"Parent! who with speechless feeling,
O'er thy cradled treasure bent,
Found each year new charms revealing,
Yet thy wealth of love unspent;
Hast thou seen that blossom blighted
By a drear, untimely frost?
All thy labor unrequited?
Every glorious promise lost!"
Time, at whose touch the monument of a thousand ages crumbles to dust;
at whose embrace empires totter to ruin, and at whose breath cities
rise and sink like bursting bubbles in a pool, rolled on his car of
wonderful mutations.
Ten years--ten short, rapid years had lapsed away into the infinitude
of the past, and mighty changes had marked their progress. The wave of
population, like the ocean at its flood, had gradually advanced over
the land, and many new habitations sent up their curling smoke within
sight of the old homestead of Widow White. The mansion-house itself
had changed but little, though one of the tall maples had been cut
away from the massive stone chimney at the south end of the building,
and the moss had crept over the sloping roof in spots, giving a quaint
richness of appearance to the time-honored shingles. The huge old mill
below the dam had grown a little more picturesque with the lapse of
years; but it was fast going to decay, for its owner was long since
dead, and there being some still pending lawsuit between the heirs
concerning this piece of property, no repairs had been made, or even
any attention paid to its mouldering condition; and for several
twelvemonths it had ceased to send up its daily medley of pleasant
sounds. The old wooden bridge that spanned the river where it swept
across the mouth of the valley, seemed as it ever did, save that rude
hands had leveled the magnificent clump of trees that had embowered
one end, and enveloped it, during half the day, in a mass of dense
shadows, which always slept about this old fabric, and darkened the
waters like heaps of black drapery. The scenery around was still as
magnificent and entrancing as ever, though, immediately surrounding
the dwelling of Widow White, it had undergone a very material change.
The adjacent hills that gradually sloped down to the river's brink,
were still dark with forests, though here and there the settler's axe
had penetrated their sun-hidden recesses, and blocked out spaces, in
the midst of which arose many a comfortable farm-house. But, at the
time of which I speak, stern-browed winter had breathed over the
scene, and the gnarled oak forest stood out like an army of skeletons
against the stormy sky.
But ten years had not thus glided away without leaving their stern
impress upon Widow White. She had become thinner and paler; many white
hairs had crept in amongst the auburn that once adorned her head; and
her hazel eye had assumed a milder, more subdued expression. The
sudden departure of her self-willed son, and the manner of it, had
caused her many a heart-pang; yet for months after it occurred she
entertained serious hopes of his becoming repentant and returning; and
this, for a time, had served to buoy up her depressed spirits; but
when years had gone by, and no intelligence reached her concerning
him, hope fell to the ground, and her ardent expectancy settled down
into a stern grief. Mary, the adopted daughter, stood upon the
threshold of woman-hood, in all the flush and spring-time of life and
enjoyment. Widow White seemed to love her as if she were her own
child, and watched over her with the tenderest care and solicitude. At
this period Mary was near sixteen years of age, and rather striking in
her appearance, though by no means what would be strictly termed
beautiful. Indeed, the contour of her features, as a whole, was rather
commonplace than otherwise; but a soul beamed out through her flashing
black eye, and lit up her countenance with a sweetness, a loveliness,
which was strange, and sometimes startling, from the brilliancy of its
expression. A ruddy glow, like the blush of a summer sunset, dwelt in
either cheek, and a slight contraction at both corners of the mouth
gave her face a half-mirthful look; but her forehead, full in the
upper and lateral portions, seemed almost too severely intellectual
for the other features. She possessed a wealth of luxuriant black
hair, which she had a quaint method of coiling around her head in a
single massive braid, singularly contrasting with the alabaster
whiteness of the delicate temples upon which it rested. She was very
happy at the home she occupied, which was often enlivened by the
joyous snatches of music that broke from her ruby lips as from a bird;
but she had but a faint, a dream-like remembrance of the scenes
connected with her early childhood.
It was a cold afternoon in December--cold even for that ice-clad
month. Dark, gloomy, stern-browed winter had spread his varied
desolations around. The first snow of the season had fallen during the
night previous, and lay upon the ground to the depth of several
inches, in some places, drifted into the ravines, leaving the
declivities almost entirely uncovered, and at others, overspreading
the soil with an unruffled sheet of stainless white. The winds had
awakened from their August slumbers, and blustered and shrieked
dismally through the leafless forests, then sweeping out among the
houses, sought entrance, but finding none, flung themselves
despairingly against the doors, and mocked at the clattering windows,
which every now and then threatened to burst from their casements;
anon, swept moaning around the corners, now muttering, and now
whispering at the crevices, then passing up toward the eaves, died
away in sobbings and wailings. Even the dark blue cerulean wore a
chilly aspect; and the huge masses of heavy, leaden-colored clouds
that piled themselves up so quaintly over by the lofty-peaked,
snow-capt mountains, drifted wildly before every impulse of the
ice-winged lord of the storm.
