Thought he, 'This is the lucky hour;
Wine works, when vines are in the flower.
This crisis, then, I'll set my rest on,
And put her boldly to the question.'
BUTLER.
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid:
You loved, I loved.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
The outlaws were, in the meanwhile, proceeding on their course with a
celerity that left them little to dread from pursuit; and, indeed,
all their measures indicated that their plan had been laid with as
much forethought as audacity. The captive maidens, after being borne
for the space of a mile or more, in the arms of their captors, were
placed upon horses previously in waiting; and then, supported by an
athletic attendant on each hand, were hurried forward with even
greater rapidity than before. Before this arrangement was effected,
and while they were yet in the neighbourhood of Hawk-Hollow, a change
came over the spirit of one of the prizes, not more advantageous to
herself than it was agreeable to the wild band who were somewhat
weary of her lamentations. This was Phoebe, whose terrors, instead of
abating, grew more clamorous, with every bound of the steed that bore
her; and which, having begun with sobs and piteous ejaculations,
increased to something like positive outcries; until, at last, the
man who carried her, losing all patience, and unlocking lips that
seemed previously made of stone, muttered, or rather whispered in her
ear, but in no very amiable accents,
"Consarn the woman! what are you squalling a'ter? Hold your foolish
tongue, Phoebe Jones, or"--
But the sound of a threatening voice was by no means fitted to allay
the damsel's fear, or paralyze the member it had set so vigorously in
motion. She interrupted the menace with a still louder shriek,
adding, "Oh lord, good gentleman, pray don't murder me!"
"Gentleman!" cried the other with a kind of snort, evidently designed
for a laugh: "Well, I reckon, I am a sort of, as well as another. But
what's the contraction? Who's talking of murdering? I'm an honest
feller, Phoebe Jones, and you know it; and these here refugees are
all honest fellers, too, as ever you'd wish to see. Now, Phoebe, just
scratch your nose, and be quiet; for you know I won't hurt you."
"Lord!" said Phoebe, in surprise, "don't I know that voice?"
"Why, I reckon," replied the other, with a more strongly marked
chuckle than before; "but, mind you, no talking above breath; for
that's agin orders, and captain Gilbert's a screamer."
"Captain Gilbert!" said Phoebe, in mortal terror. "Oh Dancy Parkins,
don't let him kill me, and I'll never abuse you no more!"
As he spoke, she banished so much of her fear as to fling an arm
around the horseman's neck, as if to insure the protection she
entreated; and the action, as well as the appeal, went so effectually
to his heart, that he answered forthwith, "Well I won't,--I won't let
him hurt you, I won't, consarn me!--You see, Phoebe Jones," he added,
with the same giggle which had marked the manly assurance of
protection, "I'm the man for you, a'ter all: I told you, you'd be
coming round, some day or other, for all your saying you despised
me."
"But an't I to be murdered, Dancy?" demanded the wench, dolefully:
"Oh! that ever I should be among the bloody Hawks! They say, they
scalp women and children, as if they were no more than great
Indians!"
"They're not half such fellers as people say," replied Dancy: "the
only murdering I ever knowed of among them, was that of Andy Parker;
and that I uphold to be salt for gruel,--fair grist for cheating the
miller. He chalked me down like a fool, me and Tom Staples, being all
old friends, or sort of; and so hanging was good for him. But I tell
you what, Phoebe--give us a buss, and _we_'ll be married, as well as
our betters."
"I won't do no such thing," said the damsel, stoutly. "I don't like
you no better than I ever did; for I don't see you're any
better-to-do in the world than you was; and, besides, I won't have no
tory."
"I reckon," said Dancy Parkins, "I'm no more a tory than the
lieutenant--that's him you used to suppose was Mr. Hunter, and a poor
painter; and there's your betters, the Captain's daughter, jumps at
him."
"She don't!" said Phoebe, with indignation; "and don't you go to say,
Miss Kitty Loring will have any such vagabondy, poor fellow."
