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. But we shall make no definite prom 
 ise ; being resolute not to fetter ourselves to hard conditions. 
 We need say no more ; and, ju.st now, our Alabama cynic is at 
 our elbow, with a courtly entreaty that we shall do him grace, 
 ere we part, " over a coil of snake and tiger." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 and examples for his guidance, will pronounce Sir Wm. Napier 
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