Late on this afternoon a solitary traveler on horseback might have
been seen winding slowly along the serpentine road that led over the
hill above the falls. This traveler was David White. At his heart,
were the same fierce and turbulent passions--the same dark thoughts
and bad feelings--the same willful and perverse nature that dwelt
there, when I left him, ten years ago, forsaking home and happiness;
time had only served to deepen the impressions, and crime almost
entirely to blot out the few remaining influences of a religious
education, while the vicious impulses strengthened. But, in person, he
was greatly changed. From the stripling he had become the man. A half
sneer was on his countenance as in boyhood; and the same restless,
wicked eye lighted up his features with an evil fire. It was a face
that told the wily hypocrite--the man who could assume any character
he chose--now, high-minded and honorable, and again, crime-seeking and
fiendish, just as circumstances required. The cheeks were thin and
sunken, and the deep pallor which had stolen away the rosy tints of
health, plainly showed a course of continual dissipation. In person,
he was somewhat above the standard height, and slender in his make,
though his frame exhibited great powers of endurance, and no common
share of muscular strength.
He wound slowly down the hill, stopped for a moment to gaze at the
falls, adorned with huge, long icicles, and a shore of frozen foam;
then moved on again, passed leisurely along the curving lane, and
paused once more at the old bridge, to look up and down the river;
after which he advanced a short distance into the magnificent grove of
evergreens which skirted the road, and fastening his horse securely to
one of the strongest pine saplings, bent his steps toward the home of
his childhood. By this time the last flashing gleams of sunset were
dying away in the west, and dark-hued twilight began to shroud the
east in a mist-like dimness.
David White had been a wanderer in foreign lands. More than once had
he stood amidst a field of the ghastly dead and shrieking wounded,
when the tide of a great battle raged fiercest and strongest, his
foothold bathed in the life-blood of his comrades. Such scenes ever
tend to pervert the kinder tendencies of our nature, and to render the
mind adamantine in its manifestations; nor were his less susceptible
to these influences than others. When first he entered the ranks of
the army, and joined in the death-dealing battle, he saw the daily
commission of crimes which made his soul shrink even to contemplate;
but, by degrees, he learned to look upon them merely as the amusements
of a passing hour, and finally, to lend a ready hand to their
accomplishment. Then his heart grew still colder and more feelingless.
He thirsted for excitement, lawful or unlawful. He longed for the
bloody onset to come; the deafening roar of the cannon was a music in
his ears, and the murderous combat brought a restlessness that pleased
him. But human nature is strange--passing strange. At intervals he was
mild and gentle. Standing upon the battlefield, when night had drawn
her silvery curtain over the ghastly and hideous spectacle, when the
booming shot and frightful discord--the shriek, the groan, the shout,
and ceaseless rush of angered men were passed away, he had looked
round upon the cold and bloody scene, and wept--his sternness
softened, and he became as other men. He brought water to the wounded
and dying soldier; staunched the flowing blood; pillowed his head upon
his knee, and as the body shuddered in the last fierce agony, and the
enfranchised spirit went trembling up to God, tears fell like jewels
on the pallid face of the dying, and thoughts, of which the good might
have been proud, flashed through his mind. Who, at such moments, would
recognize David White, the bold, dark, dangerous man? But thus it is;
mirthful feelings will sometimes obtrude when the heavy clod is
falling upon the coffin of a friend, and the grave closing over him
forever; thoughts of the last agony, the bourne of death, and the
curtained futurity, will sometimes come like a pall over our minds,
when the dance is at its flush, and pleasure in its spring-time; and
moments will sometimes roll round when a softness breathes upon the
hearts of hardened men.
David White was again amongst the scenes of his boyhood; but he looked
upon them merely as the passing traveler--with an idle curiosity.
