"Jaffier, you're free; but these must wait for judgment."
OTWAY.
We left Dalhousie engaged in the seemingly hopeless task of undermining
the wall of the slave jail, at which he labored for several hours,
resting at intervals, as his exhausted frame demanded. The prospect of
realizing his hope encouraged him, and lent an artificial strength to
his arm. He had already excavated a pit several feet in depth, but had
not reached the bottom of the foundation wall. The quantity of earth
piled upon the brink of the pit required extra exertion to remove it,
but he toiled on with the energy of despair.
After laboring several hours more, he discovered, to his great joy, the
bottom of the foundation. Again he plied the spade, and, by almost
superhuman exertions, he succeeded in excavating a hole under the
stones, which, below the surface of the ground, were not laid in mortar.
After loosening all the small stones around a larger one, he found that
he could pry it out, which, with much labor, he accomplished. The
removal of the other stones was comparatively an easy task, and a little
time sufficed to clear a space up to the solid masonry.
But here a new difficulty presented itself. The hole he had dug was
already half filled with the stones he had tumbled from their positions.
His strength was not sufficient to remove them, and he was compelled to
dig again, in order to prosecute his labors.
The wall removed, he commenced digging outside of the foundation wall.
Patiently he dug down to obtain sufficient room for the deposit of earth
from the outside. Slowly and laboriously he undermined the ground, till
the surface above him caved in, and--joy to his panting soul!--the air,
the pure air of heaven, rushed in through the aperture! Hastily
enlarging the cavity, and removing the earth to the inside, he ascended
to the surface of the ground. A feeling of gratitude thrilled through
his frame, as he once more inhaled the free air of heaven, that he had
escaped the terrible fate which a few hours before had seemed
inevitable.
With faltering step,--for now that his Herculean task was accomplished,
the reality of his weakened physical condition was painfully
apparent,--he walked round the jail, to satisfy himself that no one was
in the vicinity. The sun was set, and the shades of night were gathering
upon the earth. The time was favorable for his escape. Having satisfied
himself that he was unobserved, he hastened to the garden, which was
close at hand, to procure the means of invigorating his own body, and
restoring to life and animation the partner of his captivity. Fruit of
various kinds--melons, figs--rewarded his anxious search. Filling his
handkerchief with cantelopes and figs, he hastened back to the jail,
with all the speed his weary limbs would permit. His thoughts were fixed
upon his wife, whose suffering had pierced his soul more deeply than all
the anxiety and doubt he had experienced on his own account. As he
tottered along, he asked himself if he should eat of the fruit he
carried ere she had tasted of the banquet. He drew one of the
rosy-cheeked, juicy figs from the handkerchief. It was no loss of
time--no deferring of the succor she needed--to eat as he walked; run he
could not, though he fain would have quickened his tardy pace. It would
restore his strength, and enable him the better to protect and rescue
her. It was not wrong, though, from the deep well of his affection, came
up something like a reproach for his selfishness. He ate the fruit. The
effect was, or seemed to be, magical. He thought he could feel it
imparting strength to his exhausted form. Again he ate, and in the
pleasant sensation to his unsated palate, his imagination, as much as
the fruit, nerved his muscles, and he walked with a firmer step.
He had not completed one-half the distance back, when he discovered two
men in the vicinity of the jail. A cold shudder nearly paralyzed him.
Was his labor all in vain? Had he with so much trial and suffering
effected his escape, only to be incarcerated again? The thought was
maddening, and he resolved to die rather than be returned to the
dungeon.
Drawing a revolver from his pocket, with which he had prudently prepared
himself before his interview with Jaspar, he proceeded on his way.
On a nearer approach, the men appeared to be strangers to him. They
might, however, be in the employ of Jaspar. They might be engaged in
watching over his captivity.
He approached nearer. He had never seen either of them before. They did
not look like men whom Jaspar would have been likely to select for such
a purpose as he apprehended. Still, he took the precaution to examine
the caps upon his pistol, and have his bowie-knife in a convenient place
for immediate use.
Dalhousie was the first to speak.
"Your business here?" demanded he, regardless of the courtesy to which
he had been all his life accustomed.
"The fact on 'tis," replied one of the strangers, a little startled by
the rude manner of Dalhousie, "the fact on 'tis, we are lookin' arter
the mansion of a Mr. Dumont. Perhaps you will oblige us by tellin' us
which way to go."
"He lives in yonder house," replied Dalhousie, pointing it out.
The simplicity of the speaker dissipated his apprehensions, and his
curiosity was excited.
"You know him, do you?" continued he.
"Well, no--I can't say I do."
"But you have business with him?"
"Not particularly with him,--the Lord forbid!" replied the stranger,
devoutly.
"Devil a bit with him, at all," added his companion.
"Since no one else resides under the same roof with him, may I ask the
reason of your visit there, if I am not too bold?" said Dalhousie.
"Sure, it's only to see the counthry, about here, we've come," replied
the Irish stranger.
"No, Partrick, you know that is not the truth. Never tell a lie for
anything, Partrick. Our business an't with him, but it consarns him. We
don't care about mentioning it to everybody."
"I do not mean to be impertinent," said Dalhousie; "but perhaps I may be
able to serve you. The man you seek is a villain!"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Uncle Nathan,--for we presume it is
unnecessary to _tell_ the reader that it was he,--"I know _that_."
"Indeed, then you have some knowledge of him?"
"Sartain! but do you know a minister in these parts by the name of
Faxon?"
"I do; he lives close by."
"Do you belong in this part of this country, Mister?" asked Uncle
Nathan, who seemed to make the question a prelude to other inquiries.
"I do. But I must leave you now. I am the bearer of life to one whom I
love dearer than myself. I have been foully wronged by the man you
visit."
