THE CHASE.
The railroad which passed through W—— was only a branch of the main
route leading to Charleston, and consequently there were but two
passenger trains each way per day; and as Mr. Delafield’s great object
now was to reach Charleston before the boat in which Rose was to sail
should leave the landing, it seemed impossible for him to wait until
night, for not until then was the next train due. Suddenly he remembered
that the express train left Augusta about four o’clock P. M. It was now
ten, and he could easily reach it in time for the cars, provided there
had been no change in the time table. To ascertain this, therefore, he
hastened to the dépôt, where to his dismay he learned that the train
left Augusta at _two_.
But with him to will was to do. Flying rather than walking back to his
house, he called out Bill, his coachman, startling him with the inquiry
as to whether it would be possible, with his best horses, a span of
beautiful dappled greys, which were valued at a thousand dollars, to
drive to Augusta in less than four hours.
Besides being naturally lazy and unwilling for exertion of any kind,
_Bill_ was also remarkably tender of said greys, who were his pride, and
whom he had named _Fred_ and _Ferd_. On hearing his master’s inquiry,
therefore, he looked perfectly aghast, and diving both hands into his
matted wool, by way of illustration undoubtedly, replied, “Mighty tough
scratchin’, I can tell you, mars’r. Them ponies hain’t been driv, only
what I’ve ex’cized ’em for health, for better’n a month, and to run ’em
as I’d hev to run ’em, would kill ’em stone dead. No, mars’r, can’t
think on’t for a minit,” and as if this were conclusive, and his word
the law, Bill stuffed his hands into his bagging trousers, and was
walking quietly away, when Mr. Delafield stopped him, saying, “I shall
try it at all events. So get out the carriage immediately, and mind you
are not over five minutes doing it. Ask some one to help you, if
necessary—ho, Jack,” and he called to a ragged mulatto boy who was doing
nothing, and bade him assist Bill in harnessing the horses.
Rolling his white eyes in utter astonishment at what seemed to him the
folly of his master, Bill began to expostulate, “Lor, mars’er, you
kill”——
“Silence, and do as I bid you,” said Mr. Delafield, in a tone which Bill
thought best to obey, and sauntering off to the stables, he brought out
the ponies, who pranced and pawed the ground, while he admired their
flowing manes and smooth shining coats.
Then seeing Jack standing near, ready to help, he haughtily ordered him
away, saying, “Nobody but myself is fit to tache these critters. They’d
know in a minit if a low-lived nigger like you came a near.”
Nothing loth, Jack walked off, while Bill proceeded leisurely to harness
the beautiful animals, talking to them as if they were intelligent
beings, and telling them, “never to fear—they wan’t a gwine to be druv
to Gusty in two hours, and no sich thing. Bill sot on the box, and ’twas
nothin’ to mars’r, who was lollin on the cushions inside.”
At this point he was startled by the voice of Mr. Delafield, who, having
hastily packed a few articles in his portmanteau, and written a line to
his sister, had come out to superintend in person the movements of his
servant, whose peculiarities he perfectly understood.
“So ho,” said he, “you mean to cheat me do you?” at the same time
signifying his intention of having the horse go as fast as he liked.
“The Lord help Fred and Ferd then, for Bill can’t,” was the mental
ejaculation of the negro as he saw the fire in his master’s eye and knew
he must be obeyed.
Still he managed to be as slow as possible, insisting that “Ferd allus
had to drink two buckets and a half, or he wan’t wuth a dime,” adding in
a conciliatory tone, that “with two buckets and a half in him he’d run
like lightnin’.”
Very impatiently Mr. Delafield waited for the disappearance of the
requisite amount of water, consulting his watch, counting the minutes,
and at last remarking that it took Ferd a wonderful while to drink.
“That’s ’case he’s sich a ’strordinary beast every way,” answered Bill,
who for some little time had been holding an _empty_ bucket to the
horse’s mouth.
He was going to replenish a third time when his master ordered him back,
telling him he could wait no longer; with another glance at his watch,
he entered the carriage, while Bill, loudly lamenting the half bucket,
without which Ferd would surely die, mounted the box, where he spent
quite a while in comfortably disposing of his long, lank limbs and in
adjusting his palmleaf hat.
“Go on, you rascal,” shouted Mr. Delafield, beginning to lose his
temper; and gathering up the reins, Bill whistled to the spirited
animals, who dashed off at a far greater speed than their driver thought
was at all conducive to their well being.