Change had been more busy than he expected, yet nothing around him
served to awaken emotion. Not even when he stood upon the little
eminence, and on almost the very spot where he had stood ten years
agone, to bid a final adieu to home, and then to pass on to ruin, did
he seem to remember, save by a faint and sickly smile, half-sneering
in its expression. Yet, had he seen it when environed by other
circumstances, perhaps his heart might have been touched--but now it
was feelingless.
Arrived at the old homestead, he knocked loudly at the door--but no
one answering the call, he lifted the latch and entered the apartment.
A large hickory fire was blazing on the hearth, casting a ruddy glare
upon the floor, and radiating a pleasant heat throughout the room.
Upon a worsted hearth-rug reclined a large gray cat, which he thought
the very same he had kicked across the room on the evening of his
departure, and which started up at his approach, and took refuge
beneath the bed. Finding that no one was conscious of his presence, he
flung off his dark overcoat, and laying it on a little pine table by
the window, drew a large rocking-chair from its nook in the corner,
and seating himself by the hearth, began very complacently to
contemplate the ornaments upon the mantle-piece. But soon growing
tired of this employment, he left his seat and crossed over to some
pictures that hung against the opposite wall. At this moment a door
opened to his left, and turning, he beheld Mary entering the
apartment, her cheeks rosier than ever with recent exercise.
"Good evening to you, my pretty lass," he observed in his blandest
tones, and slightly bowing as she drew back in surprise at his sudden
appearance. "A widow was once the occupant of this dwelling--the Widow
White she was usually called; is she still living, and a resident
here? and if so, will you be so kind as to inform her of my presence."
Mary replied briefly in the affirmative, and hastened out to call her
mother from an out-house, a new building which had lately been erected
to subserve the two-fold purpose of kitchen and dairy, where they both
had been busily engaged at the time of his arrival, while he sauntered
familiarly to his seat by the fire, and commenced drumming a tune upon
the head-board of the mantle-piece. In a few moments the widow made
her appearance, and politely requested her guest to be seated.
He flung himself carelessly into the chair he had occupied, and
slightly turning in his seat, fixed his dark eyes on her face, and
remarked, "You seem to be quite comfortably situated, Mistress White;
this pleasant fire and comfortable apartment contrast finely with the
cold and dreariness without doors."
"Yes, thanks to Providence! things have gone especially well with me
for many years, indeed, much more so perhaps than I really deserve.
Though this world often requires much care and toil from us frail
mortals, it also yields many blessings for which to be thankful."
"That is true," replied he; and then breaking off suddenly from the
topic of conversation, remarked, "But I perceive, Mistress White, that
you do not recognize your quondam friend. I hope you do not suffer
prosperity to dampen your recollection of old times."
The widow stopped her knitting for a few moments, leaned slightly
forward, and scrutinized the features of the stranger; then recovering
her former position, answered, "I have a faint, a dream-like
recollection of your countenance. It seems that I have seen it before,
yet I cannot distinctly remember where."
"Look again!" exclaimed he, divesting himself of a pair of false
whiskers, and again bending his dark eyes searchingly upon her face.
"Now do you know me?"
She gazed but an instant, a deathly pallor sprung to her cheeks, and
extending her arms as if to embrace, she tottered toward him,
exclaiming, "It is!--I cannot be mistaken!--it is my long lost son,
David White! Oh, David! David!" and she fell upon his neck, and twined
her arms around him, sobbing aloud in her ecstasy of enjoyment.
"Tut-tut, mother--what's the use of carrying on so? To be sure I am
your son, in flesh and blood, and just the same as ever, only changed
a little for the better. But where's the use in crying? I reckon I am
not going to die, that you should take on after this fashion."
Here he rudely shook off her embrace, and reseated himself, while a
sharp pang, such as she had not known since the years of his boyhood
and unfeeling transgressions, struck deeply into her heart as his
light mocking tones smote upon her ear, and sinking into a chair, she
gave vent to her feelings in a gush of tears.
Who, at that moment, to have looked upon the dark countenance of David
White, and to have witnessed his heartless and unmanly actions, would
have recognized the cradle-joy of his mother's early widow-hood--the
babe that smiled so sweetly upon the beholder--the little prattler for
whom she had pictured out such a bright and glorious future. She had
loved him--still loved him with all the devotedness and dewy freshness
of life's morning hours; she had cherished and watched over him with
the tenderest care and most affectionate solicitude, and now, when the
fountains of deep-toned feeling and sympathetic emotion should have
sent up their gushing libations, and she should have been reaping the
rich benefits of her manifold attentions, the son, so fondly
cherished, and so dearly loved, turns, like the frozen serpent that
the shepherd warmed in his own bosom, to sting his benefactor.
