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THE GOLD BRICK.
by
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
Author of "Fashion and Famine," "Mary Derwent," "The Old
Homestead," "The Rejected Wife," "The Heiress,"
"The Wife's Secret," "Silent Struggles," Etc.
His was the deepest sorrow, for it grew
Out from his crime, a night-shade of the soul.
There, fed on poison--bathed with bitter dew,
She found the evil thing. Her sweet control
Unearthed the root, and softly planted there
A tiny germ, all white and pure as snow,
And then with tears, and smiles, and silent prayer,
Through grief and darkness, watched the lone plant grow
A stately tree, rooted so deep in Love,
That its best fruitage must be found above.
Philadelphia:
T. B. Peterson and Brothers;
306 Chestnut Street.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
Mrs. Ann S. Stephens,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,
in and for the Southern District of New York.
TO
MY DEAR FRIEND,
MRS. BENJAMIN F. LOAN
OF ST. JOSEPH, MISSOURI,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
ANN S. STEPHENS.
NEW YORK, _March_, 1866.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
THE MASSACRE. 27
CHAPTER II.
THE JEWEL BOX. 33
CHAPTER III.
THE BURIAL. 39
CHAPTER IV.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE. 46
CHAPTER V.
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD. 54
CHAPTER VI.
THE FLOGGING. 61
CHAPTER VII.
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT. 67
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BOX OF JEWELS. 76
CHAPTER IX.
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 81
CHAPTER X.
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS. 92
CHAPTER XI.
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT TO THE WHITE COTTAGE. 97
CHAPTER XII.
HOME FROM SEA. 104
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WAY-SIDE MEETING. 110
CHAPTER XIV.
THE OLD HOME AND THE OLD PEOPLE. 116
CHAPTER XV.
BREAKFAST IN THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 125
CHAPTER XVI.
A PAINFUL INTERVIEW. 135
CHAPTER XVII.
JEALOUS PANGS REGARDING MRS. MASON. 139
CHAPTER XVIII.
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE IN THE SOUTH. 144
CHAPTER XIX.
MRS. MASON LEAVES THE PINE WOODS. 152
CHAPTER XX.
ANOTHER SEPARATION. 160
CHAPTER XXI.
THE MINISTER AT BAYS HOLLOW GETS A WIFE. 164
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MINISTER'S WIFE TAKES PUPILS. 171
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR IN A SNOW-STORM. 175
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING. 183
CHAPTER XXV.
A GRAVE IN THE SNOW. 190
CHAPTER XXVI.
A CROWD UNDER THE BUTTERNUT TREE. 195
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SAILOR AND HIS TWO COMPANIONS. 201
CHAPTER XXVIII.
OUT OF HER DELIRIUM. 207
CHAPTER XXIX.
STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE. 214
CHAPTER XXX.
THE WELCOME LETTER. 223
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE AT SHRUB OAK. 232
CHAPTER XXXII.
A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE. 239
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE OLD COUPLE ON THEIR SHADOWED HEARTH-STONE. 244
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE SNOW FRESHET. 248
CHAPTER XXXV.
ALL SORTS OF TREASON. 254
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MRS. MASON AT HER STUDIES. 265
CHAPTER XXXVII.
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY. 272
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A DOUBLE GUARD. 280
CHAPTER XXXIX.
OUT IN THE DEPTHS OF THE NIGHT. 284
CHAPTER XL.
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD. 293
CHAPTER XLI.
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 298
CHAPTER XLII.
ON THE FIRST STAGE TO PRISON. 307
CHAPTER XLIII.
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 313
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE SEPARATION. 319
CHAPTER XLV.
PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME. 326
CHAPTER XLVI.
JUBE FINDS HIS WAY TO BAYS HOLLOW. 331
CHAPTER XLVII.
A CHILDISH CONSULTATION. 336
CHAPTER XLVIII.
PAUL SEES HIS MOTHER'S NECKLACE. 341
CHAPTER XLIX.
A PALACE READY FOR ITS MISTRESS. 348
CHAPTER L.
COMING HOME OF THE BRIDE. 351
CHAPTER LI.
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL. 355
CHAPTER LII.
THE STREETS AND THE COURT HOUSE. 362
CHAPTER LIII.
THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE. 367
CHAPTER LIV.
THE VERDICT. 372
CHAPTER LV.
THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 376
CHAPTER LVI.
LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST. 382
CHAPTER LVII.
ONE HOUR OF SHAME. 386
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE MOTHER AND SON. 390
CHAPTER LIX.
THE EMPTY HOUSE. 397
CHAPTER LX.
TOM HUTCHINS' LETTER. 400
CHAPTER LXI.
UNSATISFIED VANITY. 404
CHAPTER LXII.
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS. 409
CHAPTER LXIII.
GATHERING APPLES. 417
CHAPTER LXIV.
MARRIED AGAIN. 423
CHAPTER LXV.