“Hold on dar, Ferd! Stop dat foolin’, will you, Fred! Easy dar, both on
you, for you come mighty nigh histin’ me off de box!”
This last was said quite loud for the benefit of Mr. Delafield, who,
perceiving that their speed had slackened, for they were well trained
and readily obeyed Bill’s voice, called out, “Drive faster, I tell you.
Give them the ribbons, and let them run.”
“Lor’ a’mighty,” answered Bill, now coming to a dead halt in order that
his master might be better impressed with what he said. “You don’t
understand hoss flesh. At this rate you kills ’em in less than no time.
Ferd never ‘ill stan’ it with them two buckets of water, ’case you see
how shakin’ him up dis way dey’ll get bilin’ hot and nobody can live
with bilin’ water in ’em.”
Provoked as he was, Mr. Delafield could not repress a smile at the
subterfuges of Bill to spare his horses, but he bade him drive on,
saying, however, that he need not drive them at the top of their speed
immediately, as they would be more likely to give out, “but after a mile
or two,” he continued, “put them through with the _whip_ if necessary.”
“Lor’ mars’r,” answered Bill from the box, without moving an inch, “I
never tache them with a whip in de world. Fred would jump clar out of
his skin. All dey want to make ’em kill deyselves is a loose rein and a
whistle—so.”
Suiting the action to the word, he whistled long and loud, whereupon the
horses started forward as if a volley of artillery had been fired at
their heels, while mingled with the roll of the wheels, Mr. Delafield
heard the distressed Bill, saying. “Whoa, dar, Ferdinand, can’t you whoa
when I tell you. Think of the bilin’ water, and keep easy. Come
Frederic, you set him a ’xample. That’s a good boy, no ’casion for all
dis hurry, if we misses one train we catches another. All de same thing.
We ain’t chasin’ a runaway gal’ as I knows of.”
After a little he succeeded in stopping them, and for the next ten or
fifteen minutes they proceeded on rather leisurely, and Bill was
beginning to think his master had come to his senses, when he was
startled with the stern command, “Let them run now as fast as they will.
Don’t check them at all until we reach the dépôt.”
Accordingly, for a mile or so the horses rushed on at headlong speed,
Bill sympathizing with them deeply and mentally promising himself “to
tend ’em mighty keerful to pay for this.”
At last, when he thought it safe to do so, he held them in, taking the
precaution, however to say aloud, “Get along dar, Ferd—none your lazy
tricks here when mars’r’s in sich a hurry. Can’t you get along dar, I
say. An’ you Fred, wake up yer bones to de merits of de case.”
But if in this way he thought to deceive the resolute man inside he was
mistaken. Perceiving that their speed was considerably slackened, and
hearing Bill loudly reproach the horses for their laziness, Mr.
Delafield softly opened the carriage door, and leaning out, learned the
cause of the delay. Bolt upright upon the box, with his brawny feet
firmly braced against the dash-board so as to give him more power, sat
Bill, clutching the reins with might and main, for the horses’ mettle
was up and it required his entire strength to keep them from running
furiously! All this time, too, the cunning negro kept chiding them for
their indolence in moving so slowly!
“Bill,” said Mr. Delafield, sternly, “stop the carriage instantly.”
“Lord a massy, mars’r,” exclaimed the frightened Bill. “You almost
skeered me off de box. Ferd won’t get along no how. I tells him and I
tells him how you’r in de hurry—don’t you mind how I keeps telling him
to get along, I reckons he wants dat t’other half bucket of water.”
“I understand you perfectly,” said Mr. Delafield, alighting from the
carriage, and to the utter astonishment of Bill, mounting the box and
taking the reins in his own hands. “I understand your tricks, and for
the rest of the way I shall drive myself!”
Rolling his eyes wildly in their sockets, the crest fallen Bill folded
his arms and resigned the horses to their fate, saying mentally, “I
shall war mournin’ for ’em, I shall, and he may help hisself.”
Over rough and stony places—over smooth and sandy roads—over hills, over
plains—through the woods, through the swamps, and through the winding
valleys, on they sped like lightning, the excited horses covered with
foam, their driver stern, silent and determined, while poor Bill, with
the perspiration streaming down his shining face, kept up a continued
expostulation, “Now, mars’r, for de dear Lord’s sake, stop ’em ‘fore dey
draps down dead. Look at de white specks all over Ferd’s back—he’ll
never stan’ it without dat t’other half bucket. You kills ’em sartin,
and dar goes a thousand dollars, smack and clean.”
