bar of Ocracocke, and rapidly drew near to the pirate. At this period, his force was small, consist ing of twenty-five men ; the rest were at sea, with his other ves sel, under the command of Vaughan and other lieutenants. " Blackboard was taken by surprise. He certainly would never have waited at his anchorage and with so small a force, had he dreamed of his enemy s approach so soon. In truth, he had been waiting for his hunter, Mainyard, whom he looked to supply the place of his captain of marines, one Hornsby, who was very sick on shore, and not expected to recover. He did recover, as we shall see hereafter, but not in season to take part in the conflict. " Though thus caught napping, Blackboard was a man of re sources, arid prepared himself for defence. Maynard standing directly for the pirate, received his fire which was delivered with terrible effect. Unfortunately, his own vessel run aground, in 467 the shallow water of the river, and thi^ increased the odds against him. before lie could extricate him-rlf, he had lost twenty of his men, and the pirate prepared I" hoard him. Seeing this, Maynard hurried his men helo\v, with orders to keep ready for the hand-to-hand conflict which was impending. Blackbeard bore down upon him, threw in his ifranailex, and, seeing the decks bare of all hut the slain and wounded, he hoarded without hesi tation. Then Maynard rushed upon deck, followed by his crew, and they fell together upon the assailants. Maynard s costume, on this occasion, was that in which he had made the pirate s ac quaintance. Blackbeard knew him at a glance. " Ha ! traitor! Ha ! villain ! he cried as the young lieutenant confronted him; and with the words both of them fired. Then they closed with their dirks. Blackheard was now reminded of the wrestle they had had together, and the recollection made him desperate. It was ominous of the result in the present content. He was overmatched, and slashed almost to pieces, hut fighting to the last, he fell at the feet of his conqueror, who immediately smote off his head with his cutlass, and lifted it, all reeking and streaming with blood, in the sight of the remaining pirates. As the black and bloody mass, with its wilderness of beard was raided on high, the horrid eyes glaring, and glazing even as they glared, the spectacle overwhelmed the pirate-crew. They threw down their weapons, such as Mill survived the combat, and ironed on the spot. The capture of the pirate-vessel fol lowed, but had nearly proved a fatal conquest; since a desperate negro stood over the magazine, stationed there by Blackboard s orders, with a blazing match, prepared to apply it at a given signal. It was only when the gory head of his master was thrust 1-efore his eyes, that he consented t<> resign his torch and leave his perilous duty unattempted. The victory of Maynard was complete, and he sailed up to the town of Hath, and linalu turned to James river, with the head of the pirate, in Urrorrm, hanging at the bowsprit of his vessel." CHAPTER XIX. FROM SHIP TO SHORE. " THUS," continued our raconteur "thus ended the careor of one of the most terrible pirates that evor infested these wa ters. He lias left memorable traces, in curious and startling le gends, all along these shores. There is a sequel to this narrative which I have related, in the further history of that horde of treasure of which we have seen the burial." The narrator was sharply interrupted with a cry from one of the party. "There s the light!" "The Charleston light!" And the group of listeners were no longer to be spelled by the raconteur. They broke away with a rush ; each eagerly straining his eyes for the pale star-like beacon, set by the guar dian civilization, on the edges of the great deep, for the benefit of the benighted mariner. Meanwhile, the swarthy beauty, Night, enveloped in dark mantle, was passing with all her train of starry servitors; even as some queenly mourner, followed by legions of gay and brilliant courtiers, glides slowly and mourn fully, in sad state and solemnity, on a duteous pilgrimage to some holy shrine. And, over the watery waste, that sad. sweet, doubtful light, such as Spenser describes in the cathedral wood : "A little plixmiinn lijrlit nioft like a shade." showed us the faint line of shore upon our right. " That is Long Island which we are so rapidly passing. There it was that Sir Henry Clinton marshalled his array, gren adiers and marines, in order to make their valiant demonstra tion upon the little army of rifles under Thompson, on the ever- famous 28th of June, 177G, while Sir Peter Parker was ham mering away at Fort Sullivan within the harbor. The whit* GLIMPSES ALu.\<; BHORB, 469 mass which you see at the extremity of tlie dark line, shows you what is called the breach, where the ocean breaks through with t .iain ami nar, and separates Long from Sullivan s island. To cross this breach* was Clinton s necessity. It was sometime- fordahle ; but on this occasion, according to the British report, a miracle to<k jilace in behalf of the Carolinians, not unlike that which divided the sea for the Israelites, yet raised it up, immediately after, in mountains to overwhelm the pursuing Egyptians. Here, the waters on the breach, rose in the twinkling of an eye from two feet to seven. It ceased to be fordable to the grenadiers who. strangely enough, contended that they could not possibly hope to do fighting, to sight a carabine, or charge a bayonet, with their eyes under the water. In that only half-civili/.ed period, the average height of a gren adier corps did not exceed MX feet." " Hut Clint.. i) hail hi- vessels for the passage." < >h ! to }, -lire ! And he did try to cross. But the rifles iioiupson pp. veil an obstacle no less potent than the arm of the sea. Two little six-pounders, besides, planted on the oppo site sand-hills, were mischievously stuffed with grape and can- ;-. I mler the two tire-, Sir Henry s rafts Hats and schoon ers, were swept of their crews, and after two desperate at tempt- the assailant drew sullenly off, and waited the result of that more terrific conflict, which was going on, the while, within the harbor, and which continued throughout the day till nine at night." " Then- you get a faint glimpse of the -and hills on Sullivan -, crowned sparingly with shrubs, among which the rifles Behind tho.se -ami-bill- then- is ijnite a fOTWt The white line which you mark, fringing the dusky plain of the is that famous beach, so broad, -o hard, so long, of which the Chariest. mians hoa-t M s -,, beautiful a seaside driv.