But if we look back to this man's infancy, it will be found that much
of this harvest was unconsciously sown by the mother. Domestic
education exerts a great power in forming the manners and regulating
the conduct which is to guide the future man; and as the system of
Widow White had been injudicious, though she discovered her error at
the last, it was too late for reform--her son was ruined, and an
ingratitude engendered which would tinge the whole stream of her
future life with bitterness. The mother is almost always the arbiter
of her child's destiny; and if she misguide the bark of his life so
that it finally anchors in a gulf of base and stormy passions, can it
be wondered that his sympathies should be blunted, and the
manifestations of his mind vile and ignoble?
"There, now! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," again spoke the
son, first breaking the silence which had existed for several minutes,
and the mother looked up half smilingly through her tears as these
gentle words came to her ear, they were so unlike the mocking tones
with which he had sought to evade her welcome. The kind manner of
their utterance went to her heart, and the best affections of her
nature gushed to meet them.
"You look worn and tired with your journey, David--would you not be
the better of some supper? something warm might refresh you," and she
took a step toward the door in execution of her kind purpose.
"No, no--my time is precious, and I have none to waste in eating. I
must be back to the Bend before nine, and there is famous little moon
left to light the way."
"So soon! Why not remain with us to-night, and then return in a more
comfortable manner in the morning? You surely have no imperative
necessity to visit the Bend on such a blustering night as this. The
north, too, is black with a gathering storm. You had better stay."
"I can't. It is impossible. I have a very urgent necessity to return,
and quickly told, too--money; I must have money, and in no small
amount either. It is absolutely necessary that I have twenty-five
dollars, and that I have it now. I am in debt, and the debt must be
paid--paid to-night. It has been a long time since I asked you for
money, but I reckon you have enough of the mother about you to let me
have that sum."
"In debt, David! to whom?"
"To the boat for my passage. But it is getting late, and I have no
time to ask or answer questions; so, once for all, will you let me
have it or not?"
The mother was deeply imposed upon, but never, even for an instant,
did the thought flash across her mind that his statements were false,
and only used for the purpose of extortion. Obtaining the specified
amount, she placed it in his hands with a gush of tears, for her
feelings were greatly hurt at his harsh words.
He received the money, bade her farewell in blander tones than his
previous conversation, and hastened from the dwelling. When he arrived
at the spot where was fastened his horse, his mind was fired to a high
degree of excitement by the dark thoughts rankling within. His face
was pale with anger; his heavy brows worked and knit themselves over
eyes that flashed like fire, and he was muttering slowly to himself in
broken expressions, while his fingers played unconsciously about the
handle of the bowie-knife which slightly protruded from beneath his
vest. Having taken a sudden turn in the undergrowth, he unexpectedly
stood immediately before the horse, which, seeing him indistinctly,
became affirighted, and ran back with an impetuosity that almost tore
up the sapling by its roots.
"So, so," he muttered between his clenched teeth, as composedly as his
anger would permit. "Easy, Oliver, easy!" and advancing, he tenderly
patted him on the neck, while the restive animal, recognizing his
voice, greeted him with a low neigh.
Detaching the bridle from the mass of twigs that entangled it, he
carefully led the way out into the road, and brushing off the snow
which had collected upon the saddle, leaped to his seat, still
agitated with the deep passion he was in vain endeavoring to control.
"On!" burst from his lips in a hoarse whisper, which seemed like a low
shout suppressed by a strong will. "On!" and he struck the spurs
fiercely into the sides of his steed, and dashed swiftly across the
old bridge, the clattering hoofs ringing out upon the still night with
a strange distinctness.
At first, the moon looked down brightly from the starry sky, shedding
around a shower of flashing beams, which rested upon the sheeted snow
until it became dazzling in its whiteness. Soon, however, the heavy
masses of clouds in the northeast, that drove wildly before every
ice-winged impulse of the storm-king, overwhelmed and shrouded the
silver disc from sight, and gave forth the tempest they had so long
threatened. Still, now and then, as the wrathful clouds would separate
for a moment, a faint lustre would dart forth, sprinkling, as with
the purple glories of the orient morn, the torn and ragged opening,
and illuminating the landscape with a quaint beauty--half light and
half shadow--then all would become dark again. But soon, even this
ceased, and the heavens were hung with black. Still his horse plunged
on amid sheets of driving and whirling snow, never stopping his speed
for an instant.