But Bill’s entreaties were all in vain, and his distress was at its
height, when fortunately his thoughts were diverted in another channel.
At a sudden turn of the road a gust of wind lifted the old palmleaf from
his woolly head, and carried it far away. “Now, dear Mars’r,” said Bill,
laying his hand on that of Mr. Delafield, “you’ll sartin let ’em breathe
while I picks up my hat, ’case you see how’ll you look gwine into town
wid a barheaded nigger. In de Lord’s name, stop,” he continued, as he
saw in his master no signs of relenting.
Glancing over his shoulder Mr. Delafield saw the hat away over the
fields, and quietly taking a bill from his pocket and placing it in the
negro’s hand, he replied; “That will buy you five such hats.”
“Yes, but de hosses, lor’ a mighty, de hosses!” exclaimed Bill almost
frantically, “Don’t you see Ferd is gwine to gin out?”
Mr. Delafield feared so, too, and more to himself than to his servant,
he said, “perhaps the cars will be behind time, they usually are.”
Without considering the consequences, Bill answered, “No they won’t;
case I hear how they hired a tarin’ Yankee for an _engine_, and he
drives all afore him—gits ahead of de time and all dat.”
The next minute he repented a speech whose disastrous effects he
foresaw, and he was about to deny it as a fabrication of his own brain,
when his master, who really saw signs of lagging in the nervous, fiery
Ferd, said, “Bill, you have a peculiar whistle with which you spur up
the horses—make it now; Ferd has run himself almost down.”
“De Lord have massy on us,” groaned Bill, wiping away a tear; then, as
Mr. Delafield repeated his order, he said, in a whining tone, “Can’t,
mars’r, no how; case you see my throat is dreffle sore, ridin’ barheaded
so in the breeze which you kicks up—can’t, no how.”
“But you must,” persisted Mr. Delafield.
Bill still refused, until at last, as they approached the town, they
heard a heavy, rumbling sound. It was the roll of cars in the distance,
and starting up, Mr. Delafield seized the negro by the shoulder and in
thunder tones called out, “Whistle.”
“Lord, mars’r I will, I will,” gasped Bill, terrified at the fiery gleam
of his master’s eye, and from his mouth there issued a most unearthly
sound, which mingled with the shriek of the fast coming engine, urged on
the jaded horses to one more desperate effort.
A few more mad plunges and they reached the dépôt, covered with foam and
frothing at the mouth, just as the train was moving slowly away. With
one pitying farewell glance at his dying greys, Mr. Delafield exclaimed,
“Cut the harness instantly,” and then with a bound sprung upon the
platform, which he reached just as Bill called after him in mournful
accents, “Ferd’s dead, mars’r, Ferd is,” while, mingled with the roar of
the machinery he caught the faint echo of something about “t’other half
bucket of water!”
But little cared he for that. Rosa Lee was to be overtaken, and to
accomplish this, he would willingly have sacrificed every horse of which
he was owner, even were they twice as valuable as the dappled greys.
So, wishing him a successful journey, and leaving him on the same seat
with a Yankee peddler, who saw him when he came up and “_guessed_ he was
after a runaway nigger,” we return for a moment to Bill, who with tears
streaming from his eyes, patched the struggles of Fred until the noble
animal was dead, bringing him water which he vainly coaxed him to drink,
while the bystanders, who crowded around, asked him innumerable
questions as to why they drove so fast and where his master was going.
To the first Bill could not reply, but to the last he promptly answered,
as he patted the remains of the departed Ferdinand, “Gwine to the
_devil_, in course! Whar you spect a white man to go, what treats hosses
in dis kind of style, won’t let ’em hev all the water dey wants and
drives ’em till dey draps dead in der tracks.”
The story of the half bucket was duly rehearsed, Bill firmly believing
that if Ferd had drank it, he would undoubtedly have lived “dis minit
and been as spry as a cricket. But now he’s dead and Fred, too,”
continued the negro, as the latter ceased to move. “Sich another span of
hosses, that ain’t in all Georgy,” and laying his black face upon the
neck of the insensible Ferd, the negro cried like a child.
“There is one comfort, at least, my boy,” said a gentlemanly looking
man, who stood near and who knew Mr. Delafield, “your horses didn’t
suffer, for they were too much excited.”