"Poor!" cried Dancy; "why he's as rich as a king, and a mighty fine
gentleman, too, for all he's consorting just now with these here
refugees. He's got a grand plantation, as big as all Hawk-Hollow,
with a thousand niggurs, where he raises sugar by the ship-load, and
molasses beyond all reckoning, and, as I hear, good Jamaiky spirits.
He's to make me a sort of I-dunna-what-you-call-it; but I'm to manage
the niggurs, and make a fortun'. They say, no man ever sets foot on a
sugar plantation, without making a fortun' out of it,--that is,
excepting the niggurs. So, Phoebe Jones, there's no great use in
despising me. It's a fine country, that island of Jamaiky; and
consarn the bit of a hard winter they ever hear of there. So now,
Phoebe, don't be a fool and refuse me no more; for I'm mighty
well-to-do in the world."
And thus the enamoured Dancy pursued his claims to the love of his
prisoner, who had been hard-hearted enough to frown upon him of old,
while a labourer on Captain Loring's estate, and before the Captain's
daughter had, by rewards and promises of further favour, prevailed
upon him to take charge of the meaner fields of the widow. There was
some presumption, at least Phoebe thought so, in his daring to raise
eyes to _her_; for besides being without any personal attractions
whatever, he was, to all intents, a gawky and stupid clod-hopper,
with but little prospect of ever rising beyond the condition of a
mere hireling, or, at best, a peasant of the lowest class; and
accordingly, the damsel repelled him with extreme scorn, as a person
unworthy to brush the dust from her shoes.
But the case was now altered, or seemed to be. In the first place,
the scornful beauty was in his hands, and had wit enough, though by
no means overcharged with that brilliant commodity, to perceive that
his friendship was better than his enmity; and, in the second, his
appointment to the important and lucrative office of
He-did-not-know-what-to-call-it, on a sugar plantation, where they
raised molasses by the ship-load, and good Jamaica spirits, was a
circumstance to elevate him vastly in her consideration; for her
affections not being of a romantic or sentimental turn, she ever held
herself ready to bestow them upon any body who, in her own favourite
phrase, 'was well enough to-do in the world to make a lady of her.'
She listened, therefore, with complacency to his arguments, which he
pressed with as much ardour as he was capable of; and by the time
they reached the place where she was to exchange a litter in his arms
for a seat on a side-saddle, she had so far recovered from her fears,
that she might have told him in the words, and with more than the
sincerity, of Juliet,
"Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much."
In the course of his communications, for he became wondrous frank and
confiding, as he perceived her grow more favourable to his suit, he
made her acquainted with some of the mysterious causes that led to
the outrage, and the extent of his own agency in it.
When the young Gilbert fled from Hawk-Hollow, it was with a sorrowing
spirit and a bleeding frame. The wound was, it is true, neither
dangerous, nor, in fact, very severe; but he was left to endure it
among woods and rocks, afar from assistance, except such as could be
rendered by his wild associates, who were themselves reduced to
extremities, so keen and fierce was the spirit with which they were
hunted, though unsuccessfully, during the first week after their
flight.
The sufferings of the young man were, in consequence, neither light
nor few; and they were aggravated by anguish of spirit, which became
a withering despair, when Dancy Parkins, the only individual with
whom he could communicate in the valley, brought him intelligence
that Catherine had been taken away, and, as was currently believed,
for the purpose of being united to her affianced lover, afar from the
reach of danger or opposition. His condition became such that it was
no longer possible to remove him from the concealment where he lay,
even when the abatement of all pursuit opened a path of escape to his
companions, and when they looked daily for orders to proceed, or
disband,--the removal of the chief object for which they were sent to
the district, and the commands imposed upon them to commit no
outrages, leaving no argument for remaining longer.