Ere long the impetuous rider drew up before a dark, weather-beaten,
dilapidated building, at the north end of the village, and dismounted.
The old chestnut by the fence creaked dismally as the winds swept
fiercely up from the valley below, and through one of the swaying
boughs came a faintly twinkling light, which seemed forcing itself
through the folds of a window-curtain. Knocking loudly at the front
door, it was presently opened, and giving some hasty directions
concerning his horse, he hurried through a dark, narrow entry, and
guiding his way up a creaking staircase by the aid of a balustrade
which ran along either side, at length stood before a small door,
through whose key-hole issued a narrow stream of light, slightly
illuminating the thick gloom around him. Here he paused for a short
time to recuperate his exhausted energies, and to subdue the passion
that still somewhat agitated him. Then pushing open the door, he
entered the apartment.
It was a gaming-room. Six or eight small tables stood about on the
floor, at each of which, where the forgotten candles burned dimly over
the long and lengthening wicks, sat several men--some, with faces
brightly haggard, gloating over their unhallowed gains--others, dark,
sullen, silent, fierce, gazing furtively at their piles of lost money.
Here rattled the dice-box, and yonder fell the dirty cards--all were
busily engaged--all were motionless, save their hands and eyes--all
were hushed, save when they uttered solitary words to tell their bets.
David White had almost reached the centre of this room before any one
was cognizant of his presence; then, several looked up with a nod of
recognition, and once more bent themselves, pale, watchful, though
weary, to the duties of the game. The emotion which had so recently
agitated him was passed away, and his countenance wore the same
expression which most frequently lurked over it. Crossing over to a
table at the farthest end of the apartment from the door, he addressed
a few words to its occupants; assumed a vacant chair by its side, and
joined in the play. For hours he sat grasping the cards with trembling
avidity, winning and losing, apparently unmindful of either. But this
was merely the gilded outwardness--within, rankled fierce passions,
like the lightning in the summer-evening cloud. The night glided on;
its dank air grew fresher; the fire burned low on the hearth-stone;
the raging storm was hushed to stillness, and three was sounding from
the antique clock that adorned the mantle-piece. Save two men the room
was deserted. One by one the rest had stolen away, until these two
were its only occupants. The last stake of David White was in the
pool; the cards had been dealed, and the game was about to be played
which was to determine the ownership of the large pile of silver that
lay in the middle of the table. He had lost, won, and lost
again--doubled his bets--trebled them, until all had been swept
away--money, horse, and even his Bowie-knife. Then he had contrived to
borrow--won again, and now the last stake trembled in the scales. The
game was played--once more he was penniless. He sat still for several
minutes, his eyes gazing on vacancy, and when he arose he seemed like
a strange man, his face was so changed with the workings of evil
passions.
"There! now you have it all, and I am ruined! Do you hear?" exclaimed
the frenzied man, his lips quivering with emotion as his voice became
elevated with excitement. "And who is the dastardly craven that made
me so? Who was it found me pure, and innocent, and stainless as the
babe unborn, and lured me from happiness to scenes of madness and
debauchery--of crime and wretchedness? Say! who was it did all this?
Who was it first placed the cards in my hands, and trained my youthful
mind to the cheateries of the gaming-table? And who, when I became
older, taught me to revel in human gore, and to delight in carnage and
distress, making me the heartless villain that I am? Who was it did
all this, I say? Was it not you, Wilson Hurst--was it not you that did
it?" and the frantic man struck the table a tremendous blow with his
clenched fist as this last question trembled on his white lips, while
he glared fiercely upon the listener.
His mind had now worked itself up to the highest pitch of excitement;
his countenance wore a deathly pallor; his heavy brows lowered
fearfully above eyes that flashed like fire; his nostrils were widely
distended, and, as the air breathed through it seemed to choke him;
his teeth chattered with rage, while the white foam oozed between,
gathering in a thick froth about the parted lips, and with an
exclamation that almost froze the blood to hear, he flung himself upon
his companion. But his adversary had foreseen the whole, and was fully
prepared to meet this sudden attack. Taking advantage of his cat-like
eagerness, he threw him to the floor, overpowered, and finally,
exhausted with struggling, thrust him out the street door, and shut it
in his face.
Left to himself, he gradually became calm and collected, and then
other and gentler thoughts grew busy. He stood there in the still
moonlight, the cool breezes of morning fanning his feverish brow, from
which distilled great drops of moisture in the anguish of his spirit.