THE FANCY BALL. 427
CHAPTER LXVI.
STRANGE GUESTS. 431
CHAPTER LXVII.
TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED. 439
CHAPTER LXVIII.
THE TREASURE VAULT. 445
CHAPTER LXIX.
SIMSBURY MINES. 448
CHAPTER LXX.
THE PRISON ANGEL. 455
CHAPTER LXXI.
THE SWEATING OVEN. 460
CHAPTER LXXII.
UNDER THE APPLE TREE. 468
CHAPTER LXXIII.
OUT OF A SCRAPE. 474
CHAPTER LXXIV.
THE LONELY HOUSE. 481
CHAPTER LXXV.
THE MANIAC'S TOILET. 486
CHAPTER LXXVI.
THE DOCTOR'S RIDE. 491
CHAPTER LXXVII.
THE CONVICT'S RETURN. 498
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL. 502
CHAPTER LXXIX.
THE WEDDING AND THE BAPTISM. 508
THE GOLD BRICK.
CHAPTER I.
THE MASSACRE.
A low coast, burdened in every foot of its soil with the luxuriant
growth of a tropical climate; a large town, straggling and flat,
swarming like a hive of bees with turbulent life. Lights flickering
wildly from the windows and dancing with a fantastic and red glare up
and down the streets. A dull, hollow sound rolling constantly out upon
the stillness of the waters, broken now and then with sharp shrieks as
lightning cleaves the thunder gust.
This was the scene commanded from the deck of a New England brig, lying
in the harbor of Port au Prince, on one of those terrible nights in the
end of the last century, when the horrible passions that had rioted
through France, like wild beasts ravening for blood, fled across seas
and fired themselves anew in the hot life of the tropics.
The contrast between the stillness of the harbor, where the starlight
fell smilingly, and the waters rippled like kisses around the vessels,
and that demon riot on the shore, was awful. To lie so near, with death
shrieks cutting the air every instant, with murderous yells chasing
them, like fiends, was enough to drive men mad. The iron-hearted New
England sailors on that deck, grew restive as caged lions, while the
tumult swelled louder and louder around them. The young captain turned
white as he took short marches up and down the deck. The men drew close
together, eyeing each other with fierce glances. A word from the captain
would have sent them headlong into the massacre, in a wild effort to
save the women and children, whose shrieks, even from the distance,
drove them frantic.
But what could they do?--a handful of men against thousands on thousands
of brutalized blacks, swarming in that doomed city. It was terrible to
remain, but madness to go. The captain ground his teeth and clenched his
hands in the agony of this restraint. Every cry that reached the ship
pierced him like a sword; every fresh gleam of light quivering across
the waters seemed to lure him to the rescue.
"Oh, my God! my God! I cannot bear this!" he cried, as a group of wooden
buildings near the shore burst into a volume of fire, and one appalling
shriek told that scores on scores of human beings were engulphed in the
flames that danced and leaped and shed floods of fiery gold far out on
the harbor. "Neither my owners nor my Maker could wish me to stand still
now."
Going up to the group of sailors, he called out, "All hands to work, my
boys! lower the boats. Such of you as want to help the poor wretches
they are murdering yonder, come with me."
"Aye, aye," broke in a smothered shout from the sailors, and each man
sprang to his duty--from cabin boy to mate, not a soul lagged behind.
Yes, one man, the first mate, he neither repeated his superior's
orders, or moved toward the boats, but stood near the captain, looking
quietly unconcerned, with a half smile on his lip.
"You will not go, Thrasher," said the captain. "I am glad of it; some
one must take charge of the ship. Stay on board, and be ready to lend a
hand--we may bring back some of those poor creatures."
"And if your men are killed, who will work the ship, Captain Mason?
Remember the craft belongs neither to you nor me."
"They shall not be killed, Thrasher, these brutes have plenty to do
without minding us; besides, I'll keep off shore, and only lie to, ready
to haul any poor creature in that takes to the water. They are sure to
try, if they think of the ship."
"Well, well, captain, you command here, and know your own business
best," answered Thrasher, with that same smile creeping across his lips;
"for my part, I stand by the ship."
"That's right; I won't risk the men--never fear! As for the brig, what
can harm her?"
"Nothing, while I'm aboard," answered the mate, turning suddenly
townward, where another broad sheet of smoky flame blazed forth.
"There," he cried, almost with a shout, "there goes another bonfire. The
whole town will be roaring hot at this rate. Ha, look at that flock of
women rushing out of the smoke like rats--hot work that--how plainly you
can see 'em with their hair in the wind, turning and rushing hither and
yon, between fire and water! Ho, ho, the black rascals are after
'em--Lord, how they run!--how they fling up their arms toward the
ship--scatter on the beach--take to the water--they're on 'em--the
nigger hounds are on 'em tooth and nail. What an infernal yell!"
Even that hard man turned away and covered his face with both hands;
when he looked again it was with wild, heavy eyes.