While he lay in this dangerous condition, the fierce Oran, whose
bosom yearned over him as the youngest, and, after himself, the last
of his father's children, read the secrets of his spirit; and, seeing
no other means of saving his life, he formed, so soon as the sudden
return of Catherine to the valley appeared to render the scheme
feasible, the bold resolution of carrying her off, and thus defeating
the only scruples in the way of Hyland's happiness. His own heart was
a rock, and he smiled grimly as he thought of the affection of woman;
but he had learned to love his brother, and knew that the passion he
derided was consuming his spirit within him. "I will give him his
gew-gaw puppet," he muttered, as he sat one night watching by
Hyland's couch--(it was a bed of fern spread on a rock, on the naked
hills, with only a thatch of hemlock boughs to shelter him from winds
and dews, and a fire in the open air to light the wretched den:) "I
will give him his wish.--He mutters her name in his sleep, and he
sobs as he speaks it. Poor fool! he said true--he is unfit for this
life of the desert, and his heart is warm to all God's creatures. Why
should I seek to make it as fierce and bitter as my own? Let him to
the island again, and the girl with him--it will be better: he was
made to be happy."
When he first announced his scheme to Hyland, the youth, to his
surprise, strongly and vehemently opposed it, as being a violence and
wrong not only to Catherine, but to himself: but when the news was
brought him that the wedding-day was fixed and nigh at hand, and he
saw that he must act now or never, his resolution and feelings
experienced a sudden change. He thought over again and again all the
evidences he had traced of Catherine's aversion to the union, and he
added the few and precious revealments of her regard for himself: he
remembered her wild and broken expressions at that hour of parting
which had made her acquainted with the depth of his love, and perhaps
taught her more than she had dreamed before of the condition of her
own: he pictured her in his imagination, the fair, the beautiful and
the good, driven into the arms of one as incapable of appreciating
her worth as he was undeserving her love: he thought of his peaceful
island-home, and the paradise it would become, when she whom he
adored should sit with him under its arbours of palms, or walk over
its shelly beaches: he thought these things, and persuaded himself
that fate called for, and heaven would sanction, the violence,--that
he acted not so much for himself as for her,--and that she would
forgive the friendly audacity that brought her release and happiness
together.
He rose from his leafy couch, and in secret and by night crept back
to the valley. The presence of Colonel Falconer filled him with
affright and horror; for that had been concealed from him, and he
knew by the devil of malice that glittered in Oran's eye, that his
father's hall was designed to be stained with the blood of his
father's foe. Accident gave him the means of preventing this dreadful
catastrophe, while wandering over those scenes which reminded him of
Catherine, and debating in fear and anguish of mind, whether even she
was worthy to be purchased at the price of murder. This obstacle
removed, there still remained another. Fear and disaffection,
resulting in a measure from inactivity, had thinned his brother's
band; and they refused to strike a blow so bold and dangerous by
daylight, when the smallness of their number could be seen at a
glance, and their retreat as easily intercepted as followed. An
effort was made to delay the ceremony until night, by throwing
difficulties in the path of the clergyman; and this duty had been
committed to Dancy, who succeeded beyond the expectations and even
the hopes of his employers; while men were stationed in different
parts of the grounds, to take advantage of any accident which might
carry the bride afar from her attendants. At the very moment when
Catherine wandered farther than usual from her friends, and wept at
being hindered and recalled, she had approached the concealment of
one of the party, and would have been seized on the spot, had not the
man's heart failed him. It seemed as if destiny were driving her
towards a path of escape, of which she had an instinctive perception,
just at the moment when it was closed against her footsteps.
These particulars,--or at least the leading outlines,--Dancy
communicated to the object of his own fervent but unromantic
affections; and Phoebe was astounded with the discovery of her
mistress's private attachment, if such it was, and still more so when
Dancy, taking _that_ for granted, assured her of his belief that
Catherine was privy to the whole design. However, she did not trouble
herself to pursue Catherine's story much farther. She heard enough to
satisfy her that Mr. Hunter Hiram Gilbert, as she called him, 'who
painted such lovely fine pictures, and had a thousand niggurs to
raise sugar, and molasses, and Jamaica spirits, was as good a husband
as one might meet of a summer's day; and for her part, she did not
know, she could not say, she would not pretend to be certain,--but
she was quite sure she never meant to say, that Dancy Parkins was
altogether despisable.'