"What a change! what a change!" exclaimed he wildly, smiting his
breast with his hands. He was thinking of childhood, of those hours of
innocence forever gone, and he buried his face in his hands, and
sobbed aloud. The strong man was bowed--yes! he who, undaunted, had
stood amidst the angered rush of battle; he who, fearless, had seen
his comrades falling around him like trees before the hurricane; he
who, unappalled, had heard the shrieks of the wounded and dying, wept
at the recollection of childhood. What a scene for God and the angels
to look down upon!
David White sedulously strove to renew the acquaintanceships of his
boyhood, but amongst none, either of those who remembered him, or
others to whom he was a perfect stranger, did he contrive to make a
friend. His company, however, was not avoided, for his conversation
abounded with strange and interesting adventures in various foreign
lands, often instructive; but there were too many demands for the
possessor of an able body, and too extensive a prevalence of sound
morality, for him to find a spirit any way congenial to his own in the
vicinity of his home. He therefore took up his residence at the Bend,
which was a kind of stopping-place for boats passing up and down the
river, and where congregated all grades of society. His pursuits were
now undisguisedly those of a gambler--and still further, though
unknown--those of a smuggler. His mother received frequent, though
indirect communications concerning her son's course of conduct at the
neighboring village--indeed, few days passed in which she did not
incidentally obtain such intelligence. He appeared occasionally at the
old homestead, but his stay was seldom prolonged beyond a few hours.
His conduct cost his mother many a heart-pang, but the day when she
could influence his mind had long since gone by, and she entertained
no hope of a reformation--indeed, such an occurrence would have
appeared almost a miracle in the eyes of those acquainted with his
character and mode of action. Thus months lapsed away into the
infinitude of the past; summer came round, and soon an eventful and
crime-stained night rolled into its place.
The moon waxed high in her career. Midnight was gathering slowly over
the earth; that hallowed and mysterious hour, the isthmus between two
days. But the deep-toned thunder was muttering at intervals in the
sky, and the torn clouds swept on in massy columns, dark and aspiring,
growing blacker and blacker as they rolled up the great heavens, and
portending a terrible convulsion of the elements. The night was far
advanced, and in all respects suited to the purpose of David White.
Twelve o'clock was already striking, when he issued from a private
door of the time-worn building, where had occurred the gambling scene
on the stormy night of the winter before. Since then, the two men had
made friends; fortune had changed, rechanged, and changed again; and
now, almost penniless, he had resolved on a bold stroke, by which to
replenish his purse, and furnish means whereby to indulge his
consuming and all absorbing love of gaming. After entering the street,
he glanced cautiously around, and then advancing to the iron-gray
charger that was tied with a stout bridle to the horse-shoe at the
doorpost, adjusted the accoutrements, leaped to the saddle, and rode
hurriedly along the road leading to the old homestead.
Meantime the aspect of the heavens had materially changed. The black,
opaque mass of vapors had extended its dark and jagged front a third
of the way around the horizon, piling its frowning steeps high up
toward the zenith. Here and there overhead, the sky was blotted with
isolated black clouds, which were fast increasing in size and joining
into one. The thunder, which had been occasionally muttering on high,
now rattled incessantly, and the forked lightning rushed down in
sheets of lurid flame. Ere long, the huge mass of sweeping clouds had
reached the zenith, and were rolling darkly onward toward the opposite
horizon. Directly the wild uproar died nearly altogether away, and
intense darkness shrouded the skies and earth in its folds. The air
grew heavy, and seemed to be forcibly pressed toward the ground. This
was that strange pause in the strife of the elements, apparently as if
the combatants were gathering all their strength for the fearful
contest that was to follow. But this pause was only momentary, and
soon was at an end. Then a distant, sullen, bellowing murmur came
surging up from the depths of the forest, followed by the sorrowful
moaning of the trees along the road-side. David White grew pale, and
could almost hear the beating of his own heart as he bent forward in
the saddle, and listened to the approaching rush and roar of the
lashed winds. He had not expected such a wild fierceness in the storm,
but now he had gone too far to recede; he was in the very midst of the
forest, and the danger was the same either way, so he spurred on the
plunging animal beneath him with a desperate energy. At that instant a
blinding flash shot down from a cloud almost directly overhead, drank
up the thick darkness, and wrapped the air in sheets of lurid flame,
while the tall trees stood out like a spectral throng in its
supernatural glare. Before a clock could tick, the report followed
with a roar, deafening and tremendous, rattling and echoing along the
sky like the simultaneous discharge of a thousand deeply freighted
cannon. Terrified at the unearthly glare and stunning thunder-bolt,
the horse plunged aside with a fierce impetuosity, that would have
flung the rider to the earth had he not clung to the mane with his
utmost strength; and even for minutes after "the jaws of darkness" had
devoured up the scene, and the fearful report had died away in the
distance, his eyes still ached with the intense light, and his ears
rung with the deafening bolt that had followed.