"Heavens and earth," he muttered, "how still it is in spite of the
roaring pit behind. The brutes have done their work, and gone into the
smoke again. How softly the waves lick up the dead bodies from the sand
and sweep 'em under. But they'll come to daylight again; perhaps here
under our bows, a hundred women--who knows how many--with long hair,
weltering up and down like sea-weed after a storm. Faugh! the dread of
it makes one childish. I wonder if they are all gone. What, ho!"
Two persons, the cook and cabin-boy, had been left behind by the boats,
much against their will. They, also, had witnessed the fearful scene on
the beach, and shuddering with terror, crouched together behind some
barrels that stood upon the deck. One of them tried to answer Thrasher's
shout, but his voice broke in a hoarse whisper, and he really had
neither the strength nor courage to move.
By this time the captain's boat was nearing the shore rapidly. If the
scene of revolt had been terrible from the distance, it was crowded with
horrors now. The fierce, hot breath of the fire came surging toward the
coast like a sirocco. The roar of that infernal massacre, the pleadings
and shrieks, the moans and shouts, horribly mingling and rising above
each other, oppressed the very air. Out of the reeking melee of the town
human beings darted like scared birds, and hid among the chaparral or
rushed madly toward the beach.
The captain was brave and humane, but he was honest too, and in the
midst of all this gave a thought to the obligations he owed to his
command. He would go close to the shore, ready to save those who fled to
the water for death or refuge. If it proved possible for the nature
within him to resist the temptation to offer more, he would resist; if
not, he was but human, and life was a precious thing to every breathing
being; God would forgive him for saving it, though his owners might not.
As he neared the shore, that portion of the town which lay close to the
water was in a bright blaze; the boat, the wharves, and the foam-fringed
waves reddened and glowed under the hot smiles of the fire. Deep into
the lurid caves made by the whirl of glowing smoke men and women
struggled madly, and tore at each other like wild beasts, smothering
their yells beneath the tumultuous elements.
From this lurid torrent the people scattered, both pursuers and pursued,
out upon the open country. The poor wretches who were to die sought the
darkest spots, hiding behind clumps of aloes and cactus hedges, or
creeping under torn masses of wild vines, panting with terror and dread,
and striving to hold the very breath that threatened to betray them.
Secure of their victims in the end, the triumphant hordes of negroes
came huddling forth like demons, hooting, dancing, and rioting in the
brazen light their own fiends' work had kindled. A group of palm trees
stood close to the shore a little distance from the town, and to that
point the insurgents swarmed in hundreds, dragging the pale beings whose
death was to be their sport, brutally after them. When they reached the
palm trees there was a rush from the crowd, and a score of dark objects
leaped upon the slender stems, struggling upward, hustling over each
other, the lowermost seizing his neighbor by the bare, glistening
shoulders and hurling him down to the crowd amid wild shouts and stormy
oaths.
At last the palms swayed and bent almost double under the burden of
fiends, who dropped off by dozens into the yelling crowd. The beautiful
trees, relieved of their weight, swayed back and penciled themselves
against the flaming sky, not green and free as they had appeared a
moment before; but with the bark torn from their delicate trunks, and
the symmetrical foliage broken and ragged. From the point of each leaf
flaunted a gorgeous scarf or tawdry ribbon--red, orange, purple, and
flame colored--which fluttered wildly in the hot draughts of wind that
swept over them from the burning town.
Out from the crowd, like sharks leaping in the black waves of a tempest,
the negro women sprang upward, seizing the ribbons, tearing them away
from the leaves, or bending down the stately trees until they took
uncouth forms, and seemed tortured like the group of women and children
whose death cries rang out from the midst of the fiendish dance. The
mingled mirth and horror grew more and more maddening, till the sand all
around refused to soak in the blood they had shed, and the naked feet of
the dancers plashed to their own barbarous war cry, or stumbled over the
dead bodies of the slain; for with every turn of the dance, an axe had
fallen, and a soul gone shrieking up to its Maker.
Captain Mason saw all this from his boat, while it was far out in the
harbor; with a cry of horror he seized the oars and worked them till
they bent like saplings under his iron handling. But human strength was
not equal to human cruelty. While he was yet some fathoms from the
shore, the demons under the palm trees, scattered back to the town in
search of fresh victims, leaving the dead and the dying to their
agonies, with those mocking ribbons waving fantastically in the wind, as
if a May dance had just passed beneath them.
Panting and breathless, their hearts burning with indignation, the
captain and his men rested on their oars; their work of mercy cut short,
for alas! rage is quicker than charity. They could see the pale, dead
faces of the white women and children that had been murdered under the
palm trees, with terrible distinctness. Their rich garments and delicate
features, bespoke them of the higher classes, but there they lay, like
soldiers heaped on a battle-field, with nothing but the stars of heaven
to pity them--the pure stars that seemed affrighted by the tumult, and
grew pallid in the smoke.