"Heavens and airth! you don't say so?" exclaimed Uncle Nathan.
"Doomed to a death by starvation, with my wife, in yonder jail, by his
malice, I have just effected my escape. My wife is nearly dead, but I
hope to restore her with these fruits."
"Good Heavens! who would have thought there was such a monster upon the
airth?"
"By the powers!" ejaculated Pat Fegan.
"Can't we help you?" asked Uncle Nathan.
"Perhaps you can. I thank you, and, if it is not too late, she also will
thank you. My strength is nearly gone."
Dalhousie, followed by Uncle Nathan and Pat Fegan, proceeded towards the
jail, the former relating, as they went, the terrible incidents of their
captivity, and the means by which he had effected their happy
deliverance.
On the night of the explosion of the Chalmetta's boiler, Uncle Nathan
and Pat Fegan had saved their lives by jumping overboard, and had been
picked up by the Flatfoot. The true-hearted New Englander had made a
diligent search for the parties who had intrusted the will in his
keeping, but without success. He had been enabled to gain no tidings of
any of them, and was now continuing his search to the mansion of the
Dumont family.
The party reached the jail, and Dalhousie leaped into the pit, followed
by his companions. The poor wife seemed to have no realization of the
event which had set them free, and gazed with a wild stare upon her
husband and those who accompanied him.
"We are safe, Delia! we are safe!" said Dalhousie, as he proceeded to
untie the bundle of fruit.
"Safe! no, it cannot be--only a dream! But who are these persons?"
"They are friends, Delia--friends who have come to help me in saving
you. Take one of these figs, dear. They will restore you."
"Figs!" replied Delia, with a vacant look.
"Yes, dearest; taste it,"--and he placed the fruit, which he had
divested of its rind, to her lips.
The act seemed to restore her wandering mind to its equilibrium, and she
painfully lifted herself on the pallet of straw, and took the fruit in
her hand. She gazed upon it with a kind of silent rapture, while a
faint smile rested upon her pallid lips.
"We are indeed safe, if you have found food,"--and she tasted the fig.
"Eat it all, dear; here are plenty more, and melons, too."
"Let me see you eat, Francois; it will do me more good than to eat
myself. You have labored hard. Can we get out of this place? Are not
these Mr. Dumont's friends? Have they come to fill up the pit you have
dug?"
"No, dearest, they are _our_ friends," said Dalhousie, pained by the
wandering, wild state of her mind, and fearful that it might end in
insanity. "We will leave this place as soon as you have eaten some of
these figs and melons. I am almost restored by the joy of this moment,
dearest; and you must strive to be of good cheer."
Dalhousie and his wife ate freely of the fruit, while Uncle Nathan and
Pat gazed in silence upon the scene. But Delia was not so easily
restored. Her mental and physical sufferings appeared to have given her
constitution a shock from which it would take time to recover.
A conference took place between the parties, to decide upon the best
means of removing the lady, who was utterly incapable of moving a step,
and scarcely of lifting her form on her rude couch. Uncle Nathan was not
long in devising a method; and, directing Pat to enlarge the aperture
through which the captives were to escape, he went in search of some
canes, with which to construct a litter. Pat applied himself vigorously
to his task, tumbling over the huge stones like playthings, and handling
the shovel with all that dexterity for which the Celtic race is so
distinguished.
A rude litter was constructed, on which were laid the coats of the
party, so as to render it as comfortable as possible to the sufferer.
Uncle Nathan and Dalhousie, with much tenderness, though not without
pain to the invalid, succeeded in getting her through the aperture into
the open air, where she was placed upon the litter.
It was decided to carry her to the house of Mr. Faxon, upon whose active
sympathies they relied for shelter and assistance; and they went with
the more confidence, because Uncle Nathan had heard from Emily the
interest he took in her affairs. The litter was borne by Uncle Nathan
and Pat, while Dalhousie walked by its side, to cheer the heart of his
wife by promises of future joy, which the uncertain future might never
redeem.
Mr. Faxon received the party with scarcely an inquiry as to the nature
of the misfortune which brought them to his door. There was a person in
distress, and this was all his great, sympathetic heart needed to bid
him open wide his doors.
Delia Dalhousie was placed upon a bed, a negro was despatched for a
physician, and every effort used to alleviate her physical and mental
sufferings.
After the wants of the sufferers had been supplied, Mr. Faxon listened
with horror and indignation to the tale of Dalhousie's confinement, and
the causes which led to it; for the overseer was so candid as to relate
all, not even omitting the bribe he had agreed to take of Jaspar.
"It is thus, Mr. Dalhousie, that our plans are defeated, when they are
unworthy," said he. "Let this be a lesson to you for the future. Never
do or countenance a wrong action, and, whatever befalls you in this
changing world, you will have an approving conscience to smile upon you,
and lighten the darkest hour of adversity. But your tale brings me
consolation. There is yet hope that Miss Dumont is alive. The cruel
story of her death has darkened the abode of many a warm heart, even in
spite of the reflection that she was a slave. She was a true woman, and
I pray that God may spare her yet many years to bless the needy and the
unfortunate."
Dalhousie felt the full weight of Mr. Faxon's rebuke, and acknowledged
the justice of the punishment he had received. Uncle Nathan heard with
astonishment the wickedness of which the uncle of Emily had been guilty,
and his simple New England heart was sorely perplexed by it. He had no
"idea" of such depravity, and he was tempted, even in spite of the
Scripture injunction to the contrary, to "thank God that he was not like
other men."
In the course of the conversation to which the incidents of the evening
had given rise, the honest farmer found an opportunity to broach the
subject of his mission; and the time was occupied, until a late hour, in
discussing the means of doing justice to the injured, in restoring to
Bellevue its rightful mistress.