Now came the arrowy flight and form of the hurricane itself. It
crushed the tall and sturdy trees to the ground as if they had been a
forest of reeds. On it came, darker, fiercer, and more impetuous, as
if under the influence of some angry fiend enjoying a triumph. The
shrieking of the lashed winds; the crashing thunder; the noise of the
giant monarchs of the forest upheaving from their deep-set
foundations, and toppling to the ground; the rush and howling of the
tempest--all mingled in one swelling uproar, and deafened the very
heavens. Now the whole malignity and embodied power of the hurricane
was upon them. The shivering horse sprang forward into the shelter of
a huge rock that frowned upon the road like some stern sentinel
guarding the passage, and David White leaped from the saddle, and
crouched in terror against the dark mass that towered above and
afforded protection.
On it came, winding its tortuous pathway from right to left and from
left to right, crushing and twisting the Titans of the woods from
their trunks in its awful rush of destruction. The wheeling clouds and
tumultuous atmosphere were lashed through and through with the fiery
lightning, and masses of loose leaves, and branches, with all their
wealth of mangled foliage--saplings twisted up by the roots, and
bunches of shrubs tossed themselves impetuously into the air, flung
into the wildest and most rapid agitation--now rushing together as if
consolidating into masses--now scattered abroad in the deepest
confusion, while a stubborn oak, disdaining to bend, was dashed
headlong across the road, where the horse and his rider had stood only
a few moments previous, and hurling the soil to their very feet.
Rush after rush of the trooping winds went by--each succeeding onset
wilder and more impetuous than the last, until at length the sullen
distant roar--and then the low, surging murmurs announced that the
greatest danger had overblown, and that the hurricane was winding its
tortuous pathway through the forests many miles away to the right.
Gradually the devastations of the awful skies became mellowed down;
the wheeling clouds began to dispart, and a gush of heavy drops came
pattering from above. Moaning pitifully, the prostrate and bowed trees
and undergrowth lifted their mangled boughs from the compressed state
into which they had been forced--those which had survived the tempest,
seemingly with a painful effort, regaining their upright and natural
position.
Soon the heavy and dank air grew fresher; the wrathful clouds
separated, and the moon once more gleamed forth in resplendent beauty
and brightness. By degrees the gloom retired from the face of the
heavens, the stars looked down gloriously from their sapphire thrones,
and a silvery gush played amidst the swaying foliage, where the
rain-drops glistened on their leaflet platforms like so many diamonds.
Then the lucid milky-way, whose loveliness flushes the firmament, bent
itself across the concave above, one broad flame of pure transparent
white, as if some burning orb had fled along the sky with so swift a
flight, that, for a moment, it had left its lustre in the vault of
heaven. Gradually all was lulled into stillness, and nature became as
one great solitude.
Awe-stricken and bewildered, David White remounted his quivering
steed, and slowly wound his way along the ruin-covered road. One by
one the appearances which told a near approach to his destination came
into view; and finally he stood before the home of his childhood,
which was now to be the scene of a great and heinous crime. Carefully
hitching his horse in the dark shadows of some ancient oaks at the
head of the lane, he softly opened the gate, and glided round the
house until he stood at a little window which looked out from his
mother's chamber, and next the old stone chimney. For the night, she
was absent at a distant neighbor's, which circumstance, together with
that of her having withdrawn a large amount of funds from the
possession of the village minister, had induced the present visit.
But when he saw the shutter open, a thing wholly unexpected, it
flashed through his mind that he was watched--that this was an
allurement to ensnare him; so he shrunk back into the dense shadows of
the maples, and glanced hurriedly around him. Satisfied with his
investigation, he ventured to the window, and peered cautiously into
the chamber, but seeing nothing to excite his fears, gently raised the
sash, and leaped into the apartment. The moon shone so brightly that
he had no occasion to strike a light, but its silver disc was fast
verging toward the horizon, and warned him to haste, else be left to
return in darkness. Fumbling in his coat-pocket, he at length produced
a large bunch of keys, and stooping down, applied one to the heavy
oaken chest beneath the window-sill. Fortunately it suited the lock;
the bolt turned without difficulty, and he lifted the massive lid,
which he upheld with one hand, while he rummaged the till with the
other. At this moment a slight rustling reached his ears from the
furthest corner of the apartment from the window.