- 1 ond to lew or none in the country. \ M the h-u-es dot- th -an !y BOOMS. That long dusky building is the Moiiltrie House, coo], airy, ample a delirious retreat in the hot MMOn. The darker coinpacter ma-- which you note west of it is the famous fort, formerlv Sullivan, where the stout old patriot Moul- trie. pipe in month, at the head ..f hi- little regiment, beat off the British fleet. From this point you rerceive that the settle- 470 SOUTHWARD HO ! ment grows denser ; the white cottages standing out, distinctly though rather crowded, in the pleasant starlight." " What line of shore is this upon the left ?" asked Puycknian of Miss Burroughs. Our Gothamite never left that young lady s side, and preferred evidently to get his information from a femi nine source. " That is Moms island, upon which the lighthouse stands. It is also a pleasant and healthy retreat during summer, and be yond the sand-hills there is a little hamlet. "Morris is divided by a creek from James island. Let your eye move alongshore in this direction, and you see Fort Sum- ter, a new fortress, raised upon a mole in the sea. It confronts Fort Moultrie obliquely, and the fires of the two combined would serve to keep an approaching fleet in hot water for a while. We are now passing between the two, and have reached a point where the whole harbor opens upon the eye. To the left, you follow the water-line till it brings you to Ashley river, descend ing west of the city to the embraces with the deep. Look across now, due north, and you see another long sandy tract stretching away till lost in the distance. This is Haddrill s, or Mount Pleasant village a third retreat for the citizens in summer. Just before you, Castle Pinckney looms up, forming another for tress for the protection of the harbor. It lies within half a mile of the city, the long line of lights of which you see stretching up Cooper river, which passes down from the north between Haddrill s and the city." " The harbor is an ample one," said Duyckman. " Few more so, and few in this country more beautiful. The effect at this moment is very fine. The seas are as placid and subdued as the happy slumber of childhood. The breezes swell gently over these slight elevations of land along the south, and stoop down to the little waves, creasing them with ripplftig beauties, which the luminous brightness of tlie stars enables us to follow in long lines that are unbroken till they subside from sight in distance." " I should iike to explore these islets and rivers, and visit all the places you have named. Can this be done safely in midsummer?" 41 This season yes! Charleston is DOW very healthy. Were THK rHAKI.i:STnN CURFEW. 471 it a yellow-fever season, you should not be here. If you say so, we will take a week or so for the city and the island, before we go to the mountain region." "Hera! Ah! When Miss Burroughs do you think to leave the citv tor your excursion to the interior? queried Duyck- man of the lady. "0, not tor a week or two. * Gotham nodded to me as if to say "That will just suit us." " Hark ! the gun ! Captain Berry has a private signal on his arrival which he communicates to all the public ! Well, my friends, our voyage is over. In ten minutes we shall be ashore." I hear the ringing of bells," said Duyckman. " A fire, per haps or possibly the salutation of the city and its welcome, in response to the gun of the captain. Your method of return ing a .salute." " No ! it is our curfew ? That bell rings for ten o clock. It ignal to Samho and Tufty, the darkies, that they had bet ter retire to their .several lodgings for the night ; and when it begins, at a quarter before the stroke of ten, the parties thus ially notified begin to make tracks homeward. It is quite an musing picture to see them, at that hour, scattering, each taking hi> separate wav. One hurries home, hearing a string "f hlacktish. He has pleasant anticipations of a fry that night. Another carries a basket tilled with a variety ; he will scarcely be willing that you .should see what he carries. A third has a bottle of whiskey in one pocket, and a pound of tobacco in the other. And, thus armed and charged, they linger with their Comrade* and acquaintance about the streets, till the stroke of that .- ///;// hell. A last w..rd. a hurried shake of the hand, as they meet and pa>s. and they retire from the sight as the bell s. 01 rather, when the tattoo ceases which always is beaten when the ringing closes. But of Charleston more anon. Give your arm to Miss Hurroughs. This is her brother ho approaches. ir M- carriage is on the wharf. I will see for . if." i hronicle. for the present, is completed. The raconteur & iilent. The circle is dispersed. The spirits have nothing fur- 472 SOUTHWARD HO ! ther to reveal, of the secrets of their prison-house, at the pres ent sitting. But, doubtless, we shall re-form the circle, and have new revelations. We shall seek new sources of inspira tion new media and fresh materials; and soothe, for the reader as for ourselves, "as humor prompts," the "idle vein" of both. We shall assemble, among our southern forests and mountains, a portion at least, of our present company perhaps add others to our circle. 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