This in a measure consoled Bill, who, wiping his eyes, asked what he was
to do with them, saying he “never could dig thar grave.”
“My negroes shall do it for you,” answered the stranger, and in a short
time several stalwart men were busy in an adjacent field making a grave
for the dappled greys, which they carefully buried, while on a stump,
with his head resting on his knees, sat Bill as chief mourner.
“I wish I knew a prar,” he whispered to himself, “for if ever hosses
’sarved it they do;” but the rude African had never prayed since he was
a little child, and thinking himself too old to begin now, he rose up
from the stump, just as his companions, having finished their task, were
beginning to ridicule his bare head, telling him he must have an unkind
master, judging from his own appearance and the sad fates of the horses,
while one of them advised him to run away.
This was touching Bill in a tender point, for though he had loved the
horses much, he loved his master more, and he would not hear him
censured; accordingly he retorted petulantly that “thar warn’t a better
master in all Georgy than mars’r Dick, nor a richer one neither,—and
’twan’t nobody’s business if he killed five hundred horses—he could
afford it—’twan’t as though he was poor and owned nothin’ but a few _low
trash_ like the ’Gusty niggers!”
This insinuation the “Gusty niggers,” chose to resent as an insult, and
a regular negro fight ensued, in which Bill, being the weaker party,
came off rather badly beaten, his face being scratched in several
places, while his pants received a huge rent, which in no wise tended to
improve his personal appearance. Matters being at last amicably
adjusted, the victorious party returned home, while Bill, who had
frequently been in Augusta with his master, wended his way to a hatter’s
shop, where he soon made himself the owner of a second-hand beaver,
which at his request was ornamented by a weed of crape as a badge of
mourning for his favorite steeds. Then seeing that the carriage was
safely stowed away, he started on foot for home, stopping at the negro
quarters of almost every plantation to relate his wonderful adventures.
As he was perfectly trusty and faithful, he was always allowed to carry
a pass by his good natured master and thus he found no difficulty in his
journey, which he took quite leisurely, never reaching Sunny Bank until
the close of the second day after the one on which he had left it.
In the meantime Mr. Delafield, with closely knit brows and compressed
lip, his usual look when he was in deep thought, sat musing of the time
when Rosa Lee would be his wife, while at his side the Yankee peddler,
with his basket of essence carefully stowed under the seat, was casting
curious glances at his companion, whose history he was desirous of
knowing. But there was something in Mr. Delafield’s appearance which
forbade familiarity, so for once the loquacious Yankee was silent.
They were now about half-way between Augusta and Charleston and going at
great speed, when suddenly at a short curve there was a violent
commotion—the passengers were pitched forward and backward, while the
engine plunged down a steep embankment, throwing the train from the
track and dragging after it the baggage car, which in some way became
detached from the rest. The new “Yankee engineer” was a daring, reckless
fellow, who at the North had been discharged for carelessness, and had
come to try his fortune at the South. Fortunately no one was seriously
hurt except Mr. Delafield, whose injuries were simply _mental_, as he
knew this accident would probably detain them for many hours. In a
perfect storm of excitement he stalked up and down the track, asking the
conductor every few minutes how long it would probably be before they
could go on, and at last growing so dark in his face that the Yankee,
after looking over his essence basket and finding but few of his bottles
broken, ventured to say, “Now, _Squire_, don’t git mad at a feller for
askin’ a sassy question, but I raley du want to know if there ain’t a
little atom of black blood in you?”
“Very likely,” answered Mr. Delafield; while the Yankee, now that the
ice was broken, continued to ply him with questions, which, though very
annoying to the haughty Southerner, tended to relieve in a measure the
tediousness of waiting.
The sun had long been set and the stars were shining brightly ere they
were able to proceed, and it was after midnight when they at last
reached Charleston. Driving immediately to the lauding, Mr. Delafield to
his great joy found that the steamer bound for New York still lay at the
wharf and would not start until morning. But was Rosa Lee on board? That
was a question which puzzled him, and as there was no way of satisfying
himself until morning, he sat down in one of the state rooms and rather
impatiently awaited the dawn of day.
* * * * *
The hurry—the confusion—and the excitement of starting was over. We were
out upon the deep blue sea, and from the window of my state-room I
watched the distant shore as it slowly receded from view, and felt that
I was leaving the land of sunlight and of flowers. Notwithstanding the
fatiguing journey of the previous day, I was better this morning than I
had been for many months before, for I had slept quietly through the
night.
An hour or two after breakfast Charlie came to me with a very peculiar
expression on his face and asked me to go upon deck, saying the fresh
breeze would do me good. I consented willingly, and throwing on my shawl
and a simple Leghorn flat which had been of much service to me at Cedar
Grove, and which Mr. Delafield had often said was very becoming, I went
out with Charlie, who led me to the rear of the boat, where he said we
were not so liable to be disturbed. Seating me upon a small settee he
asked to be excused for a few moments, saying I should not be long
alone. The motion of the boat produced a slight dizziness in my head,
and leaning my elbow upon the arm of the settee I shaded my eyes with my
hand and sat lost in thought until I heard the sound of a footstep.
“It was Charlie,” I said, so I did not look up, even when he sat down by
my side and wound his arm around me, wrapping my shawl closer together,
oh, so gently! “Charlie is very tender of me since my sickness,” I
thought, and much I loved that he should thus caress me. It thrilled me
strangely, bringing back to my mind the night when I sat in the
vine-wreathed arbor, where I should never sit again.
For a moment there was perfect silence and I could hear the beating of
Charlie’s heart. Then leaning forward and removing my hand from my eyes,
he pressed a kiss upon my lips and whispered as he did so, “_My own
Rose!_”
Once, when I was apparently dying, the sound of that voice had called me
back to life, and now with a cry of joy I sprang to my feet and turning
round, stood face to face with _Richard Delafield_, who, stretching his
arms towards me, said, “Come to my bosom, Rose. Henceforth it is your
resting-place.”
The shock was too much for me in my weak state. A faintness stole over
me, and if I obeyed his command, it was because I could not help it!
When I returned to consciousness, Richard’s arms were around me, and my
head was resting upon his bosom, while he whispered to me words which I
leave to the imagination, as I dare not give them to the world, lest he
(_Uncle Dick_ I call him) should be angry in his way, and I have learned
to be a very little afraid of him since that morning when on board the
steamer Delphine we sat and talked together of the past.
Wonderingly I listened while he told me how long he had loved me—how
once he had thought to tell me of his love, but the manner in which I
answered his leading question disheartened him, for he feared his
affection was not returned—how it had filled his heart with bitter grief
when he saw me about to marry another—how his sister had deceived him or
he should have spoken to me then—and how in a moment of temptation when
he stood over my pillow he had asked that I might die, for he would far
rather that death should be his rival than a fellow man. Then as he
thought how near I had been to the dark valley he shudderingly drew me
closer to his side and told me how he had wondered at Dr. Clayton’s
leaving me so abruptly and how sometimes when a ray of hope was
beginning to dawn upon him, it had been chilled by my manner, which he
now understood.
“You cannot conceive,” said he in conclusion, “what my feelings were
yester morn when I bade you adieu, nor yet can you comprehend the
overwhelming delight I experienced when I read that letter and felt that
you would at last be mine.”
When he had ceased to speak I took up the story and told him of all my
own feelings, and that nothing would ever have induced me to think for a
moment of becoming Dr. Clayton’s wife, but the belief that he was
engaged to Ada, a story which I told him his sister affirmed when I went
to her for counsel.
“And so Angeline played a double part,” said he, sighing deeply; “I
never thought she could be guilty of so much deception, though I have
always known she was averse to my marrying any one.”
Of Ada he said that never for a moment had he been engaged to her. “She
is to me like a sister,” said he, “and though I know she has many
faults, I am greatly attached to her, for we have lived together many
years. She was committed to my care by her father and I shall always be
faithful to my trust. And if, dear Rose, in the future, circumstances
should render it necessary for her to live with us, shall you object?
She cannot harm you now.”
He had talked to me much of his love, but, not a word before had he said
of my sharing his home at Sunny Bank, so I rather coquettishly answered,
“You talk of my living with you as a settled matter, and still you have
not asked me if I would.”
A shadow for a moment darkened his face, and then with a very quizzical
expression he made me a formal offer of himself and fortune, asking me
pointedly if I would accept it—and—and, well, of course, I did what my
readers knew I would do when I first told them of the _dark man_ at the
theatre—I said _yes_, and promised to return with him to Sunny Bank as
soon as my health would permit, which he was positive would be in a very
few weeks, for he should be my daily physician, and “love,” he said,
“would work miracles.”
Thus you see we were engaged—_Richard and I_!