"What the deuce is that?" exclaimed he, starling up from his kneeling
posture, and turning anxiously in the direction whence the disturbance
had proceeded, at the same time thoughtlessly relinquishing his grasp
of the lid, which fell with a heavy crash upon the arm still resting
beneath.
"Furies!" shouted he, writhing in agony, and releasing the bruised
member from its painful position.
At these words a faint scream of terror issued from the bed which
stood only a few feet distant. Mary White had been awakened by his
outcry, and starting up in alarm, beheld a man standing by the window,
which occasioned the involuntary exclamation that had just burst from
her lips. She had sat up until quite late, every moment expecting the
young lady who was to have been her companion for the night; and then
the convulsions of the tempest had kept her wakeful, and prevented her
retiring. The tedium of the hours becoming irksome, she had sauntered
into her mother's chamber, and opened the window to gaze out upon the
lulling war of the elements; but growing wearied of this employment,
and a drowsiness stealing over her, she had flung herself upon the
bed, and almost immediately sunk into a refreshing slumber, from which
the late disturbances in the apartment had just awakened her. The
first impulse that entered her mind was to gain the door and escape,
but her nature was one on which fear acts as a sudden paralysis. All
power of volition deserted her; and she stood motionless as carved
marble, with her eyes glaring, and her finger pointed toward the spot
where was the object of her terrors.
"Who's there? stand back!" burst from his lips in nervous agitation as
the shriek rung out upon the air, and turning round, he rushed to the
bedside, but started back; and there was the confusion of cowardice in
his manner as he exclaimed, "You here, Mary! what in the world brought
you into this room at such a time of night as this?"
"David White!" exclaimed she, shrinking back, when the moonlight fell
upon his features, and she recognized the intruder.
"No one else, my pretty lass," replied the vile man, becoming
emboldened by the time and situation; and with a graceful bend of his
fine form, he threw his arm around her waist, and attempted to press
his lips to her cheek; but fear gave her an almost preternatural
strength, and she thrust him forcibly from her.
"What! are you determined to fight shy?" said he, with a dark sneer,
again advancing toward her.
"Off! off!--do you dare to lay that vile hand on me again?" and as he
caught her arm, she struck him forcibly in the face with her clenched
fist, and releasing his grasp, darted toward the door with the
swiftness of the deer.
He sprung after her with arms outstretched, and his eyes on fire with
fierce rage. His hand clutched the folds of her dress as she reached
the door, and he jerked her toward himself with a violence that was
almost stunning.
"Ha!" shouted he, inebriate with passion, as her pallid face turned to
his, "is this your game? Take that, then!" and he plunged a glittering
knife deeply into her bosom.
She clasped her hands convulsively, turned her eyes heavenward, and
with a single groan, the utterance of the last mortal agony swelling
in her soul, sunk, pale and quivering, slowly to the floor. Then a
deep stillness reigned around, broken only by the gurgling sound of
the blood as it gushed from the deep wound near her heart, and
gathered in a dark, clotted pool by her side.
"'Twas quickly done!" muttered he, in stifled tones of still unsubdued
ferocity. "Let this finish it well!" and he made a random stab, which
was followed by a spasmodic movement of the body; and drawing the
blade from its fleshy sheath, he composedly wiped off the warm blood
against the bed-clothes, and thrust it back into his bosom with a low,
savage laugh.
He then crossed over to the chest, and cursing his carelessness,
abstracted the money from its careful hiding-place, and quitted the
scene of his exploit with hurried steps, passing out the front way,
and flinging the door wide open as he departed. Within an hour and a
half more he was at home. There all was silent and dreary, but he had
no observation to fear. Striking a light, he carefully washed the
blood from his hands, and disarraying himself of the cast-off clothing
which he had assumed for the occasion, thrust them into the fire, and
watched until the whole was entirely consumed. Having thus guarded
against direct evidence, he made some artful dispositions of negative
disproof, that he might be provided with full armor against all
suspicions; and then retiring to his homely bed with a feelingless
heart, and unmurmuring conscience, he slept